Idea for an Imperator for us - Rainbow Serpent - the creator god of the Dreamtime, chancel is Australia - and Australian embassies/national airline.
Power of Survival
Aspect 1
Domain 4
Realm 0
Spirit 2
Shapeshifting (comprehensive)
Durant
Immutable
Appearance as noble - a thorny devil lizard from the deserts of Australia.
Affiliation - the Wild.
Our respective design:
His - The cactus flower(survival) and the Amaranth (immutability) against a crescent moon with a deep blue shadow.
Mine - The chamomile flower (energy in adversity) intertwined with a closed purple flower (madness) with six petalled flowers and sword-like leaves (valor) arranged around the base of the plant (endurance) and numerous thorns on the stems (death). No background as my affiliation is with Heaven.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
, Dominus Viris e Pavore (stolen from rpg.net)
Estate: Strength that arises from Fear. (think adrenaline/fight or flight response)
Aspect 5
Domain 0
Realm 0
Spirit 0
Noble appearance - a great black dragon DND great wyrm size? Can fly as aspect 5 miracle.
Gifts:
Immortal
Venomous Bite
Glorious - mostly through his terrible aspect, but there is a dark beauty to be appreciated by those that can overcome the fear/awe.
Shapeshifting (1 point)-
- snake (dragon size or conventional size),
- change into an asian gentleman, with long hair and eyes that can turn a glowing red, jet black (no stars) or show snake-like pupils.
Affiliation - Heaven. (it seemed a nice alternative to hell/the dark.
Aspect 5
Domain 0
Realm 0
Spirit 0
Noble appearance - a great black dragon DND great wyrm size? Can fly as aspect 5 miracle.
Gifts:
Immortal
Venomous Bite
Glorious - mostly through his terrible aspect, but there is a dark beauty to be appreciated by those that can overcome the fear/awe.
Shapeshifting (1 point)-
- snake (dragon size or conventional size),
- change into an asian gentleman, with long hair and eyes that can turn a glowing red, jet black (no stars) or show snake-like pupils.
Affiliation - Heaven. (it seemed a nice alternative to hell/the dark.
Kietsu, sworn servant to Faith Deltarion (stolen from rpg.net)
I start again.
For the hundredth time today I settle myself into stance. Just as my Lady Faith has taught me I try to at first be mindful of what I must achieve, before letting such thoughts sink back down to be replaced with the simple ‘now’ of the dance. “For it is just like the dances you already know Kietsu” she told me “Fluidity, balance and control are more important then raw strength. Timing, awareness and precision more important then raw speed. From your dancing I can already see that much of what you will need you already know…that is, if you still want to learn”
And I did want to learn. Desperately. Since my earliest days as my Lord’s servant I had wanted nothing else but to learn the dance of blades and tread the measure of conflict. To have something I had learnt for myself, done for myself…not these false memories of some ghostly imagined half-life. But when I finally got up enough courage to ask my Lord, he laughed at me. Then, on seeing I was serious, he struck me. Hard. It took me two month’s to heal. “For your insolence in presuming you are worthy!” he had said “You are but property, subservient to me in all things. This holy art is not for such as you.”
My weight balanced evenly, favouring neither my left foot, nor my right. My back is straight, my head level, my neck and shoulders relaxed. My hands grip the hilt of the blade lightly; striving for the elusive balance between control and flexibility that only comes with just the right amount of pressure.
Slowly at first, and then more quickly, I begin to guide my blade through the five basic attitudes. From left into right, from right into upper, from upper into lower, from lower to center, and from center back to right as the sequence begins again.
One – two – three – four - five. I try to move between them like water – fluid and without pausing or breaking the flow. One – two – three – four - five. Again. The blade is light and free in my hands, sweeping through the air like a wheeling bird.
He was not a bad master, my Lord Blades. Never think that of him. Other then that one time he didn’t strike me…well never again with such feeling. He was aloof, demanding, cold - but no different in that then other such masters I might have served, had I been born in truth rather then simply willed into being. I accepted such things and more besides, for my Lord had cares that weighed heavily on him. He was now human only in form – power beyond reckoning burned inside of him, he fulfilled duties and tasks beyond my comprehension, treated with or fought things that it would give me nightmares just to gaze upon them. And above it all as a created thing I owed my Lord my very life – and I served him with it as best I could.
Now I begin to add in steps as I change. First forwards. Now back. My eye-line remains level, my body remains balanced. Not to large and not too small, the steps are taken as if simply walking.
Faster now. One – two – three – four – five. With each forward step I cut an imaginary opponent, with each backward step I block an unseen blow – striking and blocking from whichever attitude I am in as I take the step, practising all the forms. One – two – three – four – five.
Yes I served my lord, made of my life an offering to him, obeyed him in all things…all things but one. I could not give up my dream. Though he could, and would, rend me from being if he found out, I started to practice in secret. Glimpses of his lessons. Snatches seen from where I hid, hardly daring to breathe lest I be discovered. Stolen moments where I was alone in the house, furtive practices with a discarded training blade, chipped and bent from hard use. The one glorious and terrifying night I dared to sneak out to the garden of statues and shed my blood upon a blade.
One – two – three – four – five. No such shoddy blade is in my hands today. Today I practice with a beautiful Katana of exquisite workmanship. The blade is polished and honed to an edge that I feel could cut the air on a foggy day. The hilt is circled by my Lady’s floral design, while a flock of herons flap along the length of the blade towards the sunrise at the tip. She gifted it to me, the first thing I had ever truly owned “Just for training. It has a good balance, and, though slightly heavier then perhaps is appropriate, it will help build up your strength. But when you are ready we shall have the blade-smiths prepare you a blade that will truly complete you”
When my Lord died I had half expected that we, his servants, would simply fade away – cease to be now that the mind that had imagined us imagined us no longer. When we did not I was at first joyful…but then frightened. What would our next master be like? What use would he have for tools and chattels of his predecessor?
The days crawled by as we tried to keep busy; the nights were spent in worry and fear. Then came the news that the Estate of Blades was once again en-nobled. That we had a master again. I had feared a thousand things, ten thousand things, tormented myself with idyllic fantasies of the ridiculous hope that our new master would be kind.
But if I had dreamed and imagined for ten thousand years I don’t think I would have conceived of our newest Mistress. She’s like nothing I ever expected. A flaxen haired western devil, and a woman at that– well a girl really, at least in appearance. The power and knowledge of her Estate flows through her from the ancient shard lodged in her soul – but the kindness she showed us, the joy she takes in life, the wonder with which she views the world…all of these things are uniquely hers.
One – two – three – four – five. Faster and faster. Two steps, three. The blade is a shimmer of silver in the air around me as it sings through the air - a striking snake, a diving hawk, a pouncing cat. Somewhere my muscles burn and sweat stings my eyes and my lungs cry out for air. But such things are far away – I am one with the dance now, thought and reaction flowing as one, and my heart sings with the beauty of it.
She has made my very dreams come true, my days are filled with such happiness, as I have never known. And she asked nothing in return. How could I not serve such a one?
Most noble Lady Faith – I will be worthy of you, if it takes me until the end of my days I will be worthy of you. I throw myself into the dance with abandon.
I start again.
==
From the thought record of Kietsu – sworn servant to Faith Deltarion
For the hundredth time today I settle myself into stance. Just as my Lady Faith has taught me I try to at first be mindful of what I must achieve, before letting such thoughts sink back down to be replaced with the simple ‘now’ of the dance. “For it is just like the dances you already know Kietsu” she told me “Fluidity, balance and control are more important then raw strength. Timing, awareness and precision more important then raw speed. From your dancing I can already see that much of what you will need you already know…that is, if you still want to learn”
And I did want to learn. Desperately. Since my earliest days as my Lord’s servant I had wanted nothing else but to learn the dance of blades and tread the measure of conflict. To have something I had learnt for myself, done for myself…not these false memories of some ghostly imagined half-life. But when I finally got up enough courage to ask my Lord, he laughed at me. Then, on seeing I was serious, he struck me. Hard. It took me two month’s to heal. “For your insolence in presuming you are worthy!” he had said “You are but property, subservient to me in all things. This holy art is not for such as you.”
My weight balanced evenly, favouring neither my left foot, nor my right. My back is straight, my head level, my neck and shoulders relaxed. My hands grip the hilt of the blade lightly; striving for the elusive balance between control and flexibility that only comes with just the right amount of pressure.
Slowly at first, and then more quickly, I begin to guide my blade through the five basic attitudes. From left into right, from right into upper, from upper into lower, from lower to center, and from center back to right as the sequence begins again.
One – two – three – four - five. I try to move between them like water – fluid and without pausing or breaking the flow. One – two – three – four - five. Again. The blade is light and free in my hands, sweeping through the air like a wheeling bird.
He was not a bad master, my Lord Blades. Never think that of him. Other then that one time he didn’t strike me…well never again with such feeling. He was aloof, demanding, cold - but no different in that then other such masters I might have served, had I been born in truth rather then simply willed into being. I accepted such things and more besides, for my Lord had cares that weighed heavily on him. He was now human only in form – power beyond reckoning burned inside of him, he fulfilled duties and tasks beyond my comprehension, treated with or fought things that it would give me nightmares just to gaze upon them. And above it all as a created thing I owed my Lord my very life – and I served him with it as best I could.
Now I begin to add in steps as I change. First forwards. Now back. My eye-line remains level, my body remains balanced. Not to large and not too small, the steps are taken as if simply walking.
Faster now. One – two – three – four – five. With each forward step I cut an imaginary opponent, with each backward step I block an unseen blow – striking and blocking from whichever attitude I am in as I take the step, practising all the forms. One – two – three – four – five.
Yes I served my lord, made of my life an offering to him, obeyed him in all things…all things but one. I could not give up my dream. Though he could, and would, rend me from being if he found out, I started to practice in secret. Glimpses of his lessons. Snatches seen from where I hid, hardly daring to breathe lest I be discovered. Stolen moments where I was alone in the house, furtive practices with a discarded training blade, chipped and bent from hard use. The one glorious and terrifying night I dared to sneak out to the garden of statues and shed my blood upon a blade.
One – two – three – four – five. No such shoddy blade is in my hands today. Today I practice with a beautiful Katana of exquisite workmanship. The blade is polished and honed to an edge that I feel could cut the air on a foggy day. The hilt is circled by my Lady’s floral design, while a flock of herons flap along the length of the blade towards the sunrise at the tip. She gifted it to me, the first thing I had ever truly owned “Just for training. It has a good balance, and, though slightly heavier then perhaps is appropriate, it will help build up your strength. But when you are ready we shall have the blade-smiths prepare you a blade that will truly complete you”
When my Lord died I had half expected that we, his servants, would simply fade away – cease to be now that the mind that had imagined us imagined us no longer. When we did not I was at first joyful…but then frightened. What would our next master be like? What use would he have for tools and chattels of his predecessor?
The days crawled by as we tried to keep busy; the nights were spent in worry and fear. Then came the news that the Estate of Blades was once again en-nobled. That we had a master again. I had feared a thousand things, ten thousand things, tormented myself with idyllic fantasies of the ridiculous hope that our new master would be kind.
But if I had dreamed and imagined for ten thousand years I don’t think I would have conceived of our newest Mistress. She’s like nothing I ever expected. A flaxen haired western devil, and a woman at that– well a girl really, at least in appearance. The power and knowledge of her Estate flows through her from the ancient shard lodged in her soul – but the kindness she showed us, the joy she takes in life, the wonder with which she views the world…all of these things are uniquely hers.
One – two – three – four – five. Faster and faster. Two steps, three. The blade is a shimmer of silver in the air around me as it sings through the air - a striking snake, a diving hawk, a pouncing cat. Somewhere my muscles burn and sweat stings my eyes and my lungs cry out for air. But such things are far away – I am one with the dance now, thought and reaction flowing as one, and my heart sings with the beauty of it.
She has made my very dreams come true, my days are filled with such happiness, as I have never known. And she asked nothing in return. How could I not serve such a one?
Most noble Lady Faith – I will be worthy of you, if it takes me until the end of my days I will be worthy of you. I throw myself into the dance with abandon.
I start again.
==
From the thought record of Kietsu – sworn servant to Faith Deltarion
The blissful warmth of the bath had been well worth the time taken to heat the water for it. Finally my muscles unstiffened and unknotted…leaving me with only the deep tiredness that was the reward of my exercise. I was almost finished drying myself when I heard the sound of movement in the house.
I hurriedly threw on my kimono and grabbed my sword from the nearby bench (My Lady told me to always keep it near me…this I do). Sliding back the screen quietly I stepped silently into the empty room. The sounds were coming from the other end of the house – crashing and banging that certainly didn’t sound like one of us tidying. I gripped the scabbard in my left hand – carrying it in hand would allow me to draw the blade fast – and padded towards the sounds, keeping close to the wall so that my shadow cast on the partitions wouldn’t give me away.
A few heartbeats latter I was crouched outside the half open screen leading to the room the intruder was in. I turned the sheathe over in my hand and gripped the sword hilt firmly with my right hand – ready to draw. Then I rushed into the room before I could loose my nerve.
The blade was half drawn before I was able to register what my eyes were showing me. My Mistress was bent over, rooting through a chest. Her beautiful wings were partly unfurled and arched back slightly, keeping their shadow off of what she was looking at. She had stopped what she was doing and was looking at me with a quizzical smile on her face.
“Kietsu? Were you expecting someone else?”
I blushed to my very roots. Standing here in my now damp kimono with my blade half drawn. I hastily sheathed my sword. “M-Mistress. I heard banging and thought…I don’t know what I thought, or what I thought I could do, but I thought I had to do something…”
“Shhh” She held up a finger to her lips to stop my rambling. “It pleases me greatly to see you with the sword, carrying it so naturally and correctly. Have you just been practising…of course you have, your practically glowing from it. May I see the blade please?”
Mutely I held it out to her, hilt first. She took the sheath and drew the blade in one fluid motion. She then held the blade up in front of her and ran her fingers along it. She paused then for a moment, blade held up to her half-closed eyes, fingers lightly caressing the blade, wings flapping gently back and forth. Then she sheathed it again and handed it back to me.
“The blade spirit is happy Kietsu, it says you danced with it beautifully. There can be no greater praise offered I think.”
I hadn’t thought it was possible to get any more embarrassed then I already was, but somehow my blush deepened and I cast my eyes to the floor. “I, I thank you Mistress. You are too kind.”
A slight rustle then her fingers gently lifted my chin so that I was looking at her again. “One day I hope you can feel easy enough to call me Faith. I know that this role is all you’ve ever known, so I guess it is as hard for you to go against it as it would be for me to change the way I act overnight.” She smiled at me “So there’s no rush y’know. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”
She glanced around the room then and I followed her gaze. Clothes were scattered on the bed, on benches, pulled out of the little wooden chest of drawers, hanging out of the wardrobe. Now I could see what the banging had been. I looked at my Mistress questioningly.
“Ah. Yes. Well. I need your help Kietsu – I, ah, I need to find something to wear.”
“To wear Mistress?”
“I’m going to visit our allies in the Iron Monitor, me and Jacob and Bertrand – it’s a diplomatic thing, our first official visit as it were.”
“And you can’t find something to wear?”
She looked embarrassed. “No, I mean I can, after all I’ve been wearing the beautiful kimono you and Makanai altered for me for formal occasions. But Hep...I mean some of the allies have already seen me in it. I wanted something different. I wanted something more western I guess…I mean I love the clothing you have modified for me, but I don’t want to remind our allies of my predecessor. I mean I don’t know what the etiquette on that is, how there supposed to feel about me replacing him so…so I just wanted something neutral I guess”
She picked up one of her modern garments – a ‘tee-shirt’ I think, or ‘halter top’? Strange western clothing, verging on indecent to me.
“And this is way to informal for such an important meeting…but I don’t have anything pretty…I mean proper organised. Damn but I’m so new to this! I suck at this so badly!”
“Surely they will understand Mistress, you have not long assumed the role of your estate”
She sighed and sat down heavily on the bed. “No I meant this, dresses, makeup…I never saw the need for it when I was growing up. I wasn’t like the other girls I guess, always fretting about appearance and snaring some guy. It never bothered me before, I mean I’d behave as I wanted and no one was going to tell me any different…but now…I can’t just wander around in ripped jeans and rock group merchandise. We are nobility – yeah not everyone goes in for it, but most do, and so I need to be able to show I can play the game. Dance the dance and talk the talk. Be a lady. The one thing I’ve never been.” She sighed again.
Gingerly I sat down next to her. She is usually so vital, so full of energy, so happy…that you quite forget how new she is to this. The wisdom of a hundred incarnations may be hers, she may have the ability to defeat an army single handed, dance on sword points, fly with the eagles…but under it all was this young woman, almost a girl still, who no one had prepared for this.
Without thinking I reached out and rubbed her arm comfortingly. As I would any young girl. A moment latter the inappropriateness of what I was doing dawned on me. She was a goddess! Not some unhappy child or confused village girl! In horror I tried to pull my hand away…but as I did she turned and caught it in her own.
I swallowed “I – I meant no offence to you Mistress. I don’t know what I was thinking...an unforgivable lapse in respect…”
She looked into my eyes and my words stuttered and died. “You never have to apologise for treating me like a person. Never. I welcome it – that, even if just for a moment, you looked past all this.”
My eyes flicked involuntarily to her wings. She followed my eye line and grinned.
“They are kinda intimidating aren’t they. I guess it’s hard to be friendly to someone who’s got a pair of big ‘ole flapping wings hmmm? Always reminding you I’m not just a normal girl?”
“Perhaps a little Mistress. As you say.”
There was a kind of shimmer in front of my eyes, and then the wings were gone. Instead two delicate blue tattoos traced where they had been. She looked subtly different in other ways as well. Her cheekbones were not quite so perfect, a spray of faint freckles dappled either side of the bridge of her nose, her hair was slightly darker and less…luminous. This was how she used to look, I realised, her old human appearance.
She stood up and twirled around. “Faith Deltarion at your service. Just your regular lil’ army brat. Now perhaps you would be so kind as to advise me where we could pur-chase some clothing that would disguise me as a fine lady?”
She surprised a momentary giggle out of me. She was right – it was easier to relate to her like this. “There are any number of dressmakers or tailors within the chancel that would sell their own wives for the privilege of making you such a dress.”
She shook her head. “No good – I mean it’s fine for the future, remind me to go and see them when I get back, but I need something now.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. It was obvious. She’d have already thought of it. She wouldn’t need me to tell her. She looked at me enquiringly
“I- I don’t mean to sound disrespectful..”
“When I look like this I’m happy for you to be a bit disrespectful, or more informal if you like that term better.”
“If you say so Mistress...I mean I’ll try. What I thought is that when my lord, your predecessor I mean, needed something for a special occasion he would just…shape it. Out of the realmstuff.”
She slapped her forehead with her palm. “Doh! Of course! How did I not think of that? Thank you Kietsu! Yes, yes this’ll be perfect – I know just what to use. Hmm what colour should I use?”
I thought for a moment. “Blue my Lady. It would match your eyes and complement your hair”
“Perfect” She quickly removed what she had been wearing and the closed her eyes and stood perfectly still. A shape began to coalesce around her, slowly at first but then faster and faster, shimmering into being like a heat haze on a hot day. In moments she was once again clothed. An elegant gown of silk that swept from her shoulders to just above her feet. It was cream at the top, which I realised would meld well with her wings when they were visible, but then gradually darkened into blue, sky blue around her waist darkening down to a deep midnight blue at her feet. Tiny strands of silver, or perhaps tiny jewels, created a constellation of stars to sparkle against the blue. A sash of pink circled her middle and was tied behind her in a bow. The dress even carefully left her back bare so that her wings would not cause inconvenience.
“It’s beautiful Mistress. I can’t see how any could fail to be impressed.”
“Why thank you. It’s my Prom dress. Or at least it’s my Prom dress if I could have afforded it. Looks like it should work. Except…” She looked down at the bandages shrouding her left hand. Her poor hand. She had assured me that it would be gone in a week, and I had seen my Lord shrug off similar injuries…but still it looked like it hurt.
“I’ll get you some gloves Mistress – they should be easy enough to find and will require no fitting. I’ll find you some shoes as well – dark blue like the bottom of your dress.”
“Thank you Kietsu – you are a treasure. Hurry back – I’ll be going to arrange our meeting now, and expect to leave shortly after ” She adjusted the two ornate daggers that held her hair up, then grabbed two elegant short swords from a rack by the door. These she carefully wedged into the pink sash, crossing them slightly behind her so that their hilts stuck up above the bow. She was humming happily. I smiled. Of course the Lady of Blades would go armed – how could she not? I bowed my way out of her presence and left to fetch the last few items for her outfit.
From the thought record of Kietsu – sworn servant to Faith Deltarion
I hurriedly threw on my kimono and grabbed my sword from the nearby bench (My Lady told me to always keep it near me…this I do). Sliding back the screen quietly I stepped silently into the empty room. The sounds were coming from the other end of the house – crashing and banging that certainly didn’t sound like one of us tidying. I gripped the scabbard in my left hand – carrying it in hand would allow me to draw the blade fast – and padded towards the sounds, keeping close to the wall so that my shadow cast on the partitions wouldn’t give me away.
A few heartbeats latter I was crouched outside the half open screen leading to the room the intruder was in. I turned the sheathe over in my hand and gripped the sword hilt firmly with my right hand – ready to draw. Then I rushed into the room before I could loose my nerve.
The blade was half drawn before I was able to register what my eyes were showing me. My Mistress was bent over, rooting through a chest. Her beautiful wings were partly unfurled and arched back slightly, keeping their shadow off of what she was looking at. She had stopped what she was doing and was looking at me with a quizzical smile on her face.
“Kietsu? Were you expecting someone else?”
I blushed to my very roots. Standing here in my now damp kimono with my blade half drawn. I hastily sheathed my sword. “M-Mistress. I heard banging and thought…I don’t know what I thought, or what I thought I could do, but I thought I had to do something…”
“Shhh” She held up a finger to her lips to stop my rambling. “It pleases me greatly to see you with the sword, carrying it so naturally and correctly. Have you just been practising…of course you have, your practically glowing from it. May I see the blade please?”
Mutely I held it out to her, hilt first. She took the sheath and drew the blade in one fluid motion. She then held the blade up in front of her and ran her fingers along it. She paused then for a moment, blade held up to her half-closed eyes, fingers lightly caressing the blade, wings flapping gently back and forth. Then she sheathed it again and handed it back to me.
“The blade spirit is happy Kietsu, it says you danced with it beautifully. There can be no greater praise offered I think.”
I hadn’t thought it was possible to get any more embarrassed then I already was, but somehow my blush deepened and I cast my eyes to the floor. “I, I thank you Mistress. You are too kind.”
A slight rustle then her fingers gently lifted my chin so that I was looking at her again. “One day I hope you can feel easy enough to call me Faith. I know that this role is all you’ve ever known, so I guess it is as hard for you to go against it as it would be for me to change the way I act overnight.” She smiled at me “So there’s no rush y’know. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”
She glanced around the room then and I followed her gaze. Clothes were scattered on the bed, on benches, pulled out of the little wooden chest of drawers, hanging out of the wardrobe. Now I could see what the banging had been. I looked at my Mistress questioningly.
“Ah. Yes. Well. I need your help Kietsu – I, ah, I need to find something to wear.”
“To wear Mistress?”
“I’m going to visit our allies in the Iron Monitor, me and Jacob and Bertrand – it’s a diplomatic thing, our first official visit as it were.”
“And you can’t find something to wear?”
She looked embarrassed. “No, I mean I can, after all I’ve been wearing the beautiful kimono you and Makanai altered for me for formal occasions. But Hep...I mean some of the allies have already seen me in it. I wanted something different. I wanted something more western I guess…I mean I love the clothing you have modified for me, but I don’t want to remind our allies of my predecessor. I mean I don’t know what the etiquette on that is, how there supposed to feel about me replacing him so…so I just wanted something neutral I guess”
She picked up one of her modern garments – a ‘tee-shirt’ I think, or ‘halter top’? Strange western clothing, verging on indecent to me.
“And this is way to informal for such an important meeting…but I don’t have anything pretty…I mean proper organised. Damn but I’m so new to this! I suck at this so badly!”
“Surely they will understand Mistress, you have not long assumed the role of your estate”
She sighed and sat down heavily on the bed. “No I meant this, dresses, makeup…I never saw the need for it when I was growing up. I wasn’t like the other girls I guess, always fretting about appearance and snaring some guy. It never bothered me before, I mean I’d behave as I wanted and no one was going to tell me any different…but now…I can’t just wander around in ripped jeans and rock group merchandise. We are nobility – yeah not everyone goes in for it, but most do, and so I need to be able to show I can play the game. Dance the dance and talk the talk. Be a lady. The one thing I’ve never been.” She sighed again.
Gingerly I sat down next to her. She is usually so vital, so full of energy, so happy…that you quite forget how new she is to this. The wisdom of a hundred incarnations may be hers, she may have the ability to defeat an army single handed, dance on sword points, fly with the eagles…but under it all was this young woman, almost a girl still, who no one had prepared for this.
Without thinking I reached out and rubbed her arm comfortingly. As I would any young girl. A moment latter the inappropriateness of what I was doing dawned on me. She was a goddess! Not some unhappy child or confused village girl! In horror I tried to pull my hand away…but as I did she turned and caught it in her own.
I swallowed “I – I meant no offence to you Mistress. I don’t know what I was thinking...an unforgivable lapse in respect…”
She looked into my eyes and my words stuttered and died. “You never have to apologise for treating me like a person. Never. I welcome it – that, even if just for a moment, you looked past all this.”
My eyes flicked involuntarily to her wings. She followed my eye line and grinned.
“They are kinda intimidating aren’t they. I guess it’s hard to be friendly to someone who’s got a pair of big ‘ole flapping wings hmmm? Always reminding you I’m not just a normal girl?”
“Perhaps a little Mistress. As you say.”
There was a kind of shimmer in front of my eyes, and then the wings were gone. Instead two delicate blue tattoos traced where they had been. She looked subtly different in other ways as well. Her cheekbones were not quite so perfect, a spray of faint freckles dappled either side of the bridge of her nose, her hair was slightly darker and less…luminous. This was how she used to look, I realised, her old human appearance.
She stood up and twirled around. “Faith Deltarion at your service. Just your regular lil’ army brat. Now perhaps you would be so kind as to advise me where we could pur-chase some clothing that would disguise me as a fine lady?”
She surprised a momentary giggle out of me. She was right – it was easier to relate to her like this. “There are any number of dressmakers or tailors within the chancel that would sell their own wives for the privilege of making you such a dress.”
She shook her head. “No good – I mean it’s fine for the future, remind me to go and see them when I get back, but I need something now.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. It was obvious. She’d have already thought of it. She wouldn’t need me to tell her. She looked at me enquiringly
“I- I don’t mean to sound disrespectful..”
“When I look like this I’m happy for you to be a bit disrespectful, or more informal if you like that term better.”
“If you say so Mistress...I mean I’ll try. What I thought is that when my lord, your predecessor I mean, needed something for a special occasion he would just…shape it. Out of the realmstuff.”
She slapped her forehead with her palm. “Doh! Of course! How did I not think of that? Thank you Kietsu! Yes, yes this’ll be perfect – I know just what to use. Hmm what colour should I use?”
I thought for a moment. “Blue my Lady. It would match your eyes and complement your hair”
“Perfect” She quickly removed what she had been wearing and the closed her eyes and stood perfectly still. A shape began to coalesce around her, slowly at first but then faster and faster, shimmering into being like a heat haze on a hot day. In moments she was once again clothed. An elegant gown of silk that swept from her shoulders to just above her feet. It was cream at the top, which I realised would meld well with her wings when they were visible, but then gradually darkened into blue, sky blue around her waist darkening down to a deep midnight blue at her feet. Tiny strands of silver, or perhaps tiny jewels, created a constellation of stars to sparkle against the blue. A sash of pink circled her middle and was tied behind her in a bow. The dress even carefully left her back bare so that her wings would not cause inconvenience.
“It’s beautiful Mistress. I can’t see how any could fail to be impressed.”
“Why thank you. It’s my Prom dress. Or at least it’s my Prom dress if I could have afforded it. Looks like it should work. Except…” She looked down at the bandages shrouding her left hand. Her poor hand. She had assured me that it would be gone in a week, and I had seen my Lord shrug off similar injuries…but still it looked like it hurt.
“I’ll get you some gloves Mistress – they should be easy enough to find and will require no fitting. I’ll find you some shoes as well – dark blue like the bottom of your dress.”
“Thank you Kietsu – you are a treasure. Hurry back – I’ll be going to arrange our meeting now, and expect to leave shortly after ” She adjusted the two ornate daggers that held her hair up, then grabbed two elegant short swords from a rack by the door. These she carefully wedged into the pink sash, crossing them slightly behind her so that their hilts stuck up above the bow. She was humming happily. I smiled. Of course the Lady of Blades would go armed – how could she not? I bowed my way out of her presence and left to fetch the last few items for her outfit.
From the thought record of Kietsu – sworn servant to Faith Deltarion
I’m deeply worried about my Mistress.
I’ve never seen her like this.
There seems to be no joy in her tonight. She is usually so happy, joking with Uekiya about what improbable flowers could be grown, complimenting Makanai on the food prepared…but not this night.
Tonight she has barely eaten, nor spoken more then the briefest words to any of us. When she did speak to us she didn’t really seem to hear our answers, her gaze was distant and she often seemed to cock her head as if listening to a faraway sound. Eventually she dismissed us from her immediate presence and went to sit on the steps before the threshold, silent and alone, staring out into the darkness. Every line of her body seemed to speak of weariness, even her wings have been allowed to slump – their bottom feathers dragging across the floor beside her.
More telling still she sat awkwardly. My Mistress Faith has always seemed to be grace itself, but tonight she moved awkwardly, stiffly. Her left hand was often pressed to her right side, cradling her ribs while she took shallow little breaths.
She has been hurt, though no wound can be seen. The care with which she moves and the careful set of her expression speak to me of great pain. A Noble is a sacrosanct creature, far above the normal pains and sufferings of a mortal shell. The keeper of Blades has always been a further step above even this, the force required to produce real hurt is beyond most…what then could have wounded my Mistress so?
Alas I think I know. That hateful note spoke of the displeasure of our highest Lord, whose name I will not commit to these pages. My Mistress was greatly worried about the audience, about facing the Lord’s displeasure. He is certainly one who could have hurt her…indeed it would not be the first time. My previous Master would sometimes return for similar audiences hurt and angry. Master’s pain would then be shared amongst us, his servants, as he vented frustration…and perhaps fear.
But my Mistress Faith’s reaction scares me more. More then the physical pain she must be in there is a wound to her spirit. There is a sadness in her tonight, a sorrow lying across her that was not there before. There can be no doubt that she understands more of the truth of the Fallen One, and that this knowledge brings her no joy.
Tonight she lies awkwardly on her bed, curled on her left side to spare her right. I doubt she sleeps.
Her physical wounds will heal, there is nothing one of her power cannot heal given time, but of her dark mood I cannot say. I pray that this shadow lying across her will pass, that her light may once again shine. My Mistress is strong. My Mistress is brave. I will do what I can to help Her, will give my all in Her service. How could I do else?
Kietsu – sworn servant to Faith Deltarion
I’ve never seen her like this.
There seems to be no joy in her tonight. She is usually so happy, joking with Uekiya about what improbable flowers could be grown, complimenting Makanai on the food prepared…but not this night.
Tonight she has barely eaten, nor spoken more then the briefest words to any of us. When she did speak to us she didn’t really seem to hear our answers, her gaze was distant and she often seemed to cock her head as if listening to a faraway sound. Eventually she dismissed us from her immediate presence and went to sit on the steps before the threshold, silent and alone, staring out into the darkness. Every line of her body seemed to speak of weariness, even her wings have been allowed to slump – their bottom feathers dragging across the floor beside her.
More telling still she sat awkwardly. My Mistress Faith has always seemed to be grace itself, but tonight she moved awkwardly, stiffly. Her left hand was often pressed to her right side, cradling her ribs while she took shallow little breaths.
She has been hurt, though no wound can be seen. The care with which she moves and the careful set of her expression speak to me of great pain. A Noble is a sacrosanct creature, far above the normal pains and sufferings of a mortal shell. The keeper of Blades has always been a further step above even this, the force required to produce real hurt is beyond most…what then could have wounded my Mistress so?
Alas I think I know. That hateful note spoke of the displeasure of our highest Lord, whose name I will not commit to these pages. My Mistress was greatly worried about the audience, about facing the Lord’s displeasure. He is certainly one who could have hurt her…indeed it would not be the first time. My previous Master would sometimes return for similar audiences hurt and angry. Master’s pain would then be shared amongst us, his servants, as he vented frustration…and perhaps fear.
But my Mistress Faith’s reaction scares me more. More then the physical pain she must be in there is a wound to her spirit. There is a sadness in her tonight, a sorrow lying across her that was not there before. There can be no doubt that she understands more of the truth of the Fallen One, and that this knowledge brings her no joy.
Tonight she lies awkwardly on her bed, curled on her left side to spare her right. I doubt she sleeps.
Her physical wounds will heal, there is nothing one of her power cannot heal given time, but of her dark mood I cannot say. I pray that this shadow lying across her will pass, that her light may once again shine. My Mistress is strong. My Mistress is brave. I will do what I can to help Her, will give my all in Her service. How could I do else?
Kietsu – sworn servant to Faith Deltarion
(stolen from rpg.net)
the Society of the Noble Dead:
The Society exists to facilitate contact between various Dead Nobilis. Many of the Dead Nobilis face problems which living Nobilis do not; this can pose a particularly dangerous hazard for freshly enNobled Dead. The Society is open to all Dead Nobilis, regardless of Code affiliation. However, until further notice the Society will meet in a predetermined point on the World Ash, as some Nobilis regard the sheer volume of newcomers to their Chancels as a security risk. The Society's secondary aims include the following:
Gather information on the fate of Dead Nobilis if their bodies or spirit-forms are rendered nonexistent so that they die a second time.
Locate new types of Dead Nobilis; the variety of the Dead must nearly match the variety of the living, since most that was Dead was once Alive.
Protect the Estates of Death, Memory, Cemeteries, and similarly grave/Dead-related concepts in existence. Without these, it would be difficult for Dead Nobilis to exist at all.
The Society exists to facilitate contact between various Dead Nobilis. Many of the Dead Nobilis face problems which living Nobilis do not; this can pose a particularly dangerous hazard for freshly enNobled Dead. The Society is open to all Dead Nobilis, regardless of Code affiliation. However, until further notice the Society will meet in a predetermined point on the World Ash, as some Nobilis regard the sheer volume of newcomers to their Chancels as a security risk. The Society's secondary aims include the following:
Gather information on the fate of Dead Nobilis if their bodies or spirit-forms are rendered nonexistent so that they die a second time.
Locate new types of Dead Nobilis; the variety of the Dead must nearly match the variety of the living, since most that was Dead was once Alive.
Protect the Estates of Death, Memory, Cemeteries, and similarly grave/Dead-related concepts in existence. Without these, it would be difficult for Dead Nobilis to exist at all.
Bertram Fitzroy, Dominus Memoriae (stolen from rpg.net)
There are so many things I can remember, now. Peoples, events, other worlds, other histories. Mnemonic whispers to me the lives of Memories past, present, and future. There are so many, so varied, but still all Memory. I try to focus on the Memory present, on the pieces that are uniquely mine and so make me uniquely me, the memories of before I was Memory. I sometime fear I will lose them amoung all the others, for there are so many others, and such a small handful of my own. Mnemonic will not catch them in itself, so I must think of them on my own, of when I was only Bertram Fitzroy.
I was a memorialist. At the funeral home I would console the berieved, and work with them to craft a fitting epigraph for the departed. A memory to be carved in stone, as much for the comfort of the living as the dead. It all feels very faint and feable, compared to what I have now, but I remember that I took some measure of pride in my work at that time. I was distilling the memory of a person's life to a single phrase, and my craft was of noticable skill. If Memory did indeed notice it, or if I was selected by some more subtitle means, I do not know. Not that I do not remember exactly how my predicesor when about finding me, simply that it was a selection by the estate, not the person who was then its caretaker.
I spoke of Memories future, and it is true. Memories echo backwards in time, ripples fighting against the flow of the river, and can appear in dreams or deja vu. The last Memory felt his life ticking to its end, his Aspect such that he could count the number of heartbeats left until he ran out, and he searched the future echos for signs of the one who would succead him. So guided, he sought me out. He was not an imposing figure, a bent old man with a long white beard, but he had an inner fire in his eyes that held me while he talked. He offered me a glimpse at a greater world, and a greater purpose. A chance to see all the lives, know all the pieces that made up everyone and everything. The ability to make a difference. And when he had hooked my interest enough to press for specifics, he offered me Mnemonic for a day.
I now remember Mnemonic's many forms. It is the platonic ideal of the aid to memory, and as that ideal changes so does Mnemonic. In times past it has been a knotted cord, a page of crude script, a significant statuete, a handy notepad, a pocket recorder. When Memory came it me it was a PDA of the sleakest and most useful design. I didn't understand his hesitation a parting with Mnemonic until I laid hands on it, and whole worlds opened up before me. My mind was clearer, my soul burned brighter with his essence, and the lives of the Memories that were filled me. I marveled at the wonders laid before me and for a day and a night I explored them, walking the streets without rest as Mnemonic spun its memories out before me. When the day was done and Memory returned, he waited silently for my answer. The question needed no speaking, I already remembered it. I could return Mnemonic, and all that I had seen would pass from my mind like the morning fog. Or I could keep Mnemonic, and take up the mantle of Memory at his passing. With perfect clarity I considered it, but could not conceive of losing what was offered me, even at the price I already knew would come. And so I kept Mnemonic, and went with Memory through the graveyard into the place beyond, where he introduced me to the familia I already remembered, and the Hall I already knew. A week later, Mnemonic was mine in truth, and it records my life as its own.
Bertram Fitzroy
Estate: Memory
Aspect 1 AMP 6
Domain 4 DMP 5
Realm 2 RMP 5
Spirit 1 SMP 6
Code: Wild
Gifts:
Durant
Limits:
Focus - The PDA Mnemonic - Aspect 1, Spirit 1
Restrictions:
Invocable Blessing - Must bless those devoted to memory who invoke him.
Respectful - Can not alter memories of those blessed.
Bonds:
5 - The Sanctity of the Estate
4 - War with the Excrucians
3 - The Hall of Memory
2 - Mnemonic
2 - His canaries
2 - The Chancel
1 - Rivalry with the Noble of History
1 - Anchor #1
I was a memorialist. At the funeral home I would console the berieved, and work with them to craft a fitting epigraph for the departed. A memory to be carved in stone, as much for the comfort of the living as the dead. It all feels very faint and feable, compared to what I have now, but I remember that I took some measure of pride in my work at that time. I was distilling the memory of a person's life to a single phrase, and my craft was of noticable skill. If Memory did indeed notice it, or if I was selected by some more subtitle means, I do not know. Not that I do not remember exactly how my predicesor when about finding me, simply that it was a selection by the estate, not the person who was then its caretaker.
I spoke of Memories future, and it is true. Memories echo backwards in time, ripples fighting against the flow of the river, and can appear in dreams or deja vu. The last Memory felt his life ticking to its end, his Aspect such that he could count the number of heartbeats left until he ran out, and he searched the future echos for signs of the one who would succead him. So guided, he sought me out. He was not an imposing figure, a bent old man with a long white beard, but he had an inner fire in his eyes that held me while he talked. He offered me a glimpse at a greater world, and a greater purpose. A chance to see all the lives, know all the pieces that made up everyone and everything. The ability to make a difference. And when he had hooked my interest enough to press for specifics, he offered me Mnemonic for a day.
I now remember Mnemonic's many forms. It is the platonic ideal of the aid to memory, and as that ideal changes so does Mnemonic. In times past it has been a knotted cord, a page of crude script, a significant statuete, a handy notepad, a pocket recorder. When Memory came it me it was a PDA of the sleakest and most useful design. I didn't understand his hesitation a parting with Mnemonic until I laid hands on it, and whole worlds opened up before me. My mind was clearer, my soul burned brighter with his essence, and the lives of the Memories that were filled me. I marveled at the wonders laid before me and for a day and a night I explored them, walking the streets without rest as Mnemonic spun its memories out before me. When the day was done and Memory returned, he waited silently for my answer. The question needed no speaking, I already remembered it. I could return Mnemonic, and all that I had seen would pass from my mind like the morning fog. Or I could keep Mnemonic, and take up the mantle of Memory at his passing. With perfect clarity I considered it, but could not conceive of losing what was offered me, even at the price I already knew would come. And so I kept Mnemonic, and went with Memory through the graveyard into the place beyond, where he introduced me to the familia I already remembered, and the Hall I already knew. A week later, Mnemonic was mine in truth, and it records my life as its own.
Bertram Fitzroy
Estate: Memory
Aspect 1 AMP 6
Domain 4 DMP 5
Realm 2 RMP 5
Spirit 1 SMP 6
Code: Wild
Gifts:
Durant
Limits:
Focus - The PDA Mnemonic - Aspect 1, Spirit 1
Restrictions:
Invocable Blessing - Must bless those devoted to memory who invoke him.
Respectful - Can not alter memories of those blessed.
Bonds:
5 - The Sanctity of the Estate
4 - War with the Excrucians
3 - The Hall of Memory
2 - Mnemonic
2 - His canaries
2 - The Chancel
1 - Rivalry with the Noble of History
1 - Anchor #1
From the recolection of Mnemonic:
I'm still adjusting to being Memory, even though I sometimes feel as if I always have been. It's so easy to let myself be guided by Mnemonic, particularly when dealing with familiar things like The Hall and Antipathy Jones. And the young ones, Jacob and Faith, they look to me for the guidence Memory can provide. Antipathy and Heinrich are so alien to the recently human that they need someone who's more understandable. Listen to me, "the young ones", as if I were some ancient. Although I am, in a way. I sometimes fight to react as Bertram Fitzroy and not Memory, but then I stop and question why I fight. Is not my duty as a Noble the highest calling in existance? Is Bertram really the better to fulfill that duty than the gesalt that is Memory? Or would losing Bertram into Memory be as much a mundane prison as refusing Memory for Bertram?
................
I am more relaxed now. It's soothing, retreating to the innermost Hall. The memories that line the walls sing to me, like sweet silkly aromatic melodies painted all around me. They're alive, memories. Really alive. They cluster around people, dart from host to host, and haunt the resting places of the dead. I used to try my best to sooth the memories of the dead, before. But all I did then was put to rest the memories of the newly dead, so the living would not be troubled by them. Now they call to me, as their master and protector, the outraged memories whose rest is disturbed. I guard all memory now, but the Chancel gives me a special connection to the violation of graveyards, and demands that I act. And act I do, as it is within my power. A granted memory passes in an eyeblink, but the person will experience it all. To the careless youths whose held their revals in a place of peace I gave the memory of a week trapped in the dark cold earth with worms for company, which I believe taught them something of peace. There were zealots who sought to desacrate the memories of their foes, with them I shared the deaths of those they hated, one after another. A group of businessmen thought to build a mall on the spot where holy men were once laid to rest, I left them sobbing with the most treasured moments of those they would pave. Is this the Justice that Faith would aspire to, or the Revenge that Heinrich embodies? I do not think it matters. It is what my estate demands, and I make it so. They recieve as they give.
I'm still adjusting to being Memory, even though I sometimes feel as if I always have been. It's so easy to let myself be guided by Mnemonic, particularly when dealing with familiar things like The Hall and Antipathy Jones. And the young ones, Jacob and Faith, they look to me for the guidence Memory can provide. Antipathy and Heinrich are so alien to the recently human that they need someone who's more understandable. Listen to me, "the young ones", as if I were some ancient. Although I am, in a way. I sometimes fight to react as Bertram Fitzroy and not Memory, but then I stop and question why I fight. Is not my duty as a Noble the highest calling in existance? Is Bertram really the better to fulfill that duty than the gesalt that is Memory? Or would losing Bertram into Memory be as much a mundane prison as refusing Memory for Bertram?
................
I am more relaxed now. It's soothing, retreating to the innermost Hall. The memories that line the walls sing to me, like sweet silkly aromatic melodies painted all around me. They're alive, memories. Really alive. They cluster around people, dart from host to host, and haunt the resting places of the dead. I used to try my best to sooth the memories of the dead, before. But all I did then was put to rest the memories of the newly dead, so the living would not be troubled by them. Now they call to me, as their master and protector, the outraged memories whose rest is disturbed. I guard all memory now, but the Chancel gives me a special connection to the violation of graveyards, and demands that I act. And act I do, as it is within my power. A granted memory passes in an eyeblink, but the person will experience it all. To the careless youths whose held their revals in a place of peace I gave the memory of a week trapped in the dark cold earth with worms for company, which I believe taught them something of peace. There were zealots who sought to desacrate the memories of their foes, with them I shared the deaths of those they hated, one after another. A group of businessmen thought to build a mall on the spot where holy men were once laid to rest, I left them sobbing with the most treasured moments of those they would pave. Is this the Justice that Faith would aspire to, or the Revenge that Heinrich embodies? I do not think it matters. It is what my estate demands, and I make it so. They recieve as they give.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Balthiel (stolen from rpg.net)
Balthiel, the Fallen Angel of Blades, Revenge, Enmity, Obsession and Memory
"After all these millenia, I still haven't any freedom, any choice. Others may make foolish talk of free will and 'Spiritus Dei', but I remember every single thing, and I know not one fragment could ever have been any different."
"Furmiel - I'm still sorry it had to happen this way."
Stats
Aspect : 7 Imperial 9 AMPs
Domain : 0 Pawn 5 DMPs
Realm : 7 Imperial 10 RMPs
Spirit : 5 Inferno 5 SMPs
Imperator Properties
Cruel
Principled
Untalented : Guns
Harvest
Virtues
Eidetic Memory (cannot forget, ever)
Gifts and foci
The Blade Furmiel (contains 3 levels of Aspect and 3 AMPs)
The Steel Halo (contains 1 level of Spirit, 2 levels of Realm, Glorious and 6 RMPs)
Imagewalker - Balthiel can enter any picture and move around in it, and teleport to any similar painting with an expenditure of miracle points - the more similar the images, the fewer MPs it costs
Immortal (lesser - can sustain injury or be knocked out, but cannot actually be killed, except by exceptional circumstances)
Wound levels
3 Deadly Wounds, 3 Serious Wounds, 4 Surface Wounds
Code
Code of the Fallen Angels
Appearance
Balthiel's time in Hell has horribly distorted him. His once perfectly-proportioned frame has been stretched out, and his wings are now covered with wonderfully symmetrical areas of rot and corruption. Where once he radiated glory and light, now the Steel Halo protruding from his temples crackles with a sickly grey lightning that leeches the colour from his surroundings. By his side is the weird Blade Furmiel, made of a conglomeration of icily blue crystal and reflective silver shards, and held together by Balthiel's iron will.
Despite all this, he is still a being of purest delight to gaze upon.
History
Balthiel was once the Angel of Contentment and Forgiveness. He resisted the call of Lucifer and the other Fallen, and fought against his falling brethren with great sadness, for not even he could truly forgive or forget their betrayal of the Bright Realm. Despite his best efforts (and his engineering of the pact that allows ten of the Fallen to roam the Ash), he still cannot fully forgive them, even after he joined them.
His own fall only began during the greater Fall, after the force of Angels he fought alongside was nearly defeated, and was only saved by the actions of Furmiel, the Angel of Intervention, Guardians, and the Eleventh Hour. Balthiel, unable to stop himself, gradually fell in love with the mighty warrior. At first, he only tried to emulate his hero's strength of arms, which made him a far more potent warrior himself. Eventually, however, this was not enough, and he begged Furmiel to return his love. Furmiel, though, was one of those charged with the defence of the Bright Realm, and could not deviate from that purpose for an instant.
Driven mad by jealousy of Heaven itself, and unable to find contentment without Furmiel, Balthiel took his blade and attacked Furmiel from behind, as he stood watch at the Eastern Gate of Heaven. His whole attention and being focused on the approaches to Heaven, Furmiel could not defend himself, and was run through by Balthiel. The angel appeared to die, but in fact his spirit entered Balthiel's sword, from where it can commune with him. The sword has been repaired many times by Balthiel's powers, and gone through a variety of forms, but Furmiel's essence abides. It's not certain what would happen if Heaven found out that part of Furmiel still existed within the blade - the Angels would probably want to reclaim it as quickly as possible.
Fleeing the wrath of the other Angels in an epic pursuit along the Ash, Balthiel eventually sought sanctuary in Hell. There, he attempted to truly understand suffering, in an effort to master his own pain. He contained much of his glory and power in a crown of metal and arcing lightning, and grafted it to his temples. Still he could not forget, nor stop himself asking why he had thrown himself into this agony. As he ran over his perfect memories, in ever increasing detail, Balthiel's belief in free will began to erode. It is in this period that he lost touch with his previous Estates - they were taken over by other Angels. He acquired several new ones, but his lack of belief in his own free will utterly cripples his control over them. This is believed to be why he has tended to employ Wild-oriented individuals to watch over the Estate of Memory - he hopes that they will be able to find a way to change or erase his memories and free him from the dreadful sense of predestination that they bring to him.
The Valde Bellum came as a source of mild relief to Balthiel - here at last was a worthy foe, who would either serve for him to take his frustations out on, or would finally negate his pain for good. Travelling up the Ash under the aegis of the same pact that he had helped create so long ago, he came to Earth, where many of his Estates were strong, and so he Enchancelled and began to research into the Excrucians. In an inverted copy of the Black Amarai that sits atop the original (though it is usually hidden within dark, red clouds), he swims through the beautifully painted ceilings, still desperately trying to forget.
"After all these millenia, I still haven't any freedom, any choice. Others may make foolish talk of free will and 'Spiritus Dei', but I remember every single thing, and I know not one fragment could ever have been any different."
"Furmiel - I'm still sorry it had to happen this way."
Stats
Aspect : 7 Imperial 9 AMPs
Domain : 0 Pawn 5 DMPs
Realm : 7 Imperial 10 RMPs
Spirit : 5 Inferno 5 SMPs
Imperator Properties
Cruel
Principled
Untalented : Guns
Harvest
Virtues
Eidetic Memory (cannot forget, ever)
Gifts and foci
The Blade Furmiel (contains 3 levels of Aspect and 3 AMPs)
The Steel Halo (contains 1 level of Spirit, 2 levels of Realm, Glorious and 6 RMPs)
Imagewalker - Balthiel can enter any picture and move around in it, and teleport to any similar painting with an expenditure of miracle points - the more similar the images, the fewer MPs it costs
Immortal (lesser - can sustain injury or be knocked out, but cannot actually be killed, except by exceptional circumstances)
Wound levels
3 Deadly Wounds, 3 Serious Wounds, 4 Surface Wounds
Code
Code of the Fallen Angels
Appearance
Balthiel's time in Hell has horribly distorted him. His once perfectly-proportioned frame has been stretched out, and his wings are now covered with wonderfully symmetrical areas of rot and corruption. Where once he radiated glory and light, now the Steel Halo protruding from his temples crackles with a sickly grey lightning that leeches the colour from his surroundings. By his side is the weird Blade Furmiel, made of a conglomeration of icily blue crystal and reflective silver shards, and held together by Balthiel's iron will.
Despite all this, he is still a being of purest delight to gaze upon.
History
Balthiel was once the Angel of Contentment and Forgiveness. He resisted the call of Lucifer and the other Fallen, and fought against his falling brethren with great sadness, for not even he could truly forgive or forget their betrayal of the Bright Realm. Despite his best efforts (and his engineering of the pact that allows ten of the Fallen to roam the Ash), he still cannot fully forgive them, even after he joined them.
His own fall only began during the greater Fall, after the force of Angels he fought alongside was nearly defeated, and was only saved by the actions of Furmiel, the Angel of Intervention, Guardians, and the Eleventh Hour. Balthiel, unable to stop himself, gradually fell in love with the mighty warrior. At first, he only tried to emulate his hero's strength of arms, which made him a far more potent warrior himself. Eventually, however, this was not enough, and he begged Furmiel to return his love. Furmiel, though, was one of those charged with the defence of the Bright Realm, and could not deviate from that purpose for an instant.
Driven mad by jealousy of Heaven itself, and unable to find contentment without Furmiel, Balthiel took his blade and attacked Furmiel from behind, as he stood watch at the Eastern Gate of Heaven. His whole attention and being focused on the approaches to Heaven, Furmiel could not defend himself, and was run through by Balthiel. The angel appeared to die, but in fact his spirit entered Balthiel's sword, from where it can commune with him. The sword has been repaired many times by Balthiel's powers, and gone through a variety of forms, but Furmiel's essence abides. It's not certain what would happen if Heaven found out that part of Furmiel still existed within the blade - the Angels would probably want to reclaim it as quickly as possible.
Fleeing the wrath of the other Angels in an epic pursuit along the Ash, Balthiel eventually sought sanctuary in Hell. There, he attempted to truly understand suffering, in an effort to master his own pain. He contained much of his glory and power in a crown of metal and arcing lightning, and grafted it to his temples. Still he could not forget, nor stop himself asking why he had thrown himself into this agony. As he ran over his perfect memories, in ever increasing detail, Balthiel's belief in free will began to erode. It is in this period that he lost touch with his previous Estates - they were taken over by other Angels. He acquired several new ones, but his lack of belief in his own free will utterly cripples his control over them. This is believed to be why he has tended to employ Wild-oriented individuals to watch over the Estate of Memory - he hopes that they will be able to find a way to change or erase his memories and free him from the dreadful sense of predestination that they bring to him.
The Valde Bellum came as a source of mild relief to Balthiel - here at last was a worthy foe, who would either serve for him to take his frustations out on, or would finally negate his pain for good. Travelling up the Ash under the aegis of the same pact that he had helped create so long ago, he came to Earth, where many of his Estates were strong, and so he Enchancelled and began to research into the Excrucians. In an inverted copy of the Black Amarai that sits atop the original (though it is usually hidden within dark, red clouds), he swims through the beautifully painted ceilings, still desperately trying to forget.
Jacob Hart, Dominus Obsessionis (stolen from rpg.net)
Areth Hart
Domina of Obsession
ATTRIBUTE LEVEL
Aspect 0: Of mortal Form
Domain 1: Baron
Realm 0: Citizen
Spirit 5: Inferno
Gifts and Virtues:
Devoted Populace
Durant
Glorious
Immutable
Limits and Restrictions:
Cigarette Bond
Doomed
The Darkest Ring (Focus, 6 points invested: Domain 1 and Devoted Populace)
Wound Levels:
1 Deadly
1 Serious
2 Surface
Bonds
STRENGTH SUBJECT
6 Not getting obsessed with Obsession
4 Getting out of being a Noble
2 The sanctity of his Estate
2 His Familia
2 The Darkest Ring
2 His ‘cat,’ Jezzabel
1 His apartment
1 The well-being of his Anchors – this is only a general concern, as he is not overly fussed about any one of them … yet
Virtue:
Passionate – when Areth commits to a course of action or a cause, he does not do so lightly and throws his entire existence behind it. If he truly believes, there is no force in Creation that can turn Areth aside.
Affiliation
Hell
Design
The Flower of Obsession is a closed bud of alternating yellow and purple petals atop a snaking stem, at the base of which grow three sharp-looking leaves. The Design is often framed by a poison green circle, lightly spattered with translucent darkness.
Domina of Obsession
ATTRIBUTE LEVEL
Aspect 0: Of mortal Form
Domain 1: Baron
Realm 0: Citizen
Spirit 5: Inferno
Gifts and Virtues:
Devoted Populace
Durant
Glorious
Immutable
Limits and Restrictions:
Cigarette Bond
Doomed
The Darkest Ring (Focus, 6 points invested: Domain 1 and Devoted Populace)
Wound Levels:
1 Deadly
1 Serious
2 Surface
Bonds
STRENGTH SUBJECT
6 Not getting obsessed with Obsession
4 Getting out of being a Noble
2 The sanctity of his Estate
2 His Familia
2 The Darkest Ring
2 His ‘cat,’ Jezzabel
1 His apartment
1 The well-being of his Anchors – this is only a general concern, as he is not overly fussed about any one of them … yet
Virtue:
Passionate – when Areth commits to a course of action or a cause, he does not do so lightly and throws his entire existence behind it. If he truly believes, there is no force in Creation that can turn Areth aside.
Affiliation
Hell
Design
The Flower of Obsession is a closed bud of alternating yellow and purple petals atop a snaking stem, at the base of which grow three sharp-looking leaves. The Design is often framed by a poison green circle, lightly spattered with translucent darkness.
The Sage – obsessed collector of everything from coins to books to swords, all of which he has crammed into his maze like house-come-shop. Jacob has corrupted his obsession with all things obscure so that he will go to extreme lengths to further his collection – currently no more extreme than burglary, but it can only be a matter of time before he hurts someone. Jacob met the Sage when searching for a book on Noble society and was treated with disdain and arrogance. Jacob returned the favour by corrupting his obsession and Anchoring him.
Dan Anderson – high flying football star and subject of a thousand and one gossip columns. A nation is enthralled, but where once they admired him for his sporting talents and pin-up image, now they clamour after every scrap of malicious gossip and untrue rumour like wolves after the kill. Jacob once met Dan at a PR gig and immediately took a great dislike to him. He has yet to find a real use for Dan, but delights in waking him up in the middle of the night or coercing him into compromising positions for the entertainment of the media.
Elissa Von Baum – model turned actress at the peak of her career. No real talent to speak of, but a wealth of other assets. Stalking her is practically a pastime, and a photo of her either with a new beau, or with very little on frequently appears in the press somewhere each week. Current gossip places her and fellow anchor Dan as an item and the paparazzi are bursting blood vessels trying to get a snap of them together. Jacob despises shallow people – perhaps because he recognises that he used to be shallow himself – and none epitomise this than the arch-celebrity, Elissa. To his credit, Jacob did have dinner with her just to make sure she was unbearable. He lasted until the starter was delivered before Anchoring her.
Snake Winters – a bounty hunter/PI with a very romanticised notion of his vocation. Snake stalks the earth, hunting down the scum one by one, all the while delivering a monologue of his actions out loud. Snake considers himself both judge and jury, and is wanted in at least 9 countries worldwide for executing criminals. His true objective is to hunt down and slay the man responsible for murdering his wife, the elusive criminal mastermind the White Fox. Jacob inherited Snake from his predecessor, and suspects that White Fox was actually her in disguise.
Eric Jones – crazed stalker of assorted celebrities. Eric’s dank flat is a shrine to a plethora of celebrities, every wall and surface covered with photos cut from magazines and newspapers. He has begun to replace these pictures with those taken by himself whilst hidden in bushes outside houses. Pride of place amongst his collection is his picture of Jacob Hart, who has begun to dominate his obsessions. It was whilst taking this that Jacob happened upon him hiding by the roadside as he visited Earth. Jacob Anchored him then and there, mainly to keep an eye on him. Being Anchored has not helped his frail sanity at all, and his obsession with the Domina grows and grows.
Edward Mannham – cult leader of the Sword’s of God. The Sword’s of God are a collection of oddballs with no real direction in life, forged into fanatical followers by Edward for his own cynical ends. Edward began as a cult leader to get rich, but swiftly became addicted to the power he gained. The cult has taken a rather more radical turn since Jacob Anchored its leader – Jacob was disgusted at Edward’s misuse of the obsession of his followers – for Edward now believes the spiel he was giving his followers. He has restyled himself as the Sword of God (believing Jacob to be the voice of God) and is busying himself with spreading the word and acquiring a large army.
Dan Anderson – high flying football star and subject of a thousand and one gossip columns. A nation is enthralled, but where once they admired him for his sporting talents and pin-up image, now they clamour after every scrap of malicious gossip and untrue rumour like wolves after the kill. Jacob once met Dan at a PR gig and immediately took a great dislike to him. He has yet to find a real use for Dan, but delights in waking him up in the middle of the night or coercing him into compromising positions for the entertainment of the media.
Elissa Von Baum – model turned actress at the peak of her career. No real talent to speak of, but a wealth of other assets. Stalking her is practically a pastime, and a photo of her either with a new beau, or with very little on frequently appears in the press somewhere each week. Current gossip places her and fellow anchor Dan as an item and the paparazzi are bursting blood vessels trying to get a snap of them together. Jacob despises shallow people – perhaps because he recognises that he used to be shallow himself – and none epitomise this than the arch-celebrity, Elissa. To his credit, Jacob did have dinner with her just to make sure she was unbearable. He lasted until the starter was delivered before Anchoring her.
Snake Winters – a bounty hunter/PI with a very romanticised notion of his vocation. Snake stalks the earth, hunting down the scum one by one, all the while delivering a monologue of his actions out loud. Snake considers himself both judge and jury, and is wanted in at least 9 countries worldwide for executing criminals. His true objective is to hunt down and slay the man responsible for murdering his wife, the elusive criminal mastermind the White Fox. Jacob inherited Snake from his predecessor, and suspects that White Fox was actually her in disguise.
Eric Jones – crazed stalker of assorted celebrities. Eric’s dank flat is a shrine to a plethora of celebrities, every wall and surface covered with photos cut from magazines and newspapers. He has begun to replace these pictures with those taken by himself whilst hidden in bushes outside houses. Pride of place amongst his collection is his picture of Jacob Hart, who has begun to dominate his obsessions. It was whilst taking this that Jacob happened upon him hiding by the roadside as he visited Earth. Jacob Anchored him then and there, mainly to keep an eye on him. Being Anchored has not helped his frail sanity at all, and his obsession with the Domina grows and grows.
Edward Mannham – cult leader of the Sword’s of God. The Sword’s of God are a collection of oddballs with no real direction in life, forged into fanatical followers by Edward for his own cynical ends. Edward began as a cult leader to get rich, but swiftly became addicted to the power he gained. The cult has taken a rather more radical turn since Jacob Anchored its leader – Jacob was disgusted at Edward’s misuse of the obsession of his followers – for Edward now believes the spiel he was giving his followers. He has restyled himself as the Sword of God (believing Jacob to be the voice of God) and is busying himself with spreading the word and acquiring a large army.
Background
It began innocently enough, if you can call an affair with a Noble innocent. I met the Lady Jasmine – my predecessor – at a public relations event in London, where my company was launching the autobiography of some pop sensation or another a little over a year ago. It transpired that he was an Anchor of hers – something I never truly understood until just recently – and the soiree was really being put on for the benefit of her Estate.
I was drawn to her, which is odd given that she was not at all my type (shorter than me and blonde) – an imposing amazon of a woman only an inch or so shorter than me - although, naturally, she always seemed much taller - with short, dark hair and eyes that seemed to always catch the light, even in the dark (mine do that now too). So, a torrid affair ensued. I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that it started off normally, and then got weird. I’m not normally the obsessive type, but with Jasmine I just had to know where she was, why she hadn’t called me and so on. As it turned out, she was way more obsessed than I ever was.
We were going along swimmingly, and suddenly she vanished. I saw nothing of her for almost a month. I was beating myself up over it. Calling round to her house and leaving endless messages on her phone. I decided after the third week that I was being too clingy and had probably scared her off. Of course the truth was very different – she was trying desparately to set me aside, painfully aware that her doom was nigh. Over that final, fateful fourth week I started to get over her at last.
Then she showed up at my flat, looking bedraggled – her mascara had run from all the tears she had been crying, and her wrists looked bruised as though she had been restrained by someone – or something. My heart sunk and soared at the same time – part of me was getting over her, putting her behind me, but part of me still loved her. We talked for what seemed like an age, although she seemed a little distant the whole time, a little distracted.
Then she offered to cook dinner for us, and I obliged – Jasmine was a mean chef, that was for sure, and from the smells that issued from the kitchen it seemed that that had not changed. When she served dinner, I noticed that it was only me that was eating. I cannot remember exactly what she served me, for the plate was dominated by what looked like a whole, cooked heart. As much as I like meat, I’m not one for organs, and my stomach churned. When I gazed up at Jasmine and saw the gaping hole in her chest I vomited and almost passed out. I scrambled to my feet to run, and then I made my mistake. I looked her in the eyes.
Never look a Noble in the eyes.
I was overcome with love and devotion towards her. I wanted nought else but to eat this dinner that she had lovingly prepared for me. I wanted nought else but to eat her heart, mouthful by mouthful. All the while she held my gaze, her eyes brimming with tears and a great sorrow. She loved me, or at least thought she did, and this was the climax to our relationship and to her existence. It was only afterwards, as she lay dead on my dining room floor, that I came to my senses and sobbed great tears of mourning and loss. My stomach churned again, but not with bile but with something greater – the power of a soul shard. I tried desperately to make myself vomit up my dead lover’s heart, but it was too late.
I passed out and remained unconscious for many days, all the while dreaming strange, lucid dreams of a faraway land of tombs and mausolea and terrible wailing ghosts. My dreams were dominated by the terrible beauty of the Fallen Angel Balthiel, and he painfully explained everything to me.
When I finally awoke from my quiescence I found myself guarded by police in a hospital room. Naturally, they had some questions to ask. I told them the truth, and somehow they believed me. Even then my Noble powers were manifesting. I staggered from the hospital but could not return home. Instead I clambered into my car. It came as something of a shock when it – no, he – spoke to me. I screamed and passed out, and when I awoke I was parked outside the great temple in the Chancel.
I never asked for this. I don’t want this. I would give anything to give it up. Well, perhaps not quite anything. I try to resist, but I know deep down it is fruitless. I also know, deep down, that I have already seen my fate, my doom. But I will not walk down the same road as my predecessors. I will not succumb to the siren calls of my Estate. Obsession will not claim this heart!
Personality
Jacob could never claim to be a nice man. In mortal life he was obsessed with money and fame and the cult of celebrity, and to an extent he remains fascinated with them now he is a Noble, yet he is no longer obsessed. He was – and still is – care free with the emotions of others, loving and leaving the countless women in his life. His tryst with Jasmine has left him deeply scarred, and if anything he is more likely to play easily with the emotions of another because he is scared of getting hurt himself again. Commitment scares Jacob, but not as much as death and doom and the life of a Noble. Outwardly he projects an image of self-assuredness and control, but inside he is awash with self-doubt and panic. He knows that he cannot command his Estate as others do – nor would he want to – and that his enoblement has barely touched his physical self, but is fearful of showing weakness in front of the others in his Familia.
Jacob is desperate to avoid the doom that befalls his Estate, but in trying to avoid becoming obsessed with anything, the act of avoidance is becoming something of an obsession. Little have begun to creep into Jacob’s life, one by one over the 6 months since his enoblement, and it scares Jacob to his very core.
Appearance
Jacob was a few months shy of his thirtieth birthday when Jasmine … he was enobled … and retains his youthful appearance. His dark hair is cut short and he is usually clean shaven. He dresses as he did in life – smartly dressed in a suit when on Noble business, or casually clad in jogging bottoms and T-shirts when lounging about his pad. Jacob used to be concerned with his appearance - obsessed almost - and since his enoblement he has kept a certain sense of vanity. Keeping fit and healthy seems to require less work nowadays.
It began innocently enough, if you can call an affair with a Noble innocent. I met the Lady Jasmine – my predecessor – at a public relations event in London, where my company was launching the autobiography of some pop sensation or another a little over a year ago. It transpired that he was an Anchor of hers – something I never truly understood until just recently – and the soiree was really being put on for the benefit of her Estate.
I was drawn to her, which is odd given that she was not at all my type (shorter than me and blonde) – an imposing amazon of a woman only an inch or so shorter than me - although, naturally, she always seemed much taller - with short, dark hair and eyes that seemed to always catch the light, even in the dark (mine do that now too). So, a torrid affair ensued. I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say that it started off normally, and then got weird. I’m not normally the obsessive type, but with Jasmine I just had to know where she was, why she hadn’t called me and so on. As it turned out, she was way more obsessed than I ever was.
We were going along swimmingly, and suddenly she vanished. I saw nothing of her for almost a month. I was beating myself up over it. Calling round to her house and leaving endless messages on her phone. I decided after the third week that I was being too clingy and had probably scared her off. Of course the truth was very different – she was trying desparately to set me aside, painfully aware that her doom was nigh. Over that final, fateful fourth week I started to get over her at last.
Then she showed up at my flat, looking bedraggled – her mascara had run from all the tears she had been crying, and her wrists looked bruised as though she had been restrained by someone – or something. My heart sunk and soared at the same time – part of me was getting over her, putting her behind me, but part of me still loved her. We talked for what seemed like an age, although she seemed a little distant the whole time, a little distracted.
Then she offered to cook dinner for us, and I obliged – Jasmine was a mean chef, that was for sure, and from the smells that issued from the kitchen it seemed that that had not changed. When she served dinner, I noticed that it was only me that was eating. I cannot remember exactly what she served me, for the plate was dominated by what looked like a whole, cooked heart. As much as I like meat, I’m not one for organs, and my stomach churned. When I gazed up at Jasmine and saw the gaping hole in her chest I vomited and almost passed out. I scrambled to my feet to run, and then I made my mistake. I looked her in the eyes.
Never look a Noble in the eyes.
I was overcome with love and devotion towards her. I wanted nought else but to eat this dinner that she had lovingly prepared for me. I wanted nought else but to eat her heart, mouthful by mouthful. All the while she held my gaze, her eyes brimming with tears and a great sorrow. She loved me, or at least thought she did, and this was the climax to our relationship and to her existence. It was only afterwards, as she lay dead on my dining room floor, that I came to my senses and sobbed great tears of mourning and loss. My stomach churned again, but not with bile but with something greater – the power of a soul shard. I tried desperately to make myself vomit up my dead lover’s heart, but it was too late.
I passed out and remained unconscious for many days, all the while dreaming strange, lucid dreams of a faraway land of tombs and mausolea and terrible wailing ghosts. My dreams were dominated by the terrible beauty of the Fallen Angel Balthiel, and he painfully explained everything to me.
When I finally awoke from my quiescence I found myself guarded by police in a hospital room. Naturally, they had some questions to ask. I told them the truth, and somehow they believed me. Even then my Noble powers were manifesting. I staggered from the hospital but could not return home. Instead I clambered into my car. It came as something of a shock when it – no, he – spoke to me. I screamed and passed out, and when I awoke I was parked outside the great temple in the Chancel.
I never asked for this. I don’t want this. I would give anything to give it up. Well, perhaps not quite anything. I try to resist, but I know deep down it is fruitless. I also know, deep down, that I have already seen my fate, my doom. But I will not walk down the same road as my predecessors. I will not succumb to the siren calls of my Estate. Obsession will not claim this heart!
Personality
Jacob could never claim to be a nice man. In mortal life he was obsessed with money and fame and the cult of celebrity, and to an extent he remains fascinated with them now he is a Noble, yet he is no longer obsessed. He was – and still is – care free with the emotions of others, loving and leaving the countless women in his life. His tryst with Jasmine has left him deeply scarred, and if anything he is more likely to play easily with the emotions of another because he is scared of getting hurt himself again. Commitment scares Jacob, but not as much as death and doom and the life of a Noble. Outwardly he projects an image of self-assuredness and control, but inside he is awash with self-doubt and panic. He knows that he cannot command his Estate as others do – nor would he want to – and that his enoblement has barely touched his physical self, but is fearful of showing weakness in front of the others in his Familia.
Jacob is desperate to avoid the doom that befalls his Estate, but in trying to avoid becoming obsessed with anything, the act of avoidance is becoming something of an obsession. Little have begun to creep into Jacob’s life, one by one over the 6 months since his enoblement, and it scares Jacob to his very core.
Appearance
Jacob was a few months shy of his thirtieth birthday when Jasmine … he was enobled … and retains his youthful appearance. His dark hair is cut short and he is usually clean shaven. He dresses as he did in life – smartly dressed in a suit when on Noble business, or casually clad in jogging bottoms and T-shirts when lounging about his pad. Jacob used to be concerned with his appearance - obsessed almost - and since his enoblement he has kept a certain sense of vanity. Keeping fit and healthy seems to require less work nowadays.
Jacob gently squeezed the accelerator and Melanchamp – Jacob’s black lamborghini sports car - purred in appreciation, his speedometer edging towards the 200 mph mark as the pair raced along one of the Chancel roads towards the gate to London. A pair of horsemen – no doubt Brutus’ outriders – scattered out of the way and waved and shouted after Jacob – no doubt freakishly adoring praise. If he had been on Earth the cops would have pulled him over, but here the watch had no chance. Sometimes being a Noble was fun, Jacob thought to himself with a smile.
Cut to a graveyard at night, somewhere in London.
Jacob tapped the brakes and Melanchamp happily obliged, slowing to almost a halt as the sportscar squeezed rather mind bogglingly out of the man sized doorway of a mausoleum. A drunken tramp half passed out on a nearby bench sat up in disbelief and, staring at his can of strongbow in disgust vowed to go tee-total from tomorrow.
The pair slipped out of the graveyard and onto the main road. Jacob had no idea where he was – his sense of direction was never that great, and this ability to see both prosaic and mythic, with all that entailed, had dealt it a death blow. Not that he needed to know his way about – Melanchamp seemed to be at home everywhere there was a road.
Cut to a swish looking appartment overlooking central London
Jacob groaned as he rolled over and looked at the time. Time to get up, even though it was barely dawn. He slid out of bed and scrabbled about to find his clothes, carefully retrieving them from the floor. He looked down at the naked figure lying on the other side of the bed. She didn’t stir. Now what was her name? Erica, Jacob decided, was a fine name for her. It hardly mattered if it was the right one, he wouldn’t see her again. Unless she turned up outside his window one night, like some of the other girls. He considered killing her, but then her spirit might show up, all vengeful and hatred-y. And that’s when it’d get messy. Not to mention the fact that murder wasn’t really his bag. No, he’d have to take the risk that she’d be contented with the best night of her life and live with the memories.
Jacob pulled on his clothes and exited as quickly as possible. He had a removal to undertake.
Cut to a less swish shopfront hidden down an alley, somewhere in London.
Jacob paused to peer through the window at the piles of junk dotted about. Geez, he thought, he’d hate to be here if the place ever got burgled – how would anyone know? A silly question, of course. The Sage would know. He always knew. Jacob stepped up to the door and pushed it open, ignoring the closed sign, and the fact it was locked (Aspect Miracle Level 0 – peak performance to burst the lock). A crossbow, mounted above the door, triggered as the door opened but the bolt shattered into a hundred shards of metal as it struck Jacob’s holy shield.
“Sage! I need to speak with you!”
“Go away, thieving, burgling evil doer!” Came the grumbling reply. Aah, good, he knew it was me.
“I have something for you, something that will blow your mind – and make all your petty collection pale into insignifcance.”
“…”
“I mean it, really I do. You just have to do one thing.”
“What?” He looked suspicious, but I could see – could feel – the spark of obsession growing within him.
“Come with me.” I turned to leave and he followed, and I took him to the greatest collection of all. Locus Balthiel.
Cut to a graveyard at night, somewhere in London.
Jacob tapped the brakes and Melanchamp happily obliged, slowing to almost a halt as the sportscar squeezed rather mind bogglingly out of the man sized doorway of a mausoleum. A drunken tramp half passed out on a nearby bench sat up in disbelief and, staring at his can of strongbow in disgust vowed to go tee-total from tomorrow.
The pair slipped out of the graveyard and onto the main road. Jacob had no idea where he was – his sense of direction was never that great, and this ability to see both prosaic and mythic, with all that entailed, had dealt it a death blow. Not that he needed to know his way about – Melanchamp seemed to be at home everywhere there was a road.
Cut to a swish looking appartment overlooking central London
Jacob groaned as he rolled over and looked at the time. Time to get up, even though it was barely dawn. He slid out of bed and scrabbled about to find his clothes, carefully retrieving them from the floor. He looked down at the naked figure lying on the other side of the bed. She didn’t stir. Now what was her name? Erica, Jacob decided, was a fine name for her. It hardly mattered if it was the right one, he wouldn’t see her again. Unless she turned up outside his window one night, like some of the other girls. He considered killing her, but then her spirit might show up, all vengeful and hatred-y. And that’s when it’d get messy. Not to mention the fact that murder wasn’t really his bag. No, he’d have to take the risk that she’d be contented with the best night of her life and live with the memories.
Jacob pulled on his clothes and exited as quickly as possible. He had a removal to undertake.
Cut to a less swish shopfront hidden down an alley, somewhere in London.
Jacob paused to peer through the window at the piles of junk dotted about. Geez, he thought, he’d hate to be here if the place ever got burgled – how would anyone know? A silly question, of course. The Sage would know. He always knew. Jacob stepped up to the door and pushed it open, ignoring the closed sign, and the fact it was locked (Aspect Miracle Level 0 – peak performance to burst the lock). A crossbow, mounted above the door, triggered as the door opened but the bolt shattered into a hundred shards of metal as it struck Jacob’s holy shield.
“Sage! I need to speak with you!”
“Go away, thieving, burgling evil doer!” Came the grumbling reply. Aah, good, he knew it was me.
“I have something for you, something that will blow your mind – and make all your petty collection pale into insignifcance.”
“…”
“I mean it, really I do. You just have to do one thing.”
“What?” He looked suspicious, but I could see – could feel – the spark of obsession growing within him.
“Come with me.” I turned to leave and he followed, and I took him to the greatest collection of all. Locus Balthiel.
Jacob returned to his flat, fully expecting chaos - he was not to be disappointed.
The Sage - who he had left in the flat guarded by his cat - had carefully piled all of his possessions in the centre of his living room, and was currently visible through the french windows on the patio, struggling with the barbeque. Jezzabel - the pseudo-cat - slept soundly atop the pile. Damned feline, Jacob thought, before raising his voice.
"Sage! We have got to find you your own place. Follow me."
The Sage, well aware of what disobeying his master meant, scurried to his side. The two strode back out the front door and down the hillside. Jacob glanced about the whole time, as if searching for something.
"There will be perfect." He proclaimed, stepping off the road and winding his way between two funerary statues. A crumbling mausoleum sat beyond, and the Sage looked at him quizzically.
"Here" Jacob gestured "will be your new home. And shop." The Sage raised his eyebrows. "You'll like it. It comes from 3rd Century Gaul. And those statues - Jerusalem, 12th Century." The Sage's frown was replaced with a grin. "See, told you. Plus, it gives me the chance to try something out."
Jacob closed his eyes and extended his mind, his Noble conciousness brushing against that of his Anchor. He pushed, using his Anchor as a lens for his miraculous power, and a two storey building was suddenly there, incorporating the Mausolea as its ground floor and the statues as a porch. The structure resembled a shop front, albeit one built by someone with gothic and morbid tastes in architecture. (Lesser Creation of Realm, Deep Miracle, spending 2 RMPs and 2 SMPs by using the Sage to work the miracle through).
"I'll be back later on - I've made you some basic furniture, but I expect you will have acquired much more by the time I return. Think of it as a blank slate, something of a challenge with which you can busy yourself."
The Sage's eyes glazed over in excitement. From somewhere he had already procured a broken vase - Ming dynasty by the looks of it. He would get along just fine, Jacob thought as he wound his way back to his house. Just so long as he kept out of Jacob's house.
The Sage - who he had left in the flat guarded by his cat - had carefully piled all of his possessions in the centre of his living room, and was currently visible through the french windows on the patio, struggling with the barbeque. Jezzabel - the pseudo-cat - slept soundly atop the pile. Damned feline, Jacob thought, before raising his voice.
"Sage! We have got to find you your own place. Follow me."
The Sage, well aware of what disobeying his master meant, scurried to his side. The two strode back out the front door and down the hillside. Jacob glanced about the whole time, as if searching for something.
"There will be perfect." He proclaimed, stepping off the road and winding his way between two funerary statues. A crumbling mausoleum sat beyond, and the Sage looked at him quizzically.
"Here" Jacob gestured "will be your new home. And shop." The Sage raised his eyebrows. "You'll like it. It comes from 3rd Century Gaul. And those statues - Jerusalem, 12th Century." The Sage's frown was replaced with a grin. "See, told you. Plus, it gives me the chance to try something out."
Jacob closed his eyes and extended his mind, his Noble conciousness brushing against that of his Anchor. He pushed, using his Anchor as a lens for his miraculous power, and a two storey building was suddenly there, incorporating the Mausolea as its ground floor and the statues as a porch. The structure resembled a shop front, albeit one built by someone with gothic and morbid tastes in architecture. (Lesser Creation of Realm, Deep Miracle, spending 2 RMPs and 2 SMPs by using the Sage to work the miracle through).
"I'll be back later on - I've made you some basic furniture, but I expect you will have acquired much more by the time I return. Think of it as a blank slate, something of a challenge with which you can busy yourself."
The Sage's eyes glazed over in excitement. From somewhere he had already procured a broken vase - Ming dynasty by the looks of it. He would get along just fine, Jacob thought as he wound his way back to his house. Just so long as he kept out of Jacob's house.
The mind is like an orchestra, each of its thoughts the individual instruments. Together they work in harmony, to create a pleasing sound. Many parts of the orchestra are the same instrument, and these represent thoughts that echo the strongest within the mind - interests, loves and passions.
A mind obsessed is like an orchestra made up of one instrument - all the thoughts are turned to one thing. Whilst in theory, this may seem appealing (if you like the sound of that instrument), in practice it sounds like a cacophony. And that is how Obsession works, and how loves and passions and hobbies are corrupted. The harmonious sound of the mind is twisted into a screeching, mewling, monotone noise.
A mind obsessed is like an orchestra made up of one instrument - all the thoughts are turned to one thing. Whilst in theory, this may seem appealing (if you like the sound of that instrument), in practice it sounds like a cacophony. And that is how Obsession works, and how loves and passions and hobbies are corrupted. The harmonious sound of the mind is twisted into a screeching, mewling, monotone noise.
Jacob's Witch Hunt rite
There are traces of miracles everywhere, especially on the anchor, who's filling with some strange energy. The magazine of the gun has an aura suggesting a powerful miracle akin to one of Realm surrounding it. The road and the air above the walls and in the gate has the taint of some potent gift of destruction.
The originator of the miracles is more heavily clouded. An image swims into your mind - a series of wave forms, overlapping each other, white on a black background. A mask, quartered black and white. And, lastly, three phrases - 'Be strong in adversity, wise in decision. In action, be elegance itself.'
The Memories of Justin Wallace
The memories are garbled, partial at best. Entire swathes of this man's life have been wiped from his mind by the pain of renunciation. Vignettes from his early childhood spring up.
Abandoned as a child barely three years old, mistreated and ignored by the adults at the care home. Fell into bad company as a young teenager ...
Then more static, until recent times.
Leader of a criminal gang, thugs for hire. Tried to forget many things, but can't. A man's face, beaten until the fragments of bone floated freely in his flesh. The sound of an animal screaming, trapped in warehouse burning down to fulfil some businessman's plans of fraud. And then...
It was Halloween, rich pickings available from the richer drunks making their way home from sundry parties, the gang spread out among the shortcut alleyways. One was striding along the street as if he owned it, his face concealed by a quartered mask of black and white, wearing a black robe decorated on the front with a series of waveforms. Stepping out in front of him, blocking his path. Striking at him, feeling the blow pass straight through his robe, meeting only the resistance of hanging cloth. The masked man paused momentarily, then the design on his robe seemed to shift, and his dark eyes blazed with light...
Static.
More static.
Gradually resolving itself into pitch blackness, speckled with gently falling stars.
Only saw him in person once after that, when he took off his mask and revealed a face of porcelain beauty. Felt an all-too-momentary, elegant touch from his white fingers, solid and real this time, far more real than anything else. He told of many things, but of the Ride after Creation most of all - of an apotheosis. Didn't know what that word meant, but it was beautiful anyway, too beautiful. He left behind ten guns of unusual design, their ammo hoppers seemingly empty.
The gang whispered dissent, losing it, going mental. Three of them attacked with knives, wanting a new leader. A silent prayer, not even whispered, only thought ... but suddenly he was there, taking over the reins of will and mind.
Static.
And then, it was minutes later, and the three men were pinioned to the wall by their own knives, through their throats, like three artistically posed statues. Not a single drop of their blood had been spilt. No-one questioned him after that.
He talked in his mind. He said he'd take control again, take two of the gang's best men, deal with some ... minor inconveniences. They got to a cemetery, and then he took over.
Static.
And then, the pure, blinding, agonising white light of being turned away by beauty. And then nothing.
There are traces of miracles everywhere, especially on the anchor, who's filling with some strange energy. The magazine of the gun has an aura suggesting a powerful miracle akin to one of Realm surrounding it. The road and the air above the walls and in the gate has the taint of some potent gift of destruction.
The originator of the miracles is more heavily clouded. An image swims into your mind - a series of wave forms, overlapping each other, white on a black background. A mask, quartered black and white. And, lastly, three phrases - 'Be strong in adversity, wise in decision. In action, be elegance itself.'
The Memories of Justin Wallace
The memories are garbled, partial at best. Entire swathes of this man's life have been wiped from his mind by the pain of renunciation. Vignettes from his early childhood spring up.
Abandoned as a child barely three years old, mistreated and ignored by the adults at the care home. Fell into bad company as a young teenager ...
Then more static, until recent times.
Leader of a criminal gang, thugs for hire. Tried to forget many things, but can't. A man's face, beaten until the fragments of bone floated freely in his flesh. The sound of an animal screaming, trapped in warehouse burning down to fulfil some businessman's plans of fraud. And then...
It was Halloween, rich pickings available from the richer drunks making their way home from sundry parties, the gang spread out among the shortcut alleyways. One was striding along the street as if he owned it, his face concealed by a quartered mask of black and white, wearing a black robe decorated on the front with a series of waveforms. Stepping out in front of him, blocking his path. Striking at him, feeling the blow pass straight through his robe, meeting only the resistance of hanging cloth. The masked man paused momentarily, then the design on his robe seemed to shift, and his dark eyes blazed with light...
Static.
More static.
Gradually resolving itself into pitch blackness, speckled with gently falling stars.
Only saw him in person once after that, when he took off his mask and revealed a face of porcelain beauty. Felt an all-too-momentary, elegant touch from his white fingers, solid and real this time, far more real than anything else. He told of many things, but of the Ride after Creation most of all - of an apotheosis. Didn't know what that word meant, but it was beautiful anyway, too beautiful. He left behind ten guns of unusual design, their ammo hoppers seemingly empty.
The gang whispered dissent, losing it, going mental. Three of them attacked with knives, wanting a new leader. A silent prayer, not even whispered, only thought ... but suddenly he was there, taking over the reins of will and mind.
Static.
And then, it was minutes later, and the three men were pinioned to the wall by their own knives, through their throats, like three artistically posed statues. Not a single drop of their blood had been spilt. No-one questioned him after that.
He talked in his mind. He said he'd take control again, take two of the gang's best men, deal with some ... minor inconveniences. They got to a cemetery, and then he took over.
Static.
And then, the pure, blinding, agonising white light of being turned away by beauty. And then nothing.
The Nettle Rite
The gestures are so simple. Some Nobles have used this rite so often that their hands flex instinctively at the mere sight of a patch of weeds. All it takes to enact is a crushing and scattering of nettles, and a few words. But the effects of channelling such devastating forces are never straightforward, especially when this is your first nettling.
Reality bends, and you can see beyond the veil of prosaic and mythic. You are forming a spiritual channel beyond Earth, beyond the World Ash, beyond even the blue fire of the Weirding Wall and the aegis of the Bright and Shadowed Realms, out into the Lands Beyond Creation.
The place is dark, though your divine essence tells you that this is not an absolute emptiness. Rather, it is the presence of beings so utterly alien to your reality that they do not truly exist at all from your viewpoint. A shoal of creatures slightly closer to your comprehension swims past - to your confused senses, they look sibilant, sound salty, and smell green.
A distant, pulsing light appears in the distance, like that of a certain kind of star. Suddenly, without any kind of warning, it engulfs you, and you are surrounded by a starscape, each star pulsing with the same rhythm. In each star's heart, an image forms - in one, a tetrahedral crystal, in another, a multifacted, glittering gem. In a third, you can see an image of a series of waves, stacked upon each other like mountains, white lines against blackness. At last, you find your target - a image of a porcelain doll, leading a tide of white horses against a tree. You dive into this star's heart.
Frightening power engulfs you, threatening to overwhelm you altogether. You are buffeted this way and that by the pulsing heartbeat of the star. But gradually, painfully slowly, the roaring, hellishly sun-hot inferno of spirit and soul in your heart begins to win out against the tide. Silver starlight transmutes to golden yellow fire, and is passed back along the conduit, to your brethren.
Suddenly, the silver light turns to grey, and its pulsing grows erratic. A few moments later, and it explodes, sending a final, harder fillip of energy down the conduit, to the spirit of Revenge. The starscape seems to roar around you, as if wounded, and retreats from you.
As it moves away, you see the stars form themselves into an image ... a humanoid creature in black robes, with dark eyes, and a quartered mask, far more ornate than that worn by the Shard. One hand is gauntleted, but you can see the other is pale, beautiful flesh, with strange, white fingernails of a glossy porcelain-like material. At the back of its head, where the mask doesn't cover, a strangely beautiful mass of hair, apparently made of silk and weeds plaited together, hangs to its waist.
Suddenly, it vanishes into the distance, becoming a single point of light again, which pulses briefly, and then winks out. The connection is severed, and you are again alone in your chambers - exhausted, and yet feeling more full of power than ever before.
The gestures are so simple. Some Nobles have used this rite so often that their hands flex instinctively at the mere sight of a patch of weeds. All it takes to enact is a crushing and scattering of nettles, and a few words. But the effects of channelling such devastating forces are never straightforward, especially when this is your first nettling.
Reality bends, and you can see beyond the veil of prosaic and mythic. You are forming a spiritual channel beyond Earth, beyond the World Ash, beyond even the blue fire of the Weirding Wall and the aegis of the Bright and Shadowed Realms, out into the Lands Beyond Creation.
The place is dark, though your divine essence tells you that this is not an absolute emptiness. Rather, it is the presence of beings so utterly alien to your reality that they do not truly exist at all from your viewpoint. A shoal of creatures slightly closer to your comprehension swims past - to your confused senses, they look sibilant, sound salty, and smell green.
A distant, pulsing light appears in the distance, like that of a certain kind of star. Suddenly, without any kind of warning, it engulfs you, and you are surrounded by a starscape, each star pulsing with the same rhythm. In each star's heart, an image forms - in one, a tetrahedral crystal, in another, a multifacted, glittering gem. In a third, you can see an image of a series of waves, stacked upon each other like mountains, white lines against blackness. At last, you find your target - a image of a porcelain doll, leading a tide of white horses against a tree. You dive into this star's heart.
Frightening power engulfs you, threatening to overwhelm you altogether. You are buffeted this way and that by the pulsing heartbeat of the star. But gradually, painfully slowly, the roaring, hellishly sun-hot inferno of spirit and soul in your heart begins to win out against the tide. Silver starlight transmutes to golden yellow fire, and is passed back along the conduit, to your brethren.
Suddenly, the silver light turns to grey, and its pulsing grows erratic. A few moments later, and it explodes, sending a final, harder fillip of energy down the conduit, to the spirit of Revenge. The starscape seems to roar around you, as if wounded, and retreats from you.
As it moves away, you see the stars form themselves into an image ... a humanoid creature in black robes, with dark eyes, and a quartered mask, far more ornate than that worn by the Shard. One hand is gauntleted, but you can see the other is pale, beautiful flesh, with strange, white fingernails of a glossy porcelain-like material. At the back of its head, where the mask doesn't cover, a strangely beautiful mass of hair, apparently made of silk and weeds plaited together, hangs to its waist.
Suddenly, it vanishes into the distance, becoming a single point of light again, which pulses briefly, and then winks out. The connection is severed, and you are again alone in your chambers - exhausted, and yet feeling more full of power than ever before.
Faith Deltarion, Domina Falcum (stolen from rpg.net)
Faith Deltarion ~ Viscount of Blades
Attributes
Aspect 4
Domain 2
Realm 1
Spirit 1
MP's (AMP = 5, DMP = 5, RMP = 5, SMP = 5)
Gifts
Durant
Virtues
Hopeful
Oath-bound (Once given her word is her bond. She'll still lie happily, but will never make an actual false promise)
Limits
None
Restrictions
Respectful
(Of skilled warriors or anyone with the courage to challenge her - she will not refuse a challenge to personal combat, and will avoid killing a worthy opponent if she can)
Revelatory Trait
(Spirits of her estate always recognise Faith, her angelic aspect - large white wings - will be visible in the reflection of a blade, even when Faith is guised or otherwise disguised with miracles. Mirrors don't count - but the shards of a broken one would, as would any other potential edged weapon. Wooden blades - such as practice swords - have no reflection, but their spirits recognise Faith nonetheless)
Inability to use guns
(Imperator Limit)
Wound Levels
2 Deadly
3 Serious
3 Surface
Bonds
4 Sanctity of the Estate of Blades
4 Her Imperator
4 Her Familia Caelestis
3 Welfare of older sister, Sarah
2 Welfare of (rest of) mortal family
2 Personal prowess with blades
1 Usefulness of her anchor Buck O'Conner (she could care less about his welfare, so long as he remains useful to Blades)
Affiliation
Code of Heaven
Design
Faith's design is the white flower of Achillea intertwined with the yellow bloom of Wood Sorrel - War but also Joy. Around the bottom of the entwined blooms is a wound ring of White Lilac (the flower of youthful innocence) as recognition of her recent commencement. As befits a follower of the Code of Angels there is no background, the flowers form the complete design.
[Only Achillea and Wood Sorrel are part of the actual design for game purposes - the lilac is simply an affectation]
History
“When I was growing up ‘tomboy’ was one of the things people said when they were being polite. Some of what they said when they were being nasty I’m not going to repeat, and most people didn’t either after I broke that girls nose. Hey she asked for it, it’s not like I’m a violent person, it’s not like I didn’t give her a chance to take it back. If you talked to a psych – and my dad took me to more then one – they’d say I was ‘seeking attention’, or ‘over compensating’. They’d say it was natural I’d try and emulate my brother (James isn’t one to turn the other cheek either) because we’d grown up on a succession of army bases and garrison towns. My Dad’s in the military you see – U.S Army General. Mom died back when I was little so we kinda had to follow him around on his postings. They’d even say it was the lack of a female role model in my life (Dad never re-married, said he’d loved as much as he was able, and we all left it at that).”
”Well all’a that is just bull, plain and simple. If growing up without a mother on bases where everyone knew how to use a gun was so damn traumatising, how did Sarah wind up turnign out OK hmmm? Sarah’s my big sister by the way, three years older then me and then James is two years older then her. She was sweet, well spoken, polite when she had to be, worried constantly about what to wear, you know – girlie.”
“Me? I just didn’t see the fun in all that you know? Sure I’d make the effort to dress up if we were going out somewhere, but there was no way on this earth I was gonna spend hours on deciding ‘this dress or that dress’, ‘do these shoes go with this’ etc etc ad infinitum. Sarah did that well enough for both of us. No I just enjoyed running, climbing…you know - outdoor stuff. It wasn’t because I idolised my brother – believe it or not its me and Sarah who are the close ones – or was somehow corrupted by spending time with real army people. I just liked the feeling of satisfaction when you achieve something yourself, just you, your skill, your body versus whatever. It helped that I grew up around a whole series of uncles and honorary godfathers who encouraged my behaviour. But I did it because I wanted to. I’d have done it if everyone around me was telling me not to – but I was a lot happier that people weren’t like that. Sure if I’d been in some typical little suburban life perhaps peer pressure and disapproval might have eventually browbeaten me into sticking to ‘womanly’ arts – but I would have been a very unhappy child.”
“Instead you could find me up and down the training courses when the guys weren’t on ‘em, or doing circuits around the camp with the other troopers. Hey some of the drill-sergeants incorporated me into the routines ‘anyone that gets in after Faith is doing it again – c’mon, you wanna be beaten by a girl ‘. I knew they were just using it to spur on the runners – didn’t rankle me none. You spend time with army people you develop a hide to the general level of banter and name calling. Didn’t mean I was going to take any crap from damn civvies who actually meant to be nasty though.”
“To be honest I’m not quite sure where I would have ended up. I was starting to develop a rep with schools and what have you, and looking back I guess I was probably doing a little more then ‘acting out’. I certainly didn’t want to join the army. I knew a lot of women on the bases, and don’t get me wrong they were good people and I’m proud to know them. It was just I didn’t like the idea. I liked the idea of serving my country, you can’t have a Dad like mine and not get that he isn’t just saying these things because he’s a recruiter, he believes it and is willing to put his life on the line. But basically I didn’t get off on the whole ‘gun’ thing – James was a real gun-nut but it just, you-know, never seemed attractive to me. And the modern army is mostly about guns, or technology like tanks or planes or missiles. Unless of course I wanted to join up as support or admin or whatever and...I don’t think anyone could see me doing a desk job.”
“What I wanted to be was a samurai. Or a knight. Or pretty much anything that involved using a sword. One of my Dad’s friends showed me his sword collection, oh must have been back when I was ten or so. He’d collected some from wars he’d fought in personally, others he’s collected because he decided he just liked swords. I loved them. I couldn’t get enough of how beautiful they were, how something could be both deadly and elegant at the same time. He let me hold a katana and take a few practice swings, showed me how to hold it properly so I could feel the aliveness of the blade. Boy was I ever hooked. Turns out there was a guy teaching kendo as a hobby on the base – I signed up that afternoon. After that whenever we set up at a new base I’d try to find somewhere to practice. Kendo, fencing, whatever. If I couldn’t find anywhere I’d read books and practice by myself. I’d sign up to other martial-arts as well once I realised that they were pretty much the physical competition I’d been looking for, but swords were my love. I watched pretty much every film about sword-fighting ever made, read all the books, and practised, practised and practised some-more”
“When I was sixteen something bad happened to Sarah. She was studying at university to become a graphics designer – she’s a great artist, really special – but then half way through her first year she had to come home. She was real upset and Dad and James looked after her as best they could, hell we all did. She cried an awful lot and wouldn’t go out hardly at all. But there was this unspoken rule that ‘no one tell Faith’. God it made me angry sometimes, how they’d all just clam up as soon as I walked into the room, Sarah with tears all down her face and the boys either looking helpless or angry...”
“Of course I found out eventually. Sarah had been raped, except no one seemed to be calling it that. Seemed she’d gone to a party, had what she thought was a sensible amount to drink, and then it was the next day and she knew. People seemed to be laying the blame firmly at Sarah’s door – but they didn’t know her. My sister never, ever drinks to excess. There is no way she'd have got like that on her own, no way. They didn’t see her that year at home, how close it came to breaking her. There was no question of her going back – not when she wouldn’t know who was secretly laughing at her, pointing…She managed to get her life together enough to make it to a different place and start afresh. But she’s scared now. Closed. It changed her.”
“Usually I’m a happy person. ‘Pollyanne’ was not an unusual nickname for me. And mostly I didn’t mind – I mean you gotta laugh or cry yeah? But that year was pretty black for me. I learned what hate was that year – hate for this person that had hurt my sister, hurt her so badly she might never be the funny and carefree person she used to be ever again. I had a lot of rage to channel that year. I think I wound up being 1st or 2nd in a whole bunch of state martial arts tourneys, my teachers saying I’d never been more dedicated.”
“But life goes on, y’know? You find your way to go on and you deal. Eventually Sarah found her way, and if she didn’t laugh as much as she used to at least she no longer broke down crying. The rest of us made our way on as well. Sarah’s just graduated with honours, James is doing his first tour of duty (he signed up as soon as he was able – even though dad made him finish college first), and Dad...is still Dad.”
“And me? What happened to the girl who wanted to be something there just isn’t any call for this day and age? Well it turns out that someone answered my prayers, because this big fracking angel guy turned up in my dreams and told me to go to a certain place at a certain time. Told me every night for a month straight. I knew, somehow, that this was something I just had to do. So despite misgivings the certain night found me in a graveyard at the appointed time – a graveyard for chrisakes. At night. Alone. But then some people arrived, people that I’d never seen before, and they told me things and showed me things and nothing was ever going to be the same any more.”
“There’s magic and beauty and wonder in this world. There’s also Hell and evil, but there’s a heaven as well, and as long as there’s a heaven I think there is hope for this world yet. And I belong, truly belong, belong to something so beautiful…”
“But the rest you know, dear diary, the rest you know”
Description
Faith has a face that could be described as pretty. Her features are well proportioned and her cheekbones lend her face a suggestion of strength, while clear blue eyes sparkle with delight. Her hair is somewhat below shoulder length, and of a darkish blond colour that has sometimes unkindly been called 'muddy'. She usually wears her hair bound up in a plait or piled on top of her head and secured with clasps or pins...or more recently with two ornate daggers.
She is enough over average height to be called tall, but not overly so. Her frame is well toned and lithe - a legacy of a childhood mostly spent competing with boys at athletics and, latter, martial-arts.
Of course none of this is what will initially strike an observer of Faith's natural state. That honour is now firmly held by her manifestation of her Imperator's soul-shard - a pair of beautiful, feathered, wings of purest white. Among other things this means Faith now favours dresses which leave her back bare, her previous wardrobe of t-shirts now being completely impractical. When guised the place they should be are marked by tattoos on her shoulder-blades, and she tends to stick to keeping her back bare - having to shred clothes when dropping a guise being so unseemly.
Anchors
About a week after her commencement, once she’d found her feet again after the revelations and changes of the last seven days, the concept of anchors was explained to her. Her first choice was obvious – and Enmity and Revenge were only to happy to help her find her way. It took a little over six hours to find that her sisters violator was one Buck O’Conner, a football-scholar who’d scraped his way through college. The only reason that he’s still alive is that Faith sees his anchoring as so much worse then killing him. Currently she has him travelling the globe looking for craftsmen and sword-scholars that might be able to help in the great project. At least until she thinks of something better to do with him. Her second anchor could be more tricky. Faith doesn’t want to bond someone she cares about, and there’s no one else she really hates enough to do it to either. But she’s confident something will come along eventually, it usually does.
Attributes
Aspect 4
Domain 2
Realm 1
Spirit 1
MP's (AMP = 5, DMP = 5, RMP = 5, SMP = 5)
Gifts
Durant
Virtues
Hopeful
Oath-bound (Once given her word is her bond. She'll still lie happily, but will never make an actual false promise)
Limits
None
Restrictions
Respectful
(Of skilled warriors or anyone with the courage to challenge her - she will not refuse a challenge to personal combat, and will avoid killing a worthy opponent if she can)
Revelatory Trait
(Spirits of her estate always recognise Faith, her angelic aspect - large white wings - will be visible in the reflection of a blade, even when Faith is guised or otherwise disguised with miracles. Mirrors don't count - but the shards of a broken one would, as would any other potential edged weapon. Wooden blades - such as practice swords - have no reflection, but their spirits recognise Faith nonetheless)
Inability to use guns
(Imperator Limit)
Wound Levels
2 Deadly
3 Serious
3 Surface
Bonds
4 Sanctity of the Estate of Blades
4 Her Imperator
4 Her Familia Caelestis
3 Welfare of older sister, Sarah
2 Welfare of (rest of) mortal family
2 Personal prowess with blades
1 Usefulness of her anchor Buck O'Conner (she could care less about his welfare, so long as he remains useful to Blades)
Affiliation
Code of Heaven
Design
Faith's design is the white flower of Achillea intertwined with the yellow bloom of Wood Sorrel - War but also Joy. Around the bottom of the entwined blooms is a wound ring of White Lilac (the flower of youthful innocence) as recognition of her recent commencement. As befits a follower of the Code of Angels there is no background, the flowers form the complete design.
[Only Achillea and Wood Sorrel are part of the actual design for game purposes - the lilac is simply an affectation]
History
“When I was growing up ‘tomboy’ was one of the things people said when they were being polite. Some of what they said when they were being nasty I’m not going to repeat, and most people didn’t either after I broke that girls nose. Hey she asked for it, it’s not like I’m a violent person, it’s not like I didn’t give her a chance to take it back. If you talked to a psych – and my dad took me to more then one – they’d say I was ‘seeking attention’, or ‘over compensating’. They’d say it was natural I’d try and emulate my brother (James isn’t one to turn the other cheek either) because we’d grown up on a succession of army bases and garrison towns. My Dad’s in the military you see – U.S Army General. Mom died back when I was little so we kinda had to follow him around on his postings. They’d even say it was the lack of a female role model in my life (Dad never re-married, said he’d loved as much as he was able, and we all left it at that).”
”Well all’a that is just bull, plain and simple. If growing up without a mother on bases where everyone knew how to use a gun was so damn traumatising, how did Sarah wind up turnign out OK hmmm? Sarah’s my big sister by the way, three years older then me and then James is two years older then her. She was sweet, well spoken, polite when she had to be, worried constantly about what to wear, you know – girlie.”
“Me? I just didn’t see the fun in all that you know? Sure I’d make the effort to dress up if we were going out somewhere, but there was no way on this earth I was gonna spend hours on deciding ‘this dress or that dress’, ‘do these shoes go with this’ etc etc ad infinitum. Sarah did that well enough for both of us. No I just enjoyed running, climbing…you know - outdoor stuff. It wasn’t because I idolised my brother – believe it or not its me and Sarah who are the close ones – or was somehow corrupted by spending time with real army people. I just liked the feeling of satisfaction when you achieve something yourself, just you, your skill, your body versus whatever. It helped that I grew up around a whole series of uncles and honorary godfathers who encouraged my behaviour. But I did it because I wanted to. I’d have done it if everyone around me was telling me not to – but I was a lot happier that people weren’t like that. Sure if I’d been in some typical little suburban life perhaps peer pressure and disapproval might have eventually browbeaten me into sticking to ‘womanly’ arts – but I would have been a very unhappy child.”
“Instead you could find me up and down the training courses when the guys weren’t on ‘em, or doing circuits around the camp with the other troopers. Hey some of the drill-sergeants incorporated me into the routines ‘anyone that gets in after Faith is doing it again – c’mon, you wanna be beaten by a girl ‘. I knew they were just using it to spur on the runners – didn’t rankle me none. You spend time with army people you develop a hide to the general level of banter and name calling. Didn’t mean I was going to take any crap from damn civvies who actually meant to be nasty though.”
“To be honest I’m not quite sure where I would have ended up. I was starting to develop a rep with schools and what have you, and looking back I guess I was probably doing a little more then ‘acting out’. I certainly didn’t want to join the army. I knew a lot of women on the bases, and don’t get me wrong they were good people and I’m proud to know them. It was just I didn’t like the idea. I liked the idea of serving my country, you can’t have a Dad like mine and not get that he isn’t just saying these things because he’s a recruiter, he believes it and is willing to put his life on the line. But basically I didn’t get off on the whole ‘gun’ thing – James was a real gun-nut but it just, you-know, never seemed attractive to me. And the modern army is mostly about guns, or technology like tanks or planes or missiles. Unless of course I wanted to join up as support or admin or whatever and...I don’t think anyone could see me doing a desk job.”
“What I wanted to be was a samurai. Or a knight. Or pretty much anything that involved using a sword. One of my Dad’s friends showed me his sword collection, oh must have been back when I was ten or so. He’d collected some from wars he’d fought in personally, others he’s collected because he decided he just liked swords. I loved them. I couldn’t get enough of how beautiful they were, how something could be both deadly and elegant at the same time. He let me hold a katana and take a few practice swings, showed me how to hold it properly so I could feel the aliveness of the blade. Boy was I ever hooked. Turns out there was a guy teaching kendo as a hobby on the base – I signed up that afternoon. After that whenever we set up at a new base I’d try to find somewhere to practice. Kendo, fencing, whatever. If I couldn’t find anywhere I’d read books and practice by myself. I’d sign up to other martial-arts as well once I realised that they were pretty much the physical competition I’d been looking for, but swords were my love. I watched pretty much every film about sword-fighting ever made, read all the books, and practised, practised and practised some-more”
“When I was sixteen something bad happened to Sarah. She was studying at university to become a graphics designer – she’s a great artist, really special – but then half way through her first year she had to come home. She was real upset and Dad and James looked after her as best they could, hell we all did. She cried an awful lot and wouldn’t go out hardly at all. But there was this unspoken rule that ‘no one tell Faith’. God it made me angry sometimes, how they’d all just clam up as soon as I walked into the room, Sarah with tears all down her face and the boys either looking helpless or angry...”
“Of course I found out eventually. Sarah had been raped, except no one seemed to be calling it that. Seemed she’d gone to a party, had what she thought was a sensible amount to drink, and then it was the next day and she knew. People seemed to be laying the blame firmly at Sarah’s door – but they didn’t know her. My sister never, ever drinks to excess. There is no way she'd have got like that on her own, no way. They didn’t see her that year at home, how close it came to breaking her. There was no question of her going back – not when she wouldn’t know who was secretly laughing at her, pointing…She managed to get her life together enough to make it to a different place and start afresh. But she’s scared now. Closed. It changed her.”
“Usually I’m a happy person. ‘Pollyanne’ was not an unusual nickname for me. And mostly I didn’t mind – I mean you gotta laugh or cry yeah? But that year was pretty black for me. I learned what hate was that year – hate for this person that had hurt my sister, hurt her so badly she might never be the funny and carefree person she used to be ever again. I had a lot of rage to channel that year. I think I wound up being 1st or 2nd in a whole bunch of state martial arts tourneys, my teachers saying I’d never been more dedicated.”
“But life goes on, y’know? You find your way to go on and you deal. Eventually Sarah found her way, and if she didn’t laugh as much as she used to at least she no longer broke down crying. The rest of us made our way on as well. Sarah’s just graduated with honours, James is doing his first tour of duty (he signed up as soon as he was able – even though dad made him finish college first), and Dad...is still Dad.”
“And me? What happened to the girl who wanted to be something there just isn’t any call for this day and age? Well it turns out that someone answered my prayers, because this big fracking angel guy turned up in my dreams and told me to go to a certain place at a certain time. Told me every night for a month straight. I knew, somehow, that this was something I just had to do. So despite misgivings the certain night found me in a graveyard at the appointed time – a graveyard for chrisakes. At night. Alone. But then some people arrived, people that I’d never seen before, and they told me things and showed me things and nothing was ever going to be the same any more.”
“There’s magic and beauty and wonder in this world. There’s also Hell and evil, but there’s a heaven as well, and as long as there’s a heaven I think there is hope for this world yet. And I belong, truly belong, belong to something so beautiful…”
“But the rest you know, dear diary, the rest you know”
Description
Faith has a face that could be described as pretty. Her features are well proportioned and her cheekbones lend her face a suggestion of strength, while clear blue eyes sparkle with delight. Her hair is somewhat below shoulder length, and of a darkish blond colour that has sometimes unkindly been called 'muddy'. She usually wears her hair bound up in a plait or piled on top of her head and secured with clasps or pins...or more recently with two ornate daggers.
She is enough over average height to be called tall, but not overly so. Her frame is well toned and lithe - a legacy of a childhood mostly spent competing with boys at athletics and, latter, martial-arts.
Of course none of this is what will initially strike an observer of Faith's natural state. That honour is now firmly held by her manifestation of her Imperator's soul-shard - a pair of beautiful, feathered, wings of purest white. Among other things this means Faith now favours dresses which leave her back bare, her previous wardrobe of t-shirts now being completely impractical. When guised the place they should be are marked by tattoos on her shoulder-blades, and she tends to stick to keeping her back bare - having to shred clothes when dropping a guise being so unseemly.
Anchors
About a week after her commencement, once she’d found her feet again after the revelations and changes of the last seven days, the concept of anchors was explained to her. Her first choice was obvious – and Enmity and Revenge were only to happy to help her find her way. It took a little over six hours to find that her sisters violator was one Buck O’Conner, a football-scholar who’d scraped his way through college. The only reason that he’s still alive is that Faith sees his anchoring as so much worse then killing him. Currently she has him travelling the globe looking for craftsmen and sword-scholars that might be able to help in the great project. At least until she thinks of something better to do with him. Her second anchor could be more tricky. Faith doesn’t want to bond someone she cares about, and there’s no one else she really hates enough to do it to either. But she’s confident something will come along eventually, it usually does.
Dear Diary,
So obviously I can't sleep.
I'm sitting here in an exquisite silk kimono, writing on the steps of my new home - a traditional 16th century Japanese dwelling, complete with swords and blades of every description adorning the walls.
A staff of three people, who might be more properly called retainers, are sleeping a few rooms away. But they will awaken with what would be the dawn, so that when I wake up I will have freshly laid out clothes and properly served tea. I have yet to work out if they're more upset that I'm a woman, or that I'm a yellow haired foreign devil - but their politeness and devotion doesn't let either show anyway.
The house itself is set on the crest of a hill, in a land of eternal night. It is surrounded by tombs and mausoleums taken from every age of the world - among whose grim walls both the living and risen dead of the chancel walk.
The kimono I'm wearing is beautifully embroidered with an artistic representation of the flowers that make up my personal heraldic design. In addition it has been expertly modified to add a v-shaped opening down the back so that my damn wings can fit through.
And yet none of these things are the reason I can't sleep.
I'm meeting my family tomorrow.
It's not the first time I've met them. I met them all when I was first chosen and brought to this place, but back then I was still a mortal and the memory is hazy and fractured. I've also seen most of them individually during the last two weeks (or is it three? my early days here are a blur of sensation and change). They have been teaching me the many, many things I must know to survive in this new world I find myself in, and teaching me well.
But tomorrow I will not be taught.
Tomorrow I am joining them in as the Power of Blades, representing my estate in whatever ritual is being performed. It's the first time I will be standing with them as a full member of our Familia Caelestis, the first time I will assume the mantle of my predecessor in truth, rather then just in name.
That's why I can't sleep. Around and around and around my thoughts go, like a gaggle of cats chasing their own tails. Not even my new powers of insight or intellect can rescue me from my minds frantic pacing. What if I make a mistake? What if I say the wrong thing, or offend someone? What if I do something that shows everyone I really am just a little girl who's in so far out of her depth she can't even see the shore from where she is? What if....
The Russians call the time around midnight the 'hour of the wolf' -the moment that dawn seems as if it will never come, and every fear and doubt you've ever had gathers around you like hungry wolves.
A dark, lonely time - and in this place there is no dawn to chase away the shadows. Every hour here is the wolf's hour.
At least it is if you let it be so.
Emily Dickenson said "Hope is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all"
I'm meeting my family tomorrow.
I hope I can prove myself worthy of them.
I hope.
It's graduation day. Let’s see what it brings.
So obviously I can't sleep.
I'm sitting here in an exquisite silk kimono, writing on the steps of my new home - a traditional 16th century Japanese dwelling, complete with swords and blades of every description adorning the walls.
A staff of three people, who might be more properly called retainers, are sleeping a few rooms away. But they will awaken with what would be the dawn, so that when I wake up I will have freshly laid out clothes and properly served tea. I have yet to work out if they're more upset that I'm a woman, or that I'm a yellow haired foreign devil - but their politeness and devotion doesn't let either show anyway.
The house itself is set on the crest of a hill, in a land of eternal night. It is surrounded by tombs and mausoleums taken from every age of the world - among whose grim walls both the living and risen dead of the chancel walk.
The kimono I'm wearing is beautifully embroidered with an artistic representation of the flowers that make up my personal heraldic design. In addition it has been expertly modified to add a v-shaped opening down the back so that my damn wings can fit through.
And yet none of these things are the reason I can't sleep.
I'm meeting my family tomorrow.
It's not the first time I've met them. I met them all when I was first chosen and brought to this place, but back then I was still a mortal and the memory is hazy and fractured. I've also seen most of them individually during the last two weeks (or is it three? my early days here are a blur of sensation and change). They have been teaching me the many, many things I must know to survive in this new world I find myself in, and teaching me well.
But tomorrow I will not be taught.
Tomorrow I am joining them in as the Power of Blades, representing my estate in whatever ritual is being performed. It's the first time I will be standing with them as a full member of our Familia Caelestis, the first time I will assume the mantle of my predecessor in truth, rather then just in name.
That's why I can't sleep. Around and around and around my thoughts go, like a gaggle of cats chasing their own tails. Not even my new powers of insight or intellect can rescue me from my minds frantic pacing. What if I make a mistake? What if I say the wrong thing, or offend someone? What if I do something that shows everyone I really am just a little girl who's in so far out of her depth she can't even see the shore from where she is? What if....
The Russians call the time around midnight the 'hour of the wolf' -the moment that dawn seems as if it will never come, and every fear and doubt you've ever had gathers around you like hungry wolves.
A dark, lonely time - and in this place there is no dawn to chase away the shadows. Every hour here is the wolf's hour.
At least it is if you let it be so.
Emily Dickenson said "Hope is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all"
I'm meeting my family tomorrow.
I hope I can prove myself worthy of them.
I hope.
It's graduation day. Let’s see what it brings.
Dear Diary,
Well how typical is this.
I wanted to write down my thoughts while I could still see them freshly in my mind. But now I’m ready I can’t even begin to put them down on paper.
I met the Angel Balthiel today, actually met him, in the flesh…I think. Before my commencement I saw him in dreams as he summoned me to him …but that isn’t the same as truly seeing him.
He was…He made me feel…It was like…
You see?
Whenever I think back I just have this tumble of words and emotions. He was heart rendingly beautiful – even the patterns of corruption that now stain him this couldn’t hide it. He was so beautiful, so…so right, that it hurt to look at him. Awesome, terrifying, holy…and the sense of a spirit so immense, so real, that every sensation I’ve ever experienced felt grey and dull in comparison. I could feel his essence buried deep down in the heart of me, could feel it singing as it resonated with him…aching to be one with him again. For one dizzying moment I felt this urge to throw myself into him and be complete again…
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. I just stood there dumbfounded - swamped by his mere presence. He spoke to the others, about the petitioners they had seen and the decisions they made I think…my thoughts didn’t seem to be coherent. I couldn’t grasp anything, my mind just flipped over and over. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d spoken to me directly. He didn’t seem to notice me this time, for which I am so very grateful, I guess I’m still to ‘new’ for him to register me.
I can only hope that in time, as my melding and control becomes deeper, I will be able to face him with the same calm as my brothers. Were they affected as I was? Are they simply strong enough to bear it?
The thought that I will meet with him again, probably many times, fills me with a deep dread. But yet the thought that I will meet with him again, even if only for a few moments, fills my heart with joy and longing. These two contradictions war within me – the longing to stand in the presence of such an incomparable being, the fear that if I may loose myself…
I hope that my Familia can guide me in this.
I hope that with time this will become easier.
I hope I will see him again soon…my bright lord…my hearts song…
Well how typical is this.
I wanted to write down my thoughts while I could still see them freshly in my mind. But now I’m ready I can’t even begin to put them down on paper.
I met the Angel Balthiel today, actually met him, in the flesh…I think. Before my commencement I saw him in dreams as he summoned me to him …but that isn’t the same as truly seeing him.
He was…He made me feel…It was like…
You see?
Whenever I think back I just have this tumble of words and emotions. He was heart rendingly beautiful – even the patterns of corruption that now stain him this couldn’t hide it. He was so beautiful, so…so right, that it hurt to look at him. Awesome, terrifying, holy…and the sense of a spirit so immense, so real, that every sensation I’ve ever experienced felt grey and dull in comparison. I could feel his essence buried deep down in the heart of me, could feel it singing as it resonated with him…aching to be one with him again. For one dizzying moment I felt this urge to throw myself into him and be complete again…
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything. I just stood there dumbfounded - swamped by his mere presence. He spoke to the others, about the petitioners they had seen and the decisions they made I think…my thoughts didn’t seem to be coherent. I couldn’t grasp anything, my mind just flipped over and over. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d spoken to me directly. He didn’t seem to notice me this time, for which I am so very grateful, I guess I’m still to ‘new’ for him to register me.
I can only hope that in time, as my melding and control becomes deeper, I will be able to face him with the same calm as my brothers. Were they affected as I was? Are they simply strong enough to bear it?
The thought that I will meet with him again, probably many times, fills me with a deep dread. But yet the thought that I will meet with him again, even if only for a few moments, fills my heart with joy and longing. These two contradictions war within me – the longing to stand in the presence of such an incomparable being, the fear that if I may loose myself…
I hope that my Familia can guide me in this.
I hope that with time this will become easier.
I hope I will see him again soon…my bright lord…my hearts song…
Let me tell you about my new family Dear Diary.
I met with them all again today; we have regular get togethers to discus recent events of interest - not exactly relaxed, but certainly slightly informal. In some ways we get along, in some ways we strike sparks - like any large family I guess.
Hmm where to begin. I'll start with Jacob as he seems easiest. Jacob is, I think, the newest to the Nobilis after me. He seems agreable enough, but I don't think he wants to be here at all. I think his estate scares him, he seems to be looking for a way out. I suppose I wouldn't be thrilled to be guardian of something like Obsession either...but I can feel my Lord's love for his estate like an open furnace - can't Jacob? There's something nasty about his commencement too - but of course no one want's to tell me, it's like Sarah all over again! I think it has something to do with the fact that there have been more Powers of Obsession then any of the rest of us. Still he seems pleaant enough, and still recognisably human...unlike most of the others.
Perhaps Bertram next. Bertram is Memory - and as befits his estate he remembers all his previous incarnations as a Power. This is in stark contrast to me, my inherited memories are patchy at best - I 'remember' only vague shadows of the previous Blades for instance. I mean I know he was some kind of Japanese warrior - but details like his personality, age, friends...all dart away when I try to bring them close. Brother Bertram is also not long enobled...but with his continuous memories he already seems fully settled in his role. He has been most polite when we speak, though we seem to have certain philosophical diferences. Still he is friendly enough and I hope we will remain on good terms. Also his Hall is truly wonderous - I feel I could spend an age simply wandering its passages looking at all he has preserved here...
Heinrich. Heinrich takes some getting used to. I mean he's the first honest to goodness ghost I've ever met. He's been dead quite a while, and as such he ocasionally seems a little old-fashioned and stiff - but he's been nothing but polite to me and we seem to get along ok. He is primarily the estate of Revenge...something which I can certainly empathise with, indeed our estates often twine closely. However he also represents Dark Passions...I'm not sure how I feel about that. I've heard awful stories about his garden from many of the chancelfolk, but I have yet to see it for myself...and I'm not sure I want to. Time will tell I guess.
Which just leaves Antipathy Jones - Emnity's regal. Antipathy is...well he's a bastard. Of all my bothers he's the one I'm having the hardest time relating to. He's been a power so long it's hard to comprehend - I suppose that's a long time to become bitter. He is spiteful and causes suffering purely for amusement, delights in it in fact. I mean he is serving his estate...but no, I don't think we are going to get along. He's been pleasant to me...but I can't help but feel that there is something insincere in his pleasantry's. I don't know what he want's with me but I don't think he has my best interests at heart. That and I always seem to have this nagging feeling that I'm very angry with him for something...but can't remember what. I mean his constant 'my child's' really irritated me, but when you think about it it's pretty accurate, certainly in relation to his age. No it's something else...well I'm sure I'll work it out eventually.
So we're a strange bunch and no mistake - but even in the short time I've been here I've come to care for them. Yes, even Antipathy. We're family now, no matter how we were brought together. Sure we're gonna fight about things, but at the end of the day each of us is part of a whole, we fit, we look after each other.
And I'll die defending them if I have to.
I met with them all again today; we have regular get togethers to discus recent events of interest - not exactly relaxed, but certainly slightly informal. In some ways we get along, in some ways we strike sparks - like any large family I guess.
Hmm where to begin. I'll start with Jacob as he seems easiest. Jacob is, I think, the newest to the Nobilis after me. He seems agreable enough, but I don't think he wants to be here at all. I think his estate scares him, he seems to be looking for a way out. I suppose I wouldn't be thrilled to be guardian of something like Obsession either...but I can feel my Lord's love for his estate like an open furnace - can't Jacob? There's something nasty about his commencement too - but of course no one want's to tell me, it's like Sarah all over again! I think it has something to do with the fact that there have been more Powers of Obsession then any of the rest of us. Still he seems pleaant enough, and still recognisably human...unlike most of the others.
Perhaps Bertram next. Bertram is Memory - and as befits his estate he remembers all his previous incarnations as a Power. This is in stark contrast to me, my inherited memories are patchy at best - I 'remember' only vague shadows of the previous Blades for instance. I mean I know he was some kind of Japanese warrior - but details like his personality, age, friends...all dart away when I try to bring them close. Brother Bertram is also not long enobled...but with his continuous memories he already seems fully settled in his role. He has been most polite when we speak, though we seem to have certain philosophical diferences. Still he is friendly enough and I hope we will remain on good terms. Also his Hall is truly wonderous - I feel I could spend an age simply wandering its passages looking at all he has preserved here...
Heinrich. Heinrich takes some getting used to. I mean he's the first honest to goodness ghost I've ever met. He's been dead quite a while, and as such he ocasionally seems a little old-fashioned and stiff - but he's been nothing but polite to me and we seem to get along ok. He is primarily the estate of Revenge...something which I can certainly empathise with, indeed our estates often twine closely. However he also represents Dark Passions...I'm not sure how I feel about that. I've heard awful stories about his garden from many of the chancelfolk, but I have yet to see it for myself...and I'm not sure I want to. Time will tell I guess.
Which just leaves Antipathy Jones - Emnity's regal. Antipathy is...well he's a bastard. Of all my bothers he's the one I'm having the hardest time relating to. He's been a power so long it's hard to comprehend - I suppose that's a long time to become bitter. He is spiteful and causes suffering purely for amusement, delights in it in fact. I mean he is serving his estate...but no, I don't think we are going to get along. He's been pleasant to me...but I can't help but feel that there is something insincere in his pleasantry's. I don't know what he want's with me but I don't think he has my best interests at heart. That and I always seem to have this nagging feeling that I'm very angry with him for something...but can't remember what. I mean his constant 'my child's' really irritated me, but when you think about it it's pretty accurate, certainly in relation to his age. No it's something else...well I'm sure I'll work it out eventually.
So we're a strange bunch and no mistake - but even in the short time I've been here I've come to care for them. Yes, even Antipathy. We're family now, no matter how we were brought together. Sure we're gonna fight about things, but at the end of the day each of us is part of a whole, we fit, we look after each other.
And I'll die defending them if I have to.
Blades, with Faith as soverign at least, is the estate of 'edged weapons'.
It is primarily concerned with the weapons themselves - though their manufacture is a secondary part of the estate...but is shared with other estates of manufacure (including The Forge as an obvious example). Skill, training and use of blades are all important, but don't necesserily fall within the miraculous bounds of the estate (I don't think Faith would be able to 'create' instant skill with a blade...though might be able to create a blade that could help its wielder)
Swords and knives resonate most strongly with the estate, but it's bounds also extends to other edged weapons, for example axes. Blades are weapons that cut - weapons that are primarily piercing rather then cutting (for example spears and arrows) fall outside of the estate. This means that, stragely enough, rapiers and such move towards the edges of the estate as their cutting edges are reduced (the totally blunted 'sword' used in fmodern fencing is almost dead to her). However intent is important as well, replica's and 'mock' blades do answer to her - for example wooden practice blades or kendo swords fall within the estate.
In the modern world of course, bladed weapons of war are much more scarce then they used to be, often limited to ceremonial or symbolic functions. In the more civilian world Faith's domain extends mostly to weapons that would be considered 'improvised'. Knives always answer to her for example, even knives whose primary function is not a weapon (such as cooking knives or pen knives)...though in such areas she overlaps with other estates. Other weapons of the moment that have cutting edge - a metal fragment (such as a prison shiv), a piece of shattered glass, a razor blade - will answer to her if the intent is right.
It is primarily concerned with the weapons themselves - though their manufacture is a secondary part of the estate...but is shared with other estates of manufacure (including The Forge as an obvious example). Skill, training and use of blades are all important, but don't necesserily fall within the miraculous bounds of the estate (I don't think Faith would be able to 'create' instant skill with a blade...though might be able to create a blade that could help its wielder)
Swords and knives resonate most strongly with the estate, but it's bounds also extends to other edged weapons, for example axes. Blades are weapons that cut - weapons that are primarily piercing rather then cutting (for example spears and arrows) fall outside of the estate. This means that, stragely enough, rapiers and such move towards the edges of the estate as their cutting edges are reduced (the totally blunted 'sword' used in fmodern fencing is almost dead to her). However intent is important as well, replica's and 'mock' blades do answer to her - for example wooden practice blades or kendo swords fall within the estate.
In the modern world of course, bladed weapons of war are much more scarce then they used to be, often limited to ceremonial or symbolic functions. In the more civilian world Faith's domain extends mostly to weapons that would be considered 'improvised'. Knives always answer to her for example, even knives whose primary function is not a weapon (such as cooking knives or pen knives)...though in such areas she overlaps with other estates. Other weapons of the moment that have cutting edge - a metal fragment (such as a prison shiv), a piece of shattered glass, a razor blade - will answer to her if the intent is right.
It should have been simple. Damnit it should have been easy. We get there, we divide up the cash, and we go our separate ways. So midnight on moonlit night we show up at the cemetery - me, George and Bud. George was strung like a piano wire and Bud appeared to be pissed at thw world, but they seemed to have kept it together well enough over the last few months. We checked the three padlocks were still intact and then ducked into the crypt together. The satchel of bills was exactly where we left it, tucked safely inside one of the coffins. We quickly separated the cash into three piles and then stuffed these into the three kit bags Bud had brought for the purpose. This accomplished we made our way out of the crypt again...and that's when things started to go wrong.
It seemed a little darker then when we had gone in, the moon was hidden behind some thick cloud, and to start with that's what I thought was causing us problems. Nothing seemed to look familiar, and judging by Bud and George's confused looks it wasn't just me that suddenly felt lost. I shrugged and set off between the grave markers and mausoleums, the graveyard wasn't that big so I was bound to hit the boundary eventually. From there we could just follow it round to where we'd parked earlier.
This seemed fine, nothing to worry about, and the other two fell in behind me. Ten minutes passed, then twenty and we were still walking between gravestones and tombs, none of which looked in the slightest bit familiar.
I said to George. "You work here - where the hell are we?"
I remember him looking about hopefully, sure he'd recognise something eventually "Gee, I'm not exactly sure Simon - but I mean we gotta be near the northern boundary by now, can't be much further...less we been walking in circles"
"We haven't" Bud displayed his usually conversational range. In his spare time he went hunting, forests and places it was easier to get lost in then a cemetery. He'd have noticed if we were doubling back on ourselves of that I was sure.
We continued a little further and the graves began to thin out - thinking we were close to the boundary we picked up the pace. But instead of a wall or fence marking the boundary of the plot, the ground just kind of opened out into this moorland - the kind of landscape that had no damn place being there.
George's look would have been comical if I'd been in a laughing mood. "This ain't right...there's nothing like this anywhere near here....hell nothing like this anywhere in the godamn state!"
"Get a grip George" I told him "it probably just looks different at night - after all we haven't crossed any roads, we're still somewhere near the cemetery"
But even as I said it I wasn’t sure I really believed it. The scenery really was all wrong...and I just got this sense of foreign, unknown. I couldn't shake it - nothing seemed right anymore. It was like they used to say in that old sci-fi series "you are now entering the outer limits...”. I mean that's how it began to feel, like we'd taken a wrong turn and wandered sideways to where we should be.
We set off again. The land about us continued to get more and more wild but we trudged on in silence, no one wanting to admit what was happening to the others. Then we encountered the first of the statues. It was a stern looking women clad in some kind of robe, holding a gleaming broadsword out in front of her. Without thinking I stepped forward and ran my hand along the blade, I'm not sure why but it just felt appropriate. Then I was left staring stupidly at my lacerated palm as a little of the blood trickled down the blade.
George snickered "Hey nice one Simon - just checking its sharp huh? Were you huh?"
Bud was more observant "There's another one there...and over there - hell looks like a whole parade of them. There's nothing like this anywhere near where we should be. Something's seriously nuts with this"
We wandered amongst the bizarre collection of statues, each one depicting a person with some kind of sword or blade. The statues were carved from a variety of different materials, but the weapons were always real. This definitely wasn't the graveyard anymore - the statues had to be someone's private collection...which would hopefully mean a house nearby, a few directions and we would be out of here and back to where things make sense.
The statues became more frequent and we began to make out paths laid between them. After a little further we came to a more substantial plaza of dark red paving stones, paths led off of it in several different directions. I put down my kit bag - something you may not appreciate is just how heavy that much cash is - while I discussed which way we should go with the others.
"Hey - are you guys lost?"
I literally jumped at the unexpected noise in the otherwise deathly quiet and spun round to see who had spoken. Leaning against a nearby statue was a blond haired girl, dressed in jeans and some strappy black top that left her back and midriff bare. She smiled prettily and walked over towards us, seemingly completely at ease among the statues. I remember the way she walked - every step an expression of grace and balance - like a dancer. My sister did ballet to a pretty high level, and she'd walk like that - even crossing a room her long hours of training would show through. Despite the bizarness of the surroundings, despite the frustration of what must have now been hours of wandering, I found myself grinning back at her - she had one of those guiless, infectious little smiles.
"What if we are?" Bud's hostile reply shook me from my slight reverie. We'd been looking for someone to tell us where we were, and now we'd finally met someone Bud was acting like an idiot.
She stopped a few feet away from Bud - still smiling; she didn't seem phased by his hostility at all.
"Whoa there big guy. I was just going to say if you are, lost that is, I could show you the way out. That's all." She had one of those anytown accents, I couldn't place where her home state might be.
"Yeah? Well how’s about you just tell us where we are and give us directions" Bud replied, still as confrontational as ever.
She laughed, a pleasant sound - genuine amusement, not forced. "Well explaining where you are could get a little complicated. My home's just up there..." She turned and pointed away into the dark. As she turned I caught sight of a pair of dark blue tattoos running down her back - feathery wings, like a dove. Very pretty.
Her jovial manner seemed to aggravate Bud "When I ask a question I expect a straight answer. Who the hell are you anyway?"
"I'm Faith, but I really don't think that's relevant just now. Are you guys lost or not?"
I decided to step in before Bud could open his mouth again "Yes, yes we are. We were making our way back to the carpark at Sanctuary graveyard...but we seem to have been turned around or something" Yeah, as if something a simple as that could explain where we now were.
"You guys were hanging out in a graveyard, in the middle of the night?"
Bud cut in before I could stop him "Mind your own business if you know what's good for you"
Again she looked amused rather then upset by the threat. Then she looked carefully at the identical kit bags we were carrying. "You guys in some kind of team?"
I should have seen it coming. Bud always was a little volatile...hell that's being charitable. Bud's got a real hair trigger, and lugging several thousand dollars in cash obviously wore on his nerves. He always was a big fan of the right to bare arms. Which is why him hauling a Colt .45 out from under his jacket shouldn't have come as a big surprise. It was slick a well-practised move - he drew the gun in one fluid movement and aimed it squarely at the girl’s chest.
The girl, Faith, froze where she was and slowly raised her hands to shoulder level, empty palms towards Bud. When she spoke there was surprise in her voice, but strangely enough not fear. "Hey...hey alright. I didn't know you felt like that. I'm just going to step back over here...no need for any hassle...no need to do anything we'll both regret..."
Bud strode towards her "Shut up, just shut up! Your mouth is gonna get you into so much damn trouble. You shoulda stayed well clear of our business"
"Look I really don't want to know anything ok...I don't have any interest in whatever it is you guys are up to. Really I don't. I couldn't care less"
"Perhaps you should of thought of that little Miss godam cheerful before you let your mouth run" Bud was practically shouting.
"Hey Bud, stay cool man, stay cool - there's no need to go all psycho man" George tried to pour oil on the water.
"You shut up too! She could be anyone, anyone! She's seen our faces, asked enough godam nosy questions about us..."
Faith spoke again "Look, seriously I'm not any kind of threat to you. I just want to show you the way out okay? Just walk away. Nothing hard about it. Don't do something you can't undo. Trust me - you don't want to do this..."
For a moment it looked like Bud was going to lower the gun...then his face hardened "I'm not going takin any godam chances."
The three shots were like thunder. The girl was thrown backwards with the impact as the rounds ripped into her chest - one even passed through her hand, held up in front of her as if it could shield her from the deadly hail. She landed awkwardly, arms thrown wide as if embracing the sky. So still. So very still.
For a few seconds none of us moved - George and I staring in disbelief at Bud and the crumpled body in front of him. He turned and looked at us "We couldn't have had someone causing the cops to ask questions"
"You don't think the cops are gonna ask questions about this!?" George shouted, "You gone and damnall made us accomplices to murder one! You crazy son of a bitch you could fry for this!"
Bud actually seemed remarkably calm now in the aftermath of violence "Yeah and who's gonna tell 'em. I'll loose the piece, and there’s nothing to link us to here...I mean we don't even know where here is." He shook his head "It's all screwed anyway - this whole place, the freaky little girl, the whole damned thing"
I was going over to check the body. With three close range shots into the centre mass I didn't have much hope, but I had to look...perhaps against all odds Bud hadn't just killed someone’s daughter in cold blood...I desperately wanted to undo the last thirty seconds, would have given anything to take back the sequence of events that ended with Bud shooting an innocent girl in the chest.
Bud and George were arguing, which is why I guess I was the only one that saw her sit back up. My heart leapt - there was a god! But my cry of surprise died on my lips upon seeing her face. The smile and laugh were gone as if they had never been. My heart went cold - at that moment there was nothing human in that face, no emotion, no flicker of recognition. I was looking at the face of some inhuman predator, a raptor stooping for the kill, and I was held in her blue eyes like a rabbit speared by oncoming headlights.
With infinite care she drew the back of her hand across her lips, smearing the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth like a parody of lipstick. As I stared, mesmerised, I could see glowing white wings unfurl behind her. Deep inside my mind something began to scream and wouldn't stop. In one fluid motion she was standing, and still I was paralysed. She padded towards Bud - his back was turned, unaware of the doom that approached - covering the ground in loping strides that spoke to me of wolf or panther.
As she drew level with him she reached back over her shoulder and made a strange pulling motion with her hand. She clenched her hand as if closed around something and then brought it back down in front of her, where she made the same gripping motion with her left hand, just below the right. At this moment something alerted Bud and he spun round, then gaped at the winged apparition before him.
She moved her hands down smoothly and buds right hand simply fell away, the pistol still clenched in it. He didn't even have time to start screaming before she braced her legs and swung her hands at neck level. There was a spray of blood and Bud's head rolled along the ground. I couldn't take it in, couldn't figure what had just happened. Then I found I could make out the outline of a long blade in her hands, I swear to you it was a completely see through sword - only made visible by the blood running down the cutting edge.
She pirouetted on the balls of her feet and pointed the not-blade towards George. Buds hand had come to rest by his feet, the gun held by the dead fingers. George was shaking like a leaf in a high wind and his eyes flicked between her and the pistol at his feet.
She spoke "Don't do it. Don't you do it. Just step away...no one else has to die"
"You're not human! What the hell are you..you...you monster. You cut his head off! You..."
George lunged for the pistol and I heard her groan "Don't you make me do this you stupid idiot" and then she was running towards him, flowing left and right like a shark in water. George fumbled the pistol and fired wildly as she approached, she flowed away from the shots effortlessly - ducking under his aim on the right and then spinning and drawing herself to her full height, the shimmering blade raised high above her head, the pristine white wings outstretched to either side. I was struck again by her grace, the way she had moved, the perfect cuts, the simple beauty of her frozen position. For a moment they stood like frozen like that, George staring in disbelief, the pistol still aimed off to the right at where she had been standing, and her holding the raised blade perfectly still above him. Her lips moved. I fancied she murmured "Please don't make me". Then George desperately dragged the pistol back across to aim at her and the blade fell like a diving swallow.
It caught him on a diagonal path where shoulder meets neck, the force of the impact drove him to his knees. She planted her foot on George's chest and pushed him away, pulling the blade free as he fell. He didn't get up. He wasn't going to - the cut had hewn through his chest and almost come out the other side.
I must have made some small whimpering sound for in a heartbeat she had the blade at my throat. This close I could see the blade really was transparent, only the blood made it visible. Its sharp point was held just above my Adams apple, against the pulsing beat of my carotid - just hard enough for me to feel it, not enough to cut. Again her eyes held me - blue like the summer sky.
"What's your name?" She asked me gently.
"S-Simon" I managed to croak out.
"Listen to me carefully Simon. I regret what just happened. I didn't want to hurt any of you..." her voice became harder "...but it really doesn't matter much to me one way or the other." The impossible wings flexed slightly behind her "I'm going to ask you some questions. If you answer truthfully you have my word that no harm will come to you, I'll lead you back to your world and you can do what you want with the rest of your life"
"I understand"
I know what you're thinking. Of course I humoured her - she was about to kill me, I'd say anything she wanted. But the strangest thing was I believed her - if I answered her questions she'd let me go. I didn't just hope that would happen, for whatever reason I truly believed she would keep her word. Something spoke to my instincts and told me that, in this, she could be trusted.
"Good. Now Simon, if I was to ask you of the Nobilis, the Sovereign Powers, would you know what I was talking about?"
Her words meant nothing to me - the what? Simple truth. "No...no I don't have any idea what you're talking about"
"You have no idea where you are now? You've never heard of Locus Balthiel, or my brother Heinrich?"
"No, I swear to you I don't know what’s happening. We never wanted to come here. I don't even know where here is...unless I'm dead or hopelessly insane"
She smiled, just a little quirk at the edges of her lips. "That may come to you after tonight, but not yet. 'There are more things in this world then are dreamed of in your philosophy' to paraphrase the bard. Let us leave it at that. I thought you might be part of the attack on my family...but I see now that you were not. In which case I'm sorry about your friends, I could have been more careful."
"I don't...I don't blame you. They tried to kill you"
She raised up her left hand and I could see the neat hole in her palm, about the size of a dollar, where the bullet had passed through. I noticed it wasn't bleeding any more. She looked at it appraisingly. "Yes. Yes they did. And our customs and laws gave me the right to punish them for their impudence. But at the end you were all only human, hardly a fair challenge."
She looked at me again and it was as if her eyes were far older then her face. Ancient eyes. Eyes that had seen civilisations fall.
"Who are you? Who are you really?" I couldn't help myself; the question fell from my numb lips. For a second I thought she wouldn't answer, would instead push the blade that final deadly fraction for my impudence. Then she spoke again.
"I am of the Nobilis. We are the cornerstones of reality, gods in any term you would understand. I am the Power of Blades, the cutting edge is my holy sacrament." She looked at me strangely "This is not for you, return to your life and try to forget what you have seen. You are not ready to know the truth that moves beneath the surface of your ordered little world. Run now - follow the path before you and don't look back"
I didn't wait to be told twice, lest this strange creature should change her mind. I ran down the path she had pointed to, ran until my lungs burned and my legs screamed...and then I found myself amongst familiar sights, cars roaring past me on the interstate below. I looked back the way I had come, but the rising dawn showed no trace of the path I had followed. Nothing to prove I had not dreamed the whole event. Except, that is, for the lack of my companions..and my bag. I had left it there. I never considered going back for it - I had been allowed to walk away with my life, only a fool would not value that gift beyond measure.
So do you believe me? This is the part where you say "I believe that you believe it Simon", a pointless platitude I am sick of. There is nothing to back up my wild tale. No one ever found Bud or George. Perhaps I killed them both to take their share, then invented some elaborate fantasy to conceal my own guilt? Perhaps they are as false as my story? Perhaps the three hundred thousand dollars that was left in a box outside the bank was my way to absolve myself. Perhaps it was merely an event I have incorporated into my own fantasy. Perhaps I have always been insane? Perhaps I am just another crazy with persecution complex who will confess to any crime.
You can make your little notes and nod your head knowingly. I have seen. There are things in this world, behind the walls and under the floor. Things of unearthly beauty. One day you'll let me out, or perhaps I'll escape, and on that day I will find her again. I must find her again...she has my heart you see. I must have left it behind. Perhaps she will kill me, as she should have that night. No matter - the kiss of her blade will be enough for me. It wasn't suicide what I did with the razor, that’s what you quacks don't understand. I don't want to die without seeing her again. I just wanted to worship her. She is so deserving of worship. Sometimes I dream that you can see her in any blade, that when you touch one you touch her.
She is...ah our time is up is it? Well I'll see you again then. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. Be careful on your way home - someone like you doesn't want to step of the path and get lost...
It seemed a little darker then when we had gone in, the moon was hidden behind some thick cloud, and to start with that's what I thought was causing us problems. Nothing seemed to look familiar, and judging by Bud and George's confused looks it wasn't just me that suddenly felt lost. I shrugged and set off between the grave markers and mausoleums, the graveyard wasn't that big so I was bound to hit the boundary eventually. From there we could just follow it round to where we'd parked earlier.
This seemed fine, nothing to worry about, and the other two fell in behind me. Ten minutes passed, then twenty and we were still walking between gravestones and tombs, none of which looked in the slightest bit familiar.
I said to George. "You work here - where the hell are we?"
I remember him looking about hopefully, sure he'd recognise something eventually "Gee, I'm not exactly sure Simon - but I mean we gotta be near the northern boundary by now, can't be much further...less we been walking in circles"
"We haven't" Bud displayed his usually conversational range. In his spare time he went hunting, forests and places it was easier to get lost in then a cemetery. He'd have noticed if we were doubling back on ourselves of that I was sure.
We continued a little further and the graves began to thin out - thinking we were close to the boundary we picked up the pace. But instead of a wall or fence marking the boundary of the plot, the ground just kind of opened out into this moorland - the kind of landscape that had no damn place being there.
George's look would have been comical if I'd been in a laughing mood. "This ain't right...there's nothing like this anywhere near here....hell nothing like this anywhere in the godamn state!"
"Get a grip George" I told him "it probably just looks different at night - after all we haven't crossed any roads, we're still somewhere near the cemetery"
But even as I said it I wasn’t sure I really believed it. The scenery really was all wrong...and I just got this sense of foreign, unknown. I couldn't shake it - nothing seemed right anymore. It was like they used to say in that old sci-fi series "you are now entering the outer limits...”. I mean that's how it began to feel, like we'd taken a wrong turn and wandered sideways to where we should be.
We set off again. The land about us continued to get more and more wild but we trudged on in silence, no one wanting to admit what was happening to the others. Then we encountered the first of the statues. It was a stern looking women clad in some kind of robe, holding a gleaming broadsword out in front of her. Without thinking I stepped forward and ran my hand along the blade, I'm not sure why but it just felt appropriate. Then I was left staring stupidly at my lacerated palm as a little of the blood trickled down the blade.
George snickered "Hey nice one Simon - just checking its sharp huh? Were you huh?"
Bud was more observant "There's another one there...and over there - hell looks like a whole parade of them. There's nothing like this anywhere near where we should be. Something's seriously nuts with this"
We wandered amongst the bizarre collection of statues, each one depicting a person with some kind of sword or blade. The statues were carved from a variety of different materials, but the weapons were always real. This definitely wasn't the graveyard anymore - the statues had to be someone's private collection...which would hopefully mean a house nearby, a few directions and we would be out of here and back to where things make sense.
The statues became more frequent and we began to make out paths laid between them. After a little further we came to a more substantial plaza of dark red paving stones, paths led off of it in several different directions. I put down my kit bag - something you may not appreciate is just how heavy that much cash is - while I discussed which way we should go with the others.
"Hey - are you guys lost?"
I literally jumped at the unexpected noise in the otherwise deathly quiet and spun round to see who had spoken. Leaning against a nearby statue was a blond haired girl, dressed in jeans and some strappy black top that left her back and midriff bare. She smiled prettily and walked over towards us, seemingly completely at ease among the statues. I remember the way she walked - every step an expression of grace and balance - like a dancer. My sister did ballet to a pretty high level, and she'd walk like that - even crossing a room her long hours of training would show through. Despite the bizarness of the surroundings, despite the frustration of what must have now been hours of wandering, I found myself grinning back at her - she had one of those guiless, infectious little smiles.
"What if we are?" Bud's hostile reply shook me from my slight reverie. We'd been looking for someone to tell us where we were, and now we'd finally met someone Bud was acting like an idiot.
She stopped a few feet away from Bud - still smiling; she didn't seem phased by his hostility at all.
"Whoa there big guy. I was just going to say if you are, lost that is, I could show you the way out. That's all." She had one of those anytown accents, I couldn't place where her home state might be.
"Yeah? Well how’s about you just tell us where we are and give us directions" Bud replied, still as confrontational as ever.
She laughed, a pleasant sound - genuine amusement, not forced. "Well explaining where you are could get a little complicated. My home's just up there..." She turned and pointed away into the dark. As she turned I caught sight of a pair of dark blue tattoos running down her back - feathery wings, like a dove. Very pretty.
Her jovial manner seemed to aggravate Bud "When I ask a question I expect a straight answer. Who the hell are you anyway?"
"I'm Faith, but I really don't think that's relevant just now. Are you guys lost or not?"
I decided to step in before Bud could open his mouth again "Yes, yes we are. We were making our way back to the carpark at Sanctuary graveyard...but we seem to have been turned around or something" Yeah, as if something a simple as that could explain where we now were.
"You guys were hanging out in a graveyard, in the middle of the night?"
Bud cut in before I could stop him "Mind your own business if you know what's good for you"
Again she looked amused rather then upset by the threat. Then she looked carefully at the identical kit bags we were carrying. "You guys in some kind of team?"
I should have seen it coming. Bud always was a little volatile...hell that's being charitable. Bud's got a real hair trigger, and lugging several thousand dollars in cash obviously wore on his nerves. He always was a big fan of the right to bare arms. Which is why him hauling a Colt .45 out from under his jacket shouldn't have come as a big surprise. It was slick a well-practised move - he drew the gun in one fluid movement and aimed it squarely at the girl’s chest.
The girl, Faith, froze where she was and slowly raised her hands to shoulder level, empty palms towards Bud. When she spoke there was surprise in her voice, but strangely enough not fear. "Hey...hey alright. I didn't know you felt like that. I'm just going to step back over here...no need for any hassle...no need to do anything we'll both regret..."
Bud strode towards her "Shut up, just shut up! Your mouth is gonna get you into so much damn trouble. You shoulda stayed well clear of our business"
"Look I really don't want to know anything ok...I don't have any interest in whatever it is you guys are up to. Really I don't. I couldn't care less"
"Perhaps you should of thought of that little Miss godam cheerful before you let your mouth run" Bud was practically shouting.
"Hey Bud, stay cool man, stay cool - there's no need to go all psycho man" George tried to pour oil on the water.
"You shut up too! She could be anyone, anyone! She's seen our faces, asked enough godam nosy questions about us..."
Faith spoke again "Look, seriously I'm not any kind of threat to you. I just want to show you the way out okay? Just walk away. Nothing hard about it. Don't do something you can't undo. Trust me - you don't want to do this..."
For a moment it looked like Bud was going to lower the gun...then his face hardened "I'm not going takin any godam chances."
The three shots were like thunder. The girl was thrown backwards with the impact as the rounds ripped into her chest - one even passed through her hand, held up in front of her as if it could shield her from the deadly hail. She landed awkwardly, arms thrown wide as if embracing the sky. So still. So very still.
For a few seconds none of us moved - George and I staring in disbelief at Bud and the crumpled body in front of him. He turned and looked at us "We couldn't have had someone causing the cops to ask questions"
"You don't think the cops are gonna ask questions about this!?" George shouted, "You gone and damnall made us accomplices to murder one! You crazy son of a bitch you could fry for this!"
Bud actually seemed remarkably calm now in the aftermath of violence "Yeah and who's gonna tell 'em. I'll loose the piece, and there’s nothing to link us to here...I mean we don't even know where here is." He shook his head "It's all screwed anyway - this whole place, the freaky little girl, the whole damned thing"
I was going over to check the body. With three close range shots into the centre mass I didn't have much hope, but I had to look...perhaps against all odds Bud hadn't just killed someone’s daughter in cold blood...I desperately wanted to undo the last thirty seconds, would have given anything to take back the sequence of events that ended with Bud shooting an innocent girl in the chest.
Bud and George were arguing, which is why I guess I was the only one that saw her sit back up. My heart leapt - there was a god! But my cry of surprise died on my lips upon seeing her face. The smile and laugh were gone as if they had never been. My heart went cold - at that moment there was nothing human in that face, no emotion, no flicker of recognition. I was looking at the face of some inhuman predator, a raptor stooping for the kill, and I was held in her blue eyes like a rabbit speared by oncoming headlights.
With infinite care she drew the back of her hand across her lips, smearing the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth like a parody of lipstick. As I stared, mesmerised, I could see glowing white wings unfurl behind her. Deep inside my mind something began to scream and wouldn't stop. In one fluid motion she was standing, and still I was paralysed. She padded towards Bud - his back was turned, unaware of the doom that approached - covering the ground in loping strides that spoke to me of wolf or panther.
As she drew level with him she reached back over her shoulder and made a strange pulling motion with her hand. She clenched her hand as if closed around something and then brought it back down in front of her, where she made the same gripping motion with her left hand, just below the right. At this moment something alerted Bud and he spun round, then gaped at the winged apparition before him.
She moved her hands down smoothly and buds right hand simply fell away, the pistol still clenched in it. He didn't even have time to start screaming before she braced her legs and swung her hands at neck level. There was a spray of blood and Bud's head rolled along the ground. I couldn't take it in, couldn't figure what had just happened. Then I found I could make out the outline of a long blade in her hands, I swear to you it was a completely see through sword - only made visible by the blood running down the cutting edge.
She pirouetted on the balls of her feet and pointed the not-blade towards George. Buds hand had come to rest by his feet, the gun held by the dead fingers. George was shaking like a leaf in a high wind and his eyes flicked between her and the pistol at his feet.
She spoke "Don't do it. Don't you do it. Just step away...no one else has to die"
"You're not human! What the hell are you..you...you monster. You cut his head off! You..."
George lunged for the pistol and I heard her groan "Don't you make me do this you stupid idiot" and then she was running towards him, flowing left and right like a shark in water. George fumbled the pistol and fired wildly as she approached, she flowed away from the shots effortlessly - ducking under his aim on the right and then spinning and drawing herself to her full height, the shimmering blade raised high above her head, the pristine white wings outstretched to either side. I was struck again by her grace, the way she had moved, the perfect cuts, the simple beauty of her frozen position. For a moment they stood like frozen like that, George staring in disbelief, the pistol still aimed off to the right at where she had been standing, and her holding the raised blade perfectly still above him. Her lips moved. I fancied she murmured "Please don't make me". Then George desperately dragged the pistol back across to aim at her and the blade fell like a diving swallow.
It caught him on a diagonal path where shoulder meets neck, the force of the impact drove him to his knees. She planted her foot on George's chest and pushed him away, pulling the blade free as he fell. He didn't get up. He wasn't going to - the cut had hewn through his chest and almost come out the other side.
I must have made some small whimpering sound for in a heartbeat she had the blade at my throat. This close I could see the blade really was transparent, only the blood made it visible. Its sharp point was held just above my Adams apple, against the pulsing beat of my carotid - just hard enough for me to feel it, not enough to cut. Again her eyes held me - blue like the summer sky.
"What's your name?" She asked me gently.
"S-Simon" I managed to croak out.
"Listen to me carefully Simon. I regret what just happened. I didn't want to hurt any of you..." her voice became harder "...but it really doesn't matter much to me one way or the other." The impossible wings flexed slightly behind her "I'm going to ask you some questions. If you answer truthfully you have my word that no harm will come to you, I'll lead you back to your world and you can do what you want with the rest of your life"
"I understand"
I know what you're thinking. Of course I humoured her - she was about to kill me, I'd say anything she wanted. But the strangest thing was I believed her - if I answered her questions she'd let me go. I didn't just hope that would happen, for whatever reason I truly believed she would keep her word. Something spoke to my instincts and told me that, in this, she could be trusted.
"Good. Now Simon, if I was to ask you of the Nobilis, the Sovereign Powers, would you know what I was talking about?"
Her words meant nothing to me - the what? Simple truth. "No...no I don't have any idea what you're talking about"
"You have no idea where you are now? You've never heard of Locus Balthiel, or my brother Heinrich?"
"No, I swear to you I don't know what’s happening. We never wanted to come here. I don't even know where here is...unless I'm dead or hopelessly insane"
She smiled, just a little quirk at the edges of her lips. "That may come to you after tonight, but not yet. 'There are more things in this world then are dreamed of in your philosophy' to paraphrase the bard. Let us leave it at that. I thought you might be part of the attack on my family...but I see now that you were not. In which case I'm sorry about your friends, I could have been more careful."
"I don't...I don't blame you. They tried to kill you"
She raised up her left hand and I could see the neat hole in her palm, about the size of a dollar, where the bullet had passed through. I noticed it wasn't bleeding any more. She looked at it appraisingly. "Yes. Yes they did. And our customs and laws gave me the right to punish them for their impudence. But at the end you were all only human, hardly a fair challenge."
She looked at me again and it was as if her eyes were far older then her face. Ancient eyes. Eyes that had seen civilisations fall.
"Who are you? Who are you really?" I couldn't help myself; the question fell from my numb lips. For a second I thought she wouldn't answer, would instead push the blade that final deadly fraction for my impudence. Then she spoke again.
"I am of the Nobilis. We are the cornerstones of reality, gods in any term you would understand. I am the Power of Blades, the cutting edge is my holy sacrament." She looked at me strangely "This is not for you, return to your life and try to forget what you have seen. You are not ready to know the truth that moves beneath the surface of your ordered little world. Run now - follow the path before you and don't look back"
I didn't wait to be told twice, lest this strange creature should change her mind. I ran down the path she had pointed to, ran until my lungs burned and my legs screamed...and then I found myself amongst familiar sights, cars roaring past me on the interstate below. I looked back the way I had come, but the rising dawn showed no trace of the path I had followed. Nothing to prove I had not dreamed the whole event. Except, that is, for the lack of my companions..and my bag. I had left it there. I never considered going back for it - I had been allowed to walk away with my life, only a fool would not value that gift beyond measure.
So do you believe me? This is the part where you say "I believe that you believe it Simon", a pointless platitude I am sick of. There is nothing to back up my wild tale. No one ever found Bud or George. Perhaps I killed them both to take their share, then invented some elaborate fantasy to conceal my own guilt? Perhaps they are as false as my story? Perhaps the three hundred thousand dollars that was left in a box outside the bank was my way to absolve myself. Perhaps it was merely an event I have incorporated into my own fantasy. Perhaps I have always been insane? Perhaps I am just another crazy with persecution complex who will confess to any crime.
You can make your little notes and nod your head knowingly. I have seen. There are things in this world, behind the walls and under the floor. Things of unearthly beauty. One day you'll let me out, or perhaps I'll escape, and on that day I will find her again. I must find her again...she has my heart you see. I must have left it behind. Perhaps she will kill me, as she should have that night. No matter - the kiss of her blade will be enough for me. It wasn't suicide what I did with the razor, that’s what you quacks don't understand. I don't want to die without seeing her again. I just wanted to worship her. She is so deserving of worship. Sometimes I dream that you can see her in any blade, that when you touch one you touch her.
She is...ah our time is up is it? Well I'll see you again then. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. Be careful on your way home - someone like you doesn't want to step of the path and get lost...
Dear Diary,
The Iron Monitor is sooooo cool!
It’s a huge, huge serpent - and I mean city sized. We entered through its mouth, which was like this cave that was so big I could barely make out the roof it was so far above us.
Then Hephaestius took us down the throat on this big platform - it was fast and swooshy - quite a rush - but we were assured it was safe. Such assurances were not enough for Jacob though - I think he spent the whole thing with his eyes shut the fraidy-cat.
But all that was nothing compared to the next bit - a huge metal city hanging suspended above the molten lava that lines the Monitor’s stomach. Pretty damnall impressive, all fiery and bubbling with heat. It was about then I started to regret not wearing something a little less bulky. Even with the special amulets it was like a day on Miami Beach - next time I’m going to wear a bikini and traditions be damned.
The meeting with Herodotus went well enough. I made nice and we seemed to get on well. He told us quite a bit - enough to rule out that weirdo Light dude as a major suspect. Bertram was pretty rude, in a subtle veiled way of course. I understand that there’s some history...uh background between Memory and History that goes way back. Still they managed to be civil enough to each other during the meeting at least.
Oh and the forge! We held our impromptu meeting in front of Hephaestius’ forge - and man was it impressive! I’m gonna have to arrange a trip to study it properly once all this current nonsense is done with. I can’t imagine Heph will mind me visiting, and besides I need to meet the rest of our allies at some point.
Ah yes - Heph has accepted my invitation to come over and work out together some time. Sigh, he’s hot...his skin I mean, from living in the Monitor I guess. Must make forge work easier. He’s a valuable ally and I look forward to practising with him. Yeah, that’s right. I’ll talk to him later and arrange a date. A date for the practice that is.
So I’ve met another of our allies and he seems cool - as was the big snake. Well ok I guess the snake was actually more hot - I certainly wouldn’t want to be there with out an amulet thingy. Though I gotta say it was nice to get out of the bone-yard for a while - all the dark and tombs become a bit depressing after a while. Besides black is hardly my best colour, and that’s the predominant fashion statement around here.
Perhaps I’ll have a little trip to earth - do a little shopping, perhaps hang out at a club and see how much it takes me to get wasted these days. I’ll bet it’s a helluva lot more then it used to be - I mean Jacob drinks like a fish and it doesn’t seem to touch him. Hey that could be neat - I’ll invite Jacob! He could so use a change of scenery, hiding out in that apartment of his the whole time can’t be good for him. I could maybe bring Kietsu too...no, no perhaps not. She’s never been out of the chancel - she’d be totally lost. She’s coming along with her sword work beautifully though - my predecessor was a stuck up idiot for not seeing her potential. Hell, I guess he was mostly just an idiot. If that’s what all historical type people were like I guess I should count my lucky stars for being born in a civilised century.
Oh and note to self: high heels - no damn way, not again, not ever. They were so thought up by a guy, damn stupid impractical shows. I don’t care how ‘in’ they are - I’m not going through that kind of pain for appearance.
Well today was pretty exciting all told - can’t wait to find out what tomorrow brings.
Later.
The Iron Monitor is sooooo cool!
It’s a huge, huge serpent - and I mean city sized. We entered through its mouth, which was like this cave that was so big I could barely make out the roof it was so far above us.
Then Hephaestius took us down the throat on this big platform - it was fast and swooshy - quite a rush - but we were assured it was safe. Such assurances were not enough for Jacob though - I think he spent the whole thing with his eyes shut the fraidy-cat.
But all that was nothing compared to the next bit - a huge metal city hanging suspended above the molten lava that lines the Monitor’s stomach. Pretty damnall impressive, all fiery and bubbling with heat. It was about then I started to regret not wearing something a little less bulky. Even with the special amulets it was like a day on Miami Beach - next time I’m going to wear a bikini and traditions be damned.
The meeting with Herodotus went well enough. I made nice and we seemed to get on well. He told us quite a bit - enough to rule out that weirdo Light dude as a major suspect. Bertram was pretty rude, in a subtle veiled way of course. I understand that there’s some history...uh background between Memory and History that goes way back. Still they managed to be civil enough to each other during the meeting at least.
Oh and the forge! We held our impromptu meeting in front of Hephaestius’ forge - and man was it impressive! I’m gonna have to arrange a trip to study it properly once all this current nonsense is done with. I can’t imagine Heph will mind me visiting, and besides I need to meet the rest of our allies at some point.
Ah yes - Heph has accepted my invitation to come over and work out together some time. Sigh, he’s hot...his skin I mean, from living in the Monitor I guess. Must make forge work easier. He’s a valuable ally and I look forward to practising with him. Yeah, that’s right. I’ll talk to him later and arrange a date. A date for the practice that is.
So I’ve met another of our allies and he seems cool - as was the big snake. Well ok I guess the snake was actually more hot - I certainly wouldn’t want to be there with out an amulet thingy. Though I gotta say it was nice to get out of the bone-yard for a while - all the dark and tombs become a bit depressing after a while. Besides black is hardly my best colour, and that’s the predominant fashion statement around here.
Perhaps I’ll have a little trip to earth - do a little shopping, perhaps hang out at a club and see how much it takes me to get wasted these days. I’ll bet it’s a helluva lot more then it used to be - I mean Jacob drinks like a fish and it doesn’t seem to touch him. Hey that could be neat - I’ll invite Jacob! He could so use a change of scenery, hiding out in that apartment of his the whole time can’t be good for him. I could maybe bring Kietsu too...no, no perhaps not. She’s never been out of the chancel - she’d be totally lost. She’s coming along with her sword work beautifully though - my predecessor was a stuck up idiot for not seeing her potential. Hell, I guess he was mostly just an idiot. If that’s what all historical type people were like I guess I should count my lucky stars for being born in a civilised century.
Oh and note to self: high heels - no damn way, not again, not ever. They were so thought up by a guy, damn stupid impractical shows. I don’t care how ‘in’ they are - I’m not going through that kind of pain for appearance.
Well today was pretty exciting all told - can’t wait to find out what tomorrow brings.
Later.
Well tonight’s been fun so far, Diary dear.
Not necessarily how I imagined, but then I’m getting used to that by now. I mean I’d expected to have to convince Jacob that a night out would do him good, instead he jumped at the chance. Bertram also joined in which made it a nicer number, no sign of Antipathy or Heinrich though...but then I’m not sure this would be their thing anyway.
We began the evening simply enough - Sake in a trendy little Japanese bar. They mixed it with an interesting little herb, Salvia, which I definitely want to look into further a bit latter. The sweet barman has furnished me with the number of someone who specialises in it - he was most helpful, in fact everyone we met seemed eager to help me. People are so easy.
Even with the added herb though my three doubles didn’t make a dent in my resistance. It’s definitely going to be fun learning my new limits. After Japan we took a quick stroll to somewhere in Scotland, I admit I wasn’t paying that much attention to our destination, in search of decent whisky. We visited this wonderfully seedy little bar and drank a...hmm...a thankfully unique blend.
Guising is cool and useful...but is somewhat difficult to adjust to if your making a lot of rapid changes, as I was between countries. I mean I’m just about used to not freaking out when I see the wings in a mirror, and to have this selection of different faces looking back at me in mirrors was definitely a little trippy. I was glad to get Norway and my own hair colour, if not my own dress.
Heh, Norway was great. Bertram led us to this wonderful little place that served great mead. At least I assume the mead was great - I’ve not had it before but this was nice. Comfy seats and friendly people too. I could have happily spent longer there, but Jacobs’s constant cries of “MEAD!” were beginning to draw attention - he really enjoyed saying that word.
Jacob, oh dear he didn’t seem to be getting a good deal. His rite of holy whatsit protects him from harm, but has a little trouble deciding what to do about alcohol. It only seems to recognise it as a toxin in large quantities, so poor Jacob seemed to fluctuate between drunk and sick depending on how much the rite was blocking. I on the other hand was still pretty much unaffected, my body seems to handle the alcohol effortlessly - I get a taste, a brief feeling of warmth, but little else. Don’t know about Bertram’s tolerance, he seemed to be keeping careful control of how much he drank, unlike Jacob and me.
Moscow was our next stop - for vodka, I mean what else. Another word Jacob had way too much fun pronouncing. It was fun, especially where Jacob drank some crazy flaming mixture of vodka and ether. Bertram downed some orange mixture, extract of carrot I think. I contented myself with straight vodka - due to some misunderstanding the barman brought me five doubles, he seemed most surprised when I drank them all without pausing. Still in no way drunk. This is going to bring a whole new meaning to ‘social drinking’, in that there seems little point in my trying to do anything else - the quantities required to impact me just seem to high.
From there we strolled over to Boston, where we’ve slowed down a little - mostly because Jacob is busy...umm...purging. Boston’s nice because it’s somewhere where the face in the mirror is completely me again. Oh and they have a selection of amusing drink names - Santa’s Little helper anyone?
Had a little chat with Bertram about the stupid ‘Rule of Man’, how it is unbecoming for a Noble not to put a mortal in their place - no matter how slight the insult. I can kinda see where it comes from, but I mean where’s the challenge? The more I see of people, the more I come to realise just how slow and fragile humans are compared to us. It hardly seems fair to lash out at them when they’re all so...mortal.
Ah I can see Jacob weaving a path back to the bar - he looks....well if you can’t say something nice perhaps you shouldn’t say anything at all. Doesn’t look like he’s ready to stop though - he drinks with such a single-minded purpose, I wonder why.
Oh well, I wonder where we’re going next - I guess fill in the rest latter.
Not necessarily how I imagined, but then I’m getting used to that by now. I mean I’d expected to have to convince Jacob that a night out would do him good, instead he jumped at the chance. Bertram also joined in which made it a nicer number, no sign of Antipathy or Heinrich though...but then I’m not sure this would be their thing anyway.
We began the evening simply enough - Sake in a trendy little Japanese bar. They mixed it with an interesting little herb, Salvia, which I definitely want to look into further a bit latter. The sweet barman has furnished me with the number of someone who specialises in it - he was most helpful, in fact everyone we met seemed eager to help me. People are so easy.
Even with the added herb though my three doubles didn’t make a dent in my resistance. It’s definitely going to be fun learning my new limits. After Japan we took a quick stroll to somewhere in Scotland, I admit I wasn’t paying that much attention to our destination, in search of decent whisky. We visited this wonderfully seedy little bar and drank a...hmm...a thankfully unique blend.
Guising is cool and useful...but is somewhat difficult to adjust to if your making a lot of rapid changes, as I was between countries. I mean I’m just about used to not freaking out when I see the wings in a mirror, and to have this selection of different faces looking back at me in mirrors was definitely a little trippy. I was glad to get Norway and my own hair colour, if not my own dress.
Heh, Norway was great. Bertram led us to this wonderful little place that served great mead. At least I assume the mead was great - I’ve not had it before but this was nice. Comfy seats and friendly people too. I could have happily spent longer there, but Jacobs’s constant cries of “MEAD!” were beginning to draw attention - he really enjoyed saying that word.
Jacob, oh dear he didn’t seem to be getting a good deal. His rite of holy whatsit protects him from harm, but has a little trouble deciding what to do about alcohol. It only seems to recognise it as a toxin in large quantities, so poor Jacob seemed to fluctuate between drunk and sick depending on how much the rite was blocking. I on the other hand was still pretty much unaffected, my body seems to handle the alcohol effortlessly - I get a taste, a brief feeling of warmth, but little else. Don’t know about Bertram’s tolerance, he seemed to be keeping careful control of how much he drank, unlike Jacob and me.
Moscow was our next stop - for vodka, I mean what else. Another word Jacob had way too much fun pronouncing. It was fun, especially where Jacob drank some crazy flaming mixture of vodka and ether. Bertram downed some orange mixture, extract of carrot I think. I contented myself with straight vodka - due to some misunderstanding the barman brought me five doubles, he seemed most surprised when I drank them all without pausing. Still in no way drunk. This is going to bring a whole new meaning to ‘social drinking’, in that there seems little point in my trying to do anything else - the quantities required to impact me just seem to high.
From there we strolled over to Boston, where we’ve slowed down a little - mostly because Jacob is busy...umm...purging. Boston’s nice because it’s somewhere where the face in the mirror is completely me again. Oh and they have a selection of amusing drink names - Santa’s Little helper anyone?
Had a little chat with Bertram about the stupid ‘Rule of Man’, how it is unbecoming for a Noble not to put a mortal in their place - no matter how slight the insult. I can kinda see where it comes from, but I mean where’s the challenge? The more I see of people, the more I come to realise just how slow and fragile humans are compared to us. It hardly seems fair to lash out at them when they’re all so...mortal.
Ah I can see Jacob weaving a path back to the bar - he looks....well if you can’t say something nice perhaps you shouldn’t say anything at all. Doesn’t look like he’s ready to stop though - he drinks with such a single-minded purpose, I wonder why.
Oh well, I wonder where we’re going next - I guess fill in the rest latter.
Well that was fun dear diary, tangled with my first excrucian shard today.
Dude and some goons were waiting for us when we made the transition from chancel to earth, trying to delay us on our way to break up the bad mojo ritual going down in Manchester. The goons ran as soon as Jacob revealed his true aura, useful trick he has there, must find out how he does it - and if I could learn to do it.
The shard his own bad self was a different kettle of fish. He was tough. Tough enough that the ton of worked gravestone I bowled at his head shattered on his auctoritas...or whatever the beyonders have in its place. Damn strong one to - much stronger then mine. In fact it might have goten very ugly indeed, but Mr high and mighty proconsul instead decided to bail on his anchor. The look on that poor saps face - talk about trusting the wrong guy.
In fact I was all ready to put him out of his misery, would have done it too if the rest of my Familia had been a little more caring. Glad I didn’t though, the ‘srucians had hidden a little surprise in his body, about two hundred and fifty foot of living wire - sticky like a web but sharp as a ghurka’s kukri. Even with my new and shiny reactions I didn’t get out of the way fast enough, me and Jacob ended up buried in the stuff. Bertram was further away, praise cneph, and nothing can touch Heinrich if he doesn’t want it to - dude is an excellent scout.
Anyway Jacob and me got free eventually, very slowly and carefully - I think if we’d tried brute force it would have been messy. Bertram and Heinrich managed some sort of deal with the local spirits, got the spider crap all rolled back into the chancel where we can deal with it safely. A little stress relief on the wall and we were on our way again. Hopefully we haven’t been delayed to long - we still have a ritual to stop after all.
All in all not to bad for our first fight as a family. They weren’t expecting us in a car so that helped. Hell, it was over so quickly I didn’t even have time to be properly scarred - which is cool. This is a lot easier to get used to then I expected, but I guess that’s my previous incarnations helping me out.
One casualty though - the sharp web totally trashed my dress. It was a real nice one; I shaped it myself for the diplomatic trip to the Iron Monitor. Now it’s so torn I may as well be naked. I loved that dress - I looked good in it, Hephaestius said so. So for that I’m going to take a little personal payback on the dear proconsul.
He’d better get to running.
From the Diary of Faith Deltarion
Dude and some goons were waiting for us when we made the transition from chancel to earth, trying to delay us on our way to break up the bad mojo ritual going down in Manchester. The goons ran as soon as Jacob revealed his true aura, useful trick he has there, must find out how he does it - and if I could learn to do it.
The shard his own bad self was a different kettle of fish. He was tough. Tough enough that the ton of worked gravestone I bowled at his head shattered on his auctoritas...or whatever the beyonders have in its place. Damn strong one to - much stronger then mine. In fact it might have goten very ugly indeed, but Mr high and mighty proconsul instead decided to bail on his anchor. The look on that poor saps face - talk about trusting the wrong guy.
In fact I was all ready to put him out of his misery, would have done it too if the rest of my Familia had been a little more caring. Glad I didn’t though, the ‘srucians had hidden a little surprise in his body, about two hundred and fifty foot of living wire - sticky like a web but sharp as a ghurka’s kukri. Even with my new and shiny reactions I didn’t get out of the way fast enough, me and Jacob ended up buried in the stuff. Bertram was further away, praise cneph, and nothing can touch Heinrich if he doesn’t want it to - dude is an excellent scout.
Anyway Jacob and me got free eventually, very slowly and carefully - I think if we’d tried brute force it would have been messy. Bertram and Heinrich managed some sort of deal with the local spirits, got the spider crap all rolled back into the chancel where we can deal with it safely. A little stress relief on the wall and we were on our way again. Hopefully we haven’t been delayed to long - we still have a ritual to stop after all.
All in all not to bad for our first fight as a family. They weren’t expecting us in a car so that helped. Hell, it was over so quickly I didn’t even have time to be properly scarred - which is cool. This is a lot easier to get used to then I expected, but I guess that’s my previous incarnations helping me out.
One casualty though - the sharp web totally trashed my dress. It was a real nice one; I shaped it myself for the diplomatic trip to the Iron Monitor. Now it’s so torn I may as well be naked. I loved that dress - I looked good in it, Hephaestius said so. So for that I’m going to take a little personal payback on the dear proconsul.
He’d better get to running.
From the Diary of Faith Deltarion
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr!
Tell me Diary, is it wrong to want to bounce my brother Bertram’s head off the curb a few times?
I mean sometimes there’s something about his condescending lectures and ‘holier then thou’ aura that just makes me want to snarl and throw things before wading in with my fists.
He may be kin to me now, but damn if he’s not the kind of older brother I never wanted.
I get that we have a whole bunch of responsibilities and restrictions attached to our new existence, but what the hell is the point of having the power to literally move mountains and unchain souls if you’re never going to use them to help people?
And the worst thing? The most unbelievable stick in your craw and rub your nose in it stone in the shoe?
He was absolutely right.
Damn it all but he was right.
I guess that’s why I’m so pissed at him - there’s nothing I hate more then being called on something when I’m in the wrong.
It was good to help the kid, but if I’d done it and then ended up causing dementia animus in others the bad would kinda outweigh the good. I mean you can balance one against the other, but the truth of the matter is I didn’t. I acted without really considering the consequences of my actions. Man would Dad rake me over the coals for that one, he’s always such a stickler for personal responsibility “Own your success’s but also your failures, no matter how painful. They can’t belong to anyone else”
Well I promised Bertram I’d be more careful next time, and my word is something I don’t go back on. What’s that corny line? “With great power comes great responsibility.” Trite but true. Well okay then, a little temperance and planning to offset my natural instinct for direct action.
In general though I think we made out pretty well. We stopped the ritual after all, with a minimum of casualties and without driving anyone insane. Once we’d put the white dude down everything fell out pretty much as Heinrich and Bertram had planned them.
And boy but the shard made a great sound when he hit the floor and went all to pieces!
Tougher then I expected though. He was the first thing I’ve met that was actually faster then me, and he could certainly take his licks. I’ll tell you this for keeps; I won’t be messing around with daggers and knives next time.
Still he couldn’t match the five of us once we put our mind to it - even Bertram got his hands dirty in the end. Who would have figured him for getting medieval with a knife? Still, it was tough, and part of me is worried about what we might end up against next time.
But most of me is looking forward to the challenge.
Tell me Diary, is it wrong to want to bounce my brother Bertram’s head off the curb a few times?
I mean sometimes there’s something about his condescending lectures and ‘holier then thou’ aura that just makes me want to snarl and throw things before wading in with my fists.
He may be kin to me now, but damn if he’s not the kind of older brother I never wanted.
I get that we have a whole bunch of responsibilities and restrictions attached to our new existence, but what the hell is the point of having the power to literally move mountains and unchain souls if you’re never going to use them to help people?
And the worst thing? The most unbelievable stick in your craw and rub your nose in it stone in the shoe?
He was absolutely right.
Damn it all but he was right.
I guess that’s why I’m so pissed at him - there’s nothing I hate more then being called on something when I’m in the wrong.
It was good to help the kid, but if I’d done it and then ended up causing dementia animus in others the bad would kinda outweigh the good. I mean you can balance one against the other, but the truth of the matter is I didn’t. I acted without really considering the consequences of my actions. Man would Dad rake me over the coals for that one, he’s always such a stickler for personal responsibility “Own your success’s but also your failures, no matter how painful. They can’t belong to anyone else”
Well I promised Bertram I’d be more careful next time, and my word is something I don’t go back on. What’s that corny line? “With great power comes great responsibility.” Trite but true. Well okay then, a little temperance and planning to offset my natural instinct for direct action.
In general though I think we made out pretty well. We stopped the ritual after all, with a minimum of casualties and without driving anyone insane. Once we’d put the white dude down everything fell out pretty much as Heinrich and Bertram had planned them.
And boy but the shard made a great sound when he hit the floor and went all to pieces!
Tougher then I expected though. He was the first thing I’ve met that was actually faster then me, and he could certainly take his licks. I’ll tell you this for keeps; I won’t be messing around with daggers and knives next time.
Still he couldn’t match the five of us once we put our mind to it - even Bertram got his hands dirty in the end. Who would have figured him for getting medieval with a knife? Still, it was tough, and part of me is worried about what we might end up against next time.
But most of me is looking forward to the challenge.
I spent three days and three nights in the dance of creation.
I neither ate, nor slept, nor drank, nor rested, instead letting my aspect burn through my mortal countenance like a beacon fire. There are no words that I know to describe how wondrous this act still is to me, this taking of raw and rude components and working them with my hands and these few tools, until I hold my dreams made real, the vision of my imagination forged into the vessel of my craft. Perhaps the greatest of my Lord Balthiel’s gifts to me.
The first choice, the choice of metal, was simple. She is a lady of moonlight, her natural bower beneath the night stars. I used Elantir, a glorious metal that produces a blade that is wondrously light, but yet among the strongest I’ve seen. It has the flexibility to allow the blade to really live in your hands, but with an edge it will hold against the most violent assault. In all the forges we have perhaps seven blades worth of the metal, for it is rare and can only be brought from far away on the tree. But I used it gladly for I knew it was the only choice for this work, the only one that would suit her.
It is called star-stone by the dwellers of the world on which it is mined, for they believe it to be rock that has captured the light of the stars in its depths, and keeps it, because it loves it so. Perhaps this is so, perhaps there is another explanation, but I can’t think of a more fitting description then their own.
Of course Elantir it is not really a stone, but rather an ore, and as such can be cast and forged. If this is done with the most painstaking care, with infinite patience, the final metal will still contain the stars light shinning in its depth. Three times I almost overheated or overcooled the infant blade, but each time I was able to recover at the last moment. These brushes with ruin leant emotion to the forging. The reason that the heating and cooling was particularly difficult was that I blended in just the right amount of crushed obsidian along wit hthe white hot forging. Its darkness would accent that of the star-stone - the difficulty of forging would be repaid a hundred fold when the blade was ready.
That was the first day.
Once the young blade, darkened now from the forge's fire, had cooled enough I began the folding and refolding. Six hundred and three folds I made, turning the metal first this way, then that way, building up the raw blade a layer at a time.
That was the first night.
The blade was now as an uncut gemstone, if you knew how to look you could see the shape crouching inside the dull black folded metal, but it would take careful work to bring it forth. This is the task that I bent myself to, with anvil and hammers and files and curves, softening minutely in the forge and then oh so gently coaxing the shape to come forth. To show the world the graceful curve and lines that I could see shivering within it, a powerful sweeping edge like the sickle moon slashing the night sky, like the path of a diving hawk, or the curve of the moonflowers petal.
That was the second day.
I now laid the blade aside to rest, immersed in a shallow bowl of melt water to calm it from the violence of its birthing. I turned my attention to it’s home, the scabbard in which it would alight while at rest, long may it be uncalled on in times of peace. This I forged from five thousand individual platinum scales, layered one atop the other like those of the dragon on whom I modelled them. These were wrapped and bound with a tracery of vines and ivy leaves forged from silver. The inside of the scabbard was a sheath of carefully hollowed rosewood, lined with cloudsilk so that the blade could rest comfortably and never be dulled during it’s sleep, nor snagged or bound when called to awake.
That was the second night.
With the dawn I removed the adolescent blade from the still waters, and set to it with wheel and stone to hone it’s edge. A mistake here could have destroyed all my work so far, to grind it too finely or too dully would have fatally flawed the blade's cutting edge. Again my skill was equal to the task, and fortune was kind to me. When I had finished the blade tapered to an edge the width of a human hair, when held end on it was only visible as a silver gleam against the black of the blade.
I then set to polishing the dark blade, pausing now and again to pour an elixir of ice water and the tears of winter sprits, shed as the spring sun drives them away from the land they have come to love. The tears washed the blade clean of the minute flecks left by my polishing, leaving it bright and faintly cold. I knew that breath would always steam against it now, for it carried a hint of winter’s touch in it always.
Now that the surface had been scoured and polished the beauty of the Elantir could finally be seen. When held up the blade was almost invisible, it’s glassy blackness blending almost seamlessly with the night sky that always watches over us here in the Chancel. But look closer and in amongst the blackness of the blade a constellation of shifting stars could be seen, glittering within its curve. I turned it over and over in my hands, watching the stars dance and shimmer. The handle I crafted as a curled dragon with moonstones (of course) for its eyes, it’s wings outstretched to form the guard.
That was the third day.
Finally I cradled the newborn blade in my hands and sang to it. I sang the song of awakening taught to the very first bladesmith back when the world was still young, a melody full of the joy of life and the beauty of the act of creation, and soon my voice was joined by that of the blades spirit. She was faltering at first, but soon her voice twined around mine in joyous counterpoint. Her voice was silver moonlight and her beauty blazed in the night. Strong and fair and bright and perfect.
She thanked me for her birth, for the strong and sleek body I had gifted her with. I told her that I was blessed to have been part of it. Then I sang to her of the one she would go to, the one she would partner the one she was made for. She gloried in my song, in the joy of such a partner. Then I gave her the only gift I had left; her birthing name. I christened her ‘Shomi’ which means ‘star-shadow’ in the heavenly tongue. She said the name sang within her and that she would carry it with pride. I set her to sleep in her scabbard, the next time she awoke it would be for her new mistress.
That then was the third night.
No day dawned in this place, but I knew that elsewhere the sun would be beginning its path across the sky. The trance of creation was finally rising from me, leaving hunger and a deep tiredness in it’s wake - but also an elation of thought made flesh. I wrapped the sleeping sword in a roll of sky blue silk, tying it with white ribbons before placing it gently in velvet lined box. Under one of the ribbons I tucked a white card upon which I wrote:
“A gift. Her name is Star-Shadow. Her forging was it’s own reward. I hope that she will find a place in your heart.”
I then called to one of the apprentices who had been gathered at a distance to watch the birthing ceremony performed. “See that this is delivered to Lord Obsession, tell him it is a gift I wish him to deliver to Queen Puck of the Fae.” He bowed to me and swore it would be done, holding the flat wooden box reverently. I smiled at him and then rose and left the forges, the ring of those who had gathered to watch the work parted to let me through, then gradually broke up as the smiths and ‘prentices parted to seek their own beds after three days of watching.
I grinned to myself. A damn fine piece of work.
====
[In game terms the blade was forged with a sustained Aspect 4 miracle]
I neither ate, nor slept, nor drank, nor rested, instead letting my aspect burn through my mortal countenance like a beacon fire. There are no words that I know to describe how wondrous this act still is to me, this taking of raw and rude components and working them with my hands and these few tools, until I hold my dreams made real, the vision of my imagination forged into the vessel of my craft. Perhaps the greatest of my Lord Balthiel’s gifts to me.
The first choice, the choice of metal, was simple. She is a lady of moonlight, her natural bower beneath the night stars. I used Elantir, a glorious metal that produces a blade that is wondrously light, but yet among the strongest I’ve seen. It has the flexibility to allow the blade to really live in your hands, but with an edge it will hold against the most violent assault. In all the forges we have perhaps seven blades worth of the metal, for it is rare and can only be brought from far away on the tree. But I used it gladly for I knew it was the only choice for this work, the only one that would suit her.
It is called star-stone by the dwellers of the world on which it is mined, for they believe it to be rock that has captured the light of the stars in its depths, and keeps it, because it loves it so. Perhaps this is so, perhaps there is another explanation, but I can’t think of a more fitting description then their own.
Of course Elantir it is not really a stone, but rather an ore, and as such can be cast and forged. If this is done with the most painstaking care, with infinite patience, the final metal will still contain the stars light shinning in its depth. Three times I almost overheated or overcooled the infant blade, but each time I was able to recover at the last moment. These brushes with ruin leant emotion to the forging. The reason that the heating and cooling was particularly difficult was that I blended in just the right amount of crushed obsidian along wit hthe white hot forging. Its darkness would accent that of the star-stone - the difficulty of forging would be repaid a hundred fold when the blade was ready.
That was the first day.
Once the young blade, darkened now from the forge's fire, had cooled enough I began the folding and refolding. Six hundred and three folds I made, turning the metal first this way, then that way, building up the raw blade a layer at a time.
That was the first night.
The blade was now as an uncut gemstone, if you knew how to look you could see the shape crouching inside the dull black folded metal, but it would take careful work to bring it forth. This is the task that I bent myself to, with anvil and hammers and files and curves, softening minutely in the forge and then oh so gently coaxing the shape to come forth. To show the world the graceful curve and lines that I could see shivering within it, a powerful sweeping edge like the sickle moon slashing the night sky, like the path of a diving hawk, or the curve of the moonflowers petal.
That was the second day.
I now laid the blade aside to rest, immersed in a shallow bowl of melt water to calm it from the violence of its birthing. I turned my attention to it’s home, the scabbard in which it would alight while at rest, long may it be uncalled on in times of peace. This I forged from five thousand individual platinum scales, layered one atop the other like those of the dragon on whom I modelled them. These were wrapped and bound with a tracery of vines and ivy leaves forged from silver. The inside of the scabbard was a sheath of carefully hollowed rosewood, lined with cloudsilk so that the blade could rest comfortably and never be dulled during it’s sleep, nor snagged or bound when called to awake.
That was the second night.
With the dawn I removed the adolescent blade from the still waters, and set to it with wheel and stone to hone it’s edge. A mistake here could have destroyed all my work so far, to grind it too finely or too dully would have fatally flawed the blade's cutting edge. Again my skill was equal to the task, and fortune was kind to me. When I had finished the blade tapered to an edge the width of a human hair, when held end on it was only visible as a silver gleam against the black of the blade.
I then set to polishing the dark blade, pausing now and again to pour an elixir of ice water and the tears of winter sprits, shed as the spring sun drives them away from the land they have come to love. The tears washed the blade clean of the minute flecks left by my polishing, leaving it bright and faintly cold. I knew that breath would always steam against it now, for it carried a hint of winter’s touch in it always.
Now that the surface had been scoured and polished the beauty of the Elantir could finally be seen. When held up the blade was almost invisible, it’s glassy blackness blending almost seamlessly with the night sky that always watches over us here in the Chancel. But look closer and in amongst the blackness of the blade a constellation of shifting stars could be seen, glittering within its curve. I turned it over and over in my hands, watching the stars dance and shimmer. The handle I crafted as a curled dragon with moonstones (of course) for its eyes, it’s wings outstretched to form the guard.
That was the third day.
Finally I cradled the newborn blade in my hands and sang to it. I sang the song of awakening taught to the very first bladesmith back when the world was still young, a melody full of the joy of life and the beauty of the act of creation, and soon my voice was joined by that of the blades spirit. She was faltering at first, but soon her voice twined around mine in joyous counterpoint. Her voice was silver moonlight and her beauty blazed in the night. Strong and fair and bright and perfect.
She thanked me for her birth, for the strong and sleek body I had gifted her with. I told her that I was blessed to have been part of it. Then I sang to her of the one she would go to, the one she would partner the one she was made for. She gloried in my song, in the joy of such a partner. Then I gave her the only gift I had left; her birthing name. I christened her ‘Shomi’ which means ‘star-shadow’ in the heavenly tongue. She said the name sang within her and that she would carry it with pride. I set her to sleep in her scabbard, the next time she awoke it would be for her new mistress.
That then was the third night.
No day dawned in this place, but I knew that elsewhere the sun would be beginning its path across the sky. The trance of creation was finally rising from me, leaving hunger and a deep tiredness in it’s wake - but also an elation of thought made flesh. I wrapped the sleeping sword in a roll of sky blue silk, tying it with white ribbons before placing it gently in velvet lined box. Under one of the ribbons I tucked a white card upon which I wrote:
“A gift. Her name is Star-Shadow. Her forging was it’s own reward. I hope that she will find a place in your heart.”
I then called to one of the apprentices who had been gathered at a distance to watch the birthing ceremony performed. “See that this is delivered to Lord Obsession, tell him it is a gift I wish him to deliver to Queen Puck of the Fae.” He bowed to me and swore it would be done, holding the flat wooden box reverently. I smiled at him and then rose and left the forges, the ring of those who had gathered to watch the work parted to let me through, then gradually broke up as the smiths and ‘prentices parted to seek their own beds after three days of watching.
I grinned to myself. A damn fine piece of work.
====
[In game terms the blade was forged with a sustained Aspect 4 miracle]
Faith is still less then three months in her role as Blades' Keeper. Although she has quickly become comfortable with her mantle of Aspect, the miracles of her estate are still somewhat elusive. Knowledge flows from her estate freely, and she has no trouble creating seemings and illusions...but less ephemeral effects still require great concentration and will.
Though the full range of her estate is accessible only with difficulty, she is nontheless making progress in certain areas. The creation of less familiar aspects of her estate (such as new kinds of blade, or blades with special properties) are still difficult for her, but her skill with simple objects of her estate, those she was most familiar with as a mortal, is rapidly increasing. A mundane blade, such as a knife or a sword, can now be pulled fom the air itself without taxing her overmuch.
Gift: "Minor Creation"
Lesser Creation (blades) [4 pts]
Simple Miracle [-1]
Oneself Only (the blades can only be created within Faith's touch) [-3]
Limited Selection ('normal' blades only - knives, swords, axes etc. Nothing 'tampered' with, nothing special or miraculous) [-2]
Rare (I assume) [+1]
Penetration 2 [+2]
Total Cost: 1
Though the full range of her estate is accessible only with difficulty, she is nontheless making progress in certain areas. The creation of less familiar aspects of her estate (such as new kinds of blade, or blades with special properties) are still difficult for her, but her skill with simple objects of her estate, those she was most familiar with as a mortal, is rapidly increasing. A mundane blade, such as a knife or a sword, can now be pulled fom the air itself without taxing her overmuch.
Gift: "Minor Creation"
Lesser Creation (blades) [4 pts]
Simple Miracle [-1]
Oneself Only (the blades can only be created within Faith's touch) [-3]
Limited Selection ('normal' blades only - knives, swords, axes etc. Nothing 'tampered' with, nothing special or miraculous) [-2]
Rare (I assume) [+1]
Penetration 2 [+2]
Total Cost: 1
Monday. Washington Post.
“Bill Klevely, curator of the Huntingdon Collection and director of the associated Huntingdon museum, was overjoyed to announce to the press today that the entirety of the extensive financial debts accrued by the museum have been paid off. The troubled museum down in western Washington, which houses one of the largest and most varied collection of swords and armour outside of Europe, had been suffering from spiralling maintenance costs and declining visitors. This was brought to a head last May when the banks underwriting the loans on the museum premises warned that they would be forced to foreclose if payments on the mounting debts were not forthcoming.
A massive charity drive by the museum’s patrons was launched, along with extensive appeals in local and regional media and support from several well-known celebrities. However despite much public support and well over five thousand dollars in contributions raised the banks maintained that the full amount of the debt along with guarantees of future payments would have to be forthcoming. Bill Klevely is the first to admit, “even with all the wonderful support we were getting there simply wasn’t any question of us being able to raise that kind of money, let alone future guarantees”.
Then, just scant days before the appointed deadline, a private benefactor stepped in and has proceeded to pay off all debts associated with the museum, as well as providing a substantial trust fund to provide for continued running costs. About their saviour Bill Klevely would only say this “We are obviously enormously grateful, but our newest board member wanted to remain anonymous and we are obviously going to respect that. All I will say is that the money comes from an independent private source, the museum has not entered into any commercial partnership.”
When asked about one of the strangest rumours to have circulated about the deal, that one of the conditions was that ‘the museum would provide investment, facilities and instruction for any wanting to be taught the art of bladesmanship’ he replied: “It’s true - and it’s a condition I’m happy to meet. It’s always been a dream of mine – to be able to show people the art as a living thing rather then artifacts in display cases. We’ve never had the funds or resources to make it a realty before, suffice to say I’m looking forward to working with our benefactor on this.”
Andrew Jameson, the lawyer retained by the museum trust to administer the mysterious deal, has little to add except “Whoever drew up that contract was pure genius. I have never seen such a cast-iron, watertight but yet clear and fair legal document in all my years as a state legislator. Law is a small community, I’m going to find who did this, and then present my hat to them.”
==
Faith put down the clipping she had been reading from and chuckled. “Doesn’t he say the sweetest things? I think Mr Jameson may receive something nice in the post in a few days.”
Kietsu smiled at her mistress. “As you say. It was a good thing you did, helping out those people. But how did you acquire all this money they are speaking of?”
Faith grinned. “Let’s just say I shouldn’t show my face in Vegas for a while, give them some time to cool down.” She carefully smoothed out the clipping so that it would sit cleanly on the album page, looking at it for a moment longer before securing it and turning over to the next blank page.
“Not bad for my first days work. If I say so myself. Small, on the cosmic scheme of things, but you’ve got to walk before you can run.”
“Bill Klevely, curator of the Huntingdon Collection and director of the associated Huntingdon museum, was overjoyed to announce to the press today that the entirety of the extensive financial debts accrued by the museum have been paid off. The troubled museum down in western Washington, which houses one of the largest and most varied collection of swords and armour outside of Europe, had been suffering from spiralling maintenance costs and declining visitors. This was brought to a head last May when the banks underwriting the loans on the museum premises warned that they would be forced to foreclose if payments on the mounting debts were not forthcoming.
A massive charity drive by the museum’s patrons was launched, along with extensive appeals in local and regional media and support from several well-known celebrities. However despite much public support and well over five thousand dollars in contributions raised the banks maintained that the full amount of the debt along with guarantees of future payments would have to be forthcoming. Bill Klevely is the first to admit, “even with all the wonderful support we were getting there simply wasn’t any question of us being able to raise that kind of money, let alone future guarantees”.
Then, just scant days before the appointed deadline, a private benefactor stepped in and has proceeded to pay off all debts associated with the museum, as well as providing a substantial trust fund to provide for continued running costs. About their saviour Bill Klevely would only say this “We are obviously enormously grateful, but our newest board member wanted to remain anonymous and we are obviously going to respect that. All I will say is that the money comes from an independent private source, the museum has not entered into any commercial partnership.”
When asked about one of the strangest rumours to have circulated about the deal, that one of the conditions was that ‘the museum would provide investment, facilities and instruction for any wanting to be taught the art of bladesmanship’ he replied: “It’s true - and it’s a condition I’m happy to meet. It’s always been a dream of mine – to be able to show people the art as a living thing rather then artifacts in display cases. We’ve never had the funds or resources to make it a realty before, suffice to say I’m looking forward to working with our benefactor on this.”
Andrew Jameson, the lawyer retained by the museum trust to administer the mysterious deal, has little to add except “Whoever drew up that contract was pure genius. I have never seen such a cast-iron, watertight but yet clear and fair legal document in all my years as a state legislator. Law is a small community, I’m going to find who did this, and then present my hat to them.”
==
Faith put down the clipping she had been reading from and chuckled. “Doesn’t he say the sweetest things? I think Mr Jameson may receive something nice in the post in a few days.”
Kietsu smiled at her mistress. “As you say. It was a good thing you did, helping out those people. But how did you acquire all this money they are speaking of?”
Faith grinned. “Let’s just say I shouldn’t show my face in Vegas for a while, give them some time to cool down.” She carefully smoothed out the clipping so that it would sit cleanly on the album page, looking at it for a moment longer before securing it and turning over to the next blank page.
“Not bad for my first days work. If I say so myself. Small, on the cosmic scheme of things, but you’ve got to walk before you can run.”
Tuesday. “The Independent”
Police at Scotland Yard today could only say that they were “baffled” by the most recent development in the high profile ‘Soho Slayer’ case. This case has recently received high publicity due to the gruesome nature of the killings. All fourteen victims were mutilated with what the ME asserted to be ‘an extremely high quality sword of some kind, most likely a katana or similar weapon’.
Up until yesterday the metropolitan police force seemed to be at a loss. Despite the abundance of physical evidence left at the scenes they were not able to make any progress developing a suspect. At 8:15 am yesterday however a young male, apparently in his late twenties, walked into a local police station and declared that he was the killer and demanded to be taken into custody immediately. He was bleeding profusely from a vast multitude of cuts and stab-wounds and was immediately transferred to the hospital to be treated for shock and trauma. One member of the medical staff that treated him said that he “had never seen someone with such an extensive array of edged trauma on a single individual”. An unconfirmed report indicates that there may have been as many as two hundred seventeen individual injuries.
However the police have now revealed that he made a full confession from his hospital bed, including directing them to the location of the weapon used in all fourteen murders. Detective Inspector White, officer in charge of the investigation, said “There can be no doubt, he must have been intimately involved in the killings. However his injuries suggest that he was attacked and turned to the police for refuge. Whether his attacker was an erstwhile accomplice, or some kind of vigilante, we are still seeking any and all evidence concerned with the case.”
The vigilante viewpoint was further strengthened this morning by a fax received by local wire services, which simply read “Those who’s blades shed the blood of the innocent, by those same blades shall their blood be shed. Consider this a warning.” The origin of the fax has not been traced and there is as yet no official comment from the police…
==
“For the harm that you visit upon others, seven fold the same shall be visited upon you in just retribution. Right their in Code Fidelitatis.” Faith smiled grimly as she secured the newest newspaper clipping “And you can’t say I didn’t warn the others.”
Police at Scotland Yard today could only say that they were “baffled” by the most recent development in the high profile ‘Soho Slayer’ case. This case has recently received high publicity due to the gruesome nature of the killings. All fourteen victims were mutilated with what the ME asserted to be ‘an extremely high quality sword of some kind, most likely a katana or similar weapon’.
Up until yesterday the metropolitan police force seemed to be at a loss. Despite the abundance of physical evidence left at the scenes they were not able to make any progress developing a suspect. At 8:15 am yesterday however a young male, apparently in his late twenties, walked into a local police station and declared that he was the killer and demanded to be taken into custody immediately. He was bleeding profusely from a vast multitude of cuts and stab-wounds and was immediately transferred to the hospital to be treated for shock and trauma. One member of the medical staff that treated him said that he “had never seen someone with such an extensive array of edged trauma on a single individual”. An unconfirmed report indicates that there may have been as many as two hundred seventeen individual injuries.
However the police have now revealed that he made a full confession from his hospital bed, including directing them to the location of the weapon used in all fourteen murders. Detective Inspector White, officer in charge of the investigation, said “There can be no doubt, he must have been intimately involved in the killings. However his injuries suggest that he was attacked and turned to the police for refuge. Whether his attacker was an erstwhile accomplice, or some kind of vigilante, we are still seeking any and all evidence concerned with the case.”
The vigilante viewpoint was further strengthened this morning by a fax received by local wire services, which simply read “Those who’s blades shed the blood of the innocent, by those same blades shall their blood be shed. Consider this a warning.” The origin of the fax has not been traced and there is as yet no official comment from the police…
==
“For the harm that you visit upon others, seven fold the same shall be visited upon you in just retribution. Right their in Code Fidelitatis.” Faith smiled grimly as she secured the newest newspaper clipping “And you can’t say I didn’t warn the others.”
Wednesday. Internal Police Department Memo
This is the third in as many months and I have to say the pattern is starting to worry me. Five people so far, all without immediate family or dependants, all vanished without trace. The first one left a note to his housekeeper, but she won’t let us read it. The third bought everyone in his local bar drinks the last night he was seen, but didn’t tell anyone what he was celebrating. The fourth tidied up his affairs and closed his bank accounts five days after his wife died, and hasn’t been heard from since. The other two simply disappeared.
I know that no one seems to be interested in looking for them. Hell most of them had so few kin or friends that it was a while before anyone even realised they were missing. And I know most of the department says it’s classic suicide – five people at the natural ends of their lives choosing a quicker way out. That the decline of their craft has left them with little to occupy them in the winter of their lives.
But isn’t anyone else worried about the similarities?
I mean five premier swordsmiths? What exactly are the chances?
This is the third in as many months and I have to say the pattern is starting to worry me. Five people so far, all without immediate family or dependants, all vanished without trace. The first one left a note to his housekeeper, but she won’t let us read it. The third bought everyone in his local bar drinks the last night he was seen, but didn’t tell anyone what he was celebrating. The fourth tidied up his affairs and closed his bank accounts five days after his wife died, and hasn’t been heard from since. The other two simply disappeared.
I know that no one seems to be interested in looking for them. Hell most of them had so few kin or friends that it was a while before anyone even realised they were missing. And I know most of the department says it’s classic suicide – five people at the natural ends of their lives choosing a quicker way out. That the decline of their craft has left them with little to occupy them in the winter of their lives.
But isn’t anyone else worried about the similarities?
I mean five premier swordsmiths? What exactly are the chances?
Oh Diary...where do I start?
Not a good day. Not a good day at all.
Tough to believe, when the last few days had been going so well, but then isn’t that always the way? Pride cometh before the fall? Whatever…
We, that is my familia and I for the english pedants, spent the evening attending a celebration hosted by Queen Puck of Faerie – except for Antipathy, who stayed to watch the chancel (at least that’s what he said, personally I think he was just being bitter about Puck).
Puck’s gathering was wonderous; the Fae were resplendant in all their glory, the entertainments were magical, the drink superb and the surounding forest simple beautiful.
I got a chance to present Puck with the blade I forged for her, while Jacob had a present for her of a more personal sort. Latter we met with one of our allies I hadn’t met yet, Santorini – Dominus of Volcanoes. He wanted our help with an upcoming event, averting disaster during an eruption. How cool does that sound!?
But the most precious thing of all for me was the time I spent talking with Bertram.
Of all my new family I’ve always found Bertram the hardest to get along with for some reason. I mean you’d think it would be one of the Infernalites I’d be at odds with, Antipathy for example, but it always seems to be me and Bertram that are at odds. He may be newly commenced (not as new as me of course, but then who is) but he’s got that whole ‘total oneness of memory’ going that means he always seems so much more used to his role.
But that night was different. We both seemed able to put aside our usual masks and talked as brother and sister. For the first time I really seemed to meet Bertram the person, rather then Memory the Noble. A small thing perhaps, a half-hour of quiet conversation, but it meant as much to me as shaping Star-Shadow’s edge. I’ve found that we are not so different, my brother and I. We both face the problems of our new roles, and they are more alike then different. I understand him a little better now, the first tentative bridge has been built and I have hope that we might be friends after all.
Also Bertram’s words started me thinking about my Estate, about ways I can work to strengthen it. After the revels finally petered off, when many were finding solace in the intimacy of others (including my brothers Bertram and Jacob, though with very different fairies), I instead walked the prosaic awhile. I followed the call of my Estate, hearing its song and doing what I could to strengthen it.
I returned to the Chancel late the next morning…only to be greeted by a summons from Balthiel, saying only that he was angry with us.
My lord was angry, and we were to gather to face his wrath.
Words are not enough to convey the dread and fear that hounded me throughout that day. Our Angel Balthiel is an awesome and terrifying presence when his mood is good…I could not conceive what it would be like to face him when angry.
The reality was worse then I had feared.
It seems Antipathy is missing, a mystery my brothers and I are in the midst of resolving, and his absence left the chancel without an adequate guardian. For this lapse in our Lord’s eyes he bathed us in pain for...I know not how long. It was terrible, unrelenting, merciless...but there was worse to come.
For the others the pain had been enough, awful but passing…for me my lord decreed I should face a further ‘lesson’. I have never felt so alone as at that moment, standing with my eyes closed to await my Lord’s caress.
If Balthiel’s own power did not burn in my flesh and bone so brightly I fear what followed would have broken me utterly. At his touch I burned and suffocated, every cell afire with agonies. But this was merely a prelude, simply to hold my body still.
For the lesson was suffering and my Lord teaches his subject with skill. Gently, oh so gently, he drove his blade through me. Piercing flesh, separating bone, puncturing lung, cutting deeper and deeper, and all with infinite care and patience. A blade like no other, the wounds it caused went beyond the physical – the deep tearing pain remains despite His touch having healed all physical injury.
Given time even that will heal, my Lord chooses not to cripple his servant…this time. But the days ahead will be far from pleasant. Until it is healed I carry the pain to remind me of my Lord’s wrath kept just for me. I reflect what he once was…a constant reminder of his loss. What greater sin can there be?
I still remember the brief touch of his fingers on my throat, the song in my heart despite the tender agonies…but the remembrance is tempered with the growing understanding of the depth of cruelty
My Lord Balthiel commands. That my Lord Balthiel is.
By the time we find the scum responsible for Antipathy’s…absence, and we will find them, I’m going to have a lot of aggression to work off. Unlucky for them I guess.
Very unlucky for them.
Faith Deltarion, Domina of Blades
Not a good day. Not a good day at all.
Tough to believe, when the last few days had been going so well, but then isn’t that always the way? Pride cometh before the fall? Whatever…
We, that is my familia and I for the english pedants, spent the evening attending a celebration hosted by Queen Puck of Faerie – except for Antipathy, who stayed to watch the chancel (at least that’s what he said, personally I think he was just being bitter about Puck).
Puck’s gathering was wonderous; the Fae were resplendant in all their glory, the entertainments were magical, the drink superb and the surounding forest simple beautiful.
I got a chance to present Puck with the blade I forged for her, while Jacob had a present for her of a more personal sort. Latter we met with one of our allies I hadn’t met yet, Santorini – Dominus of Volcanoes. He wanted our help with an upcoming event, averting disaster during an eruption. How cool does that sound!?
But the most precious thing of all for me was the time I spent talking with Bertram.
Of all my new family I’ve always found Bertram the hardest to get along with for some reason. I mean you’d think it would be one of the Infernalites I’d be at odds with, Antipathy for example, but it always seems to be me and Bertram that are at odds. He may be newly commenced (not as new as me of course, but then who is) but he’s got that whole ‘total oneness of memory’ going that means he always seems so much more used to his role.
But that night was different. We both seemed able to put aside our usual masks and talked as brother and sister. For the first time I really seemed to meet Bertram the person, rather then Memory the Noble. A small thing perhaps, a half-hour of quiet conversation, but it meant as much to me as shaping Star-Shadow’s edge. I’ve found that we are not so different, my brother and I. We both face the problems of our new roles, and they are more alike then different. I understand him a little better now, the first tentative bridge has been built and I have hope that we might be friends after all.
Also Bertram’s words started me thinking about my Estate, about ways I can work to strengthen it. After the revels finally petered off, when many were finding solace in the intimacy of others (including my brothers Bertram and Jacob, though with very different fairies), I instead walked the prosaic awhile. I followed the call of my Estate, hearing its song and doing what I could to strengthen it.
I returned to the Chancel late the next morning…only to be greeted by a summons from Balthiel, saying only that he was angry with us.
My lord was angry, and we were to gather to face his wrath.
Words are not enough to convey the dread and fear that hounded me throughout that day. Our Angel Balthiel is an awesome and terrifying presence when his mood is good…I could not conceive what it would be like to face him when angry.
The reality was worse then I had feared.
It seems Antipathy is missing, a mystery my brothers and I are in the midst of resolving, and his absence left the chancel without an adequate guardian. For this lapse in our Lord’s eyes he bathed us in pain for...I know not how long. It was terrible, unrelenting, merciless...but there was worse to come.
For the others the pain had been enough, awful but passing…for me my lord decreed I should face a further ‘lesson’. I have never felt so alone as at that moment, standing with my eyes closed to await my Lord’s caress.
If Balthiel’s own power did not burn in my flesh and bone so brightly I fear what followed would have broken me utterly. At his touch I burned and suffocated, every cell afire with agonies. But this was merely a prelude, simply to hold my body still.
For the lesson was suffering and my Lord teaches his subject with skill. Gently, oh so gently, he drove his blade through me. Piercing flesh, separating bone, puncturing lung, cutting deeper and deeper, and all with infinite care and patience. A blade like no other, the wounds it caused went beyond the physical – the deep tearing pain remains despite His touch having healed all physical injury.
Given time even that will heal, my Lord chooses not to cripple his servant…this time. But the days ahead will be far from pleasant. Until it is healed I carry the pain to remind me of my Lord’s wrath kept just for me. I reflect what he once was…a constant reminder of his loss. What greater sin can there be?
I still remember the brief touch of his fingers on my throat, the song in my heart despite the tender agonies…but the remembrance is tempered with the growing understanding of the depth of cruelty
My Lord Balthiel commands. That my Lord Balthiel is.
By the time we find the scum responsible for Antipathy’s…absence, and we will find them, I’m going to have a lot of aggression to work off. Unlucky for them I guess.
Very unlucky for them.
Faith Deltarion, Domina of Blades
I look up for a moment at the cursed night sky – my coming should be with the first light of dawn, not with this constant darkness. In the house before me I can see that the day-lights have already been kindled, the occupants are rising to greet the new day. Somewhere within my dark opponent must have awoken, knowing that this is the day appointed.
I adjust the twin swords at my side - I know them like my own flesh and bone, so long have we trained together. Today there will be an end. For which of us I cannot say but, as I promised so long ago, this day the blade will part the way for one of us into the beyond.
There is no one waiting for me at the entrance, no servants to offer me washing water or tea as would be proper, no witnesses to record my coming. I step under the arch and enter the garden proper, then slowly wend my way along the winding path towards the house until I stand before the steps leading up to the door. There is no one to greet me so I will have to announce myself.
“My name is Toshiro Ishida. I am here at the appointed hour on the appointed day to answer the challenge made to me. For the unjust murder of my son and the cruel maiming of my wife I challenge the Lord of Blades to stand forth and face me as was agreed one year past. We shall duel until either I or He is dead.”
There is no immediate answer. I wait, a few moments more makes little difference to me now. I am about to announce myself again when the door opens and a pretty Japanese woman steps out. I recognise her as the geisha Lord Blades had wait on me so humiliatingly the first time we met. It looks as if she has dressed in a hurry, but she looks tired rather then just woken, another example of the hedonism of Blade’s current keeper no doubt.
She quickly comes down the steps. “Ishida, why are you here?” she asks me quietly, “You cannot mean to go through with this now?”
“I have thought and dreamt of nothing else since that day, you are a fool if you think I would change my course, as was you’re master if that is why he isn’t here ready for me. I did not come to bandy words with glorified servants, announce me to Lord Blades!”
“Please, keep you’re voice down…”
I interrupted her, raising my voice still louder. “If he is asleep then I demand he rise and face me!”
She was looking fearful now, no doubt worried how her master would punish her for being woken from his sated sleep. “Please! You don’t understand, you’re a fool if you go through with this!”
“You dare insult me, bound one?” I raised my hand to strike her, but the sound of the door opening again distracted me. I had hoped it would be Blades, roused at last form his slumber, but instead it was another woman, a girl really. A flaxen haired westerner I noted with distaste. Then I noticed that she was clad in a hastily wrapped kimono bearing the mark of Blades. So, he had lowered himself to consorting with foreign trash had he? Not even his own people satisfied his urges? I felt my face darken as my blood boiled.
“Where is Lord Blades! Never did I expect to be greeted by the sight of foreign slatterns at the house of Blades itself. Has the keeper of Blades become so debased then?”
The girl had been listening intently to the geisha as she whispered something, but now she looked at me in surprise. “What did you just call me?” The geisha tried to say something, no doubt a warning about not angering a warrior of my stature, but the girl waved her away.
“I named you as you are, western whore. Bad enough that Lord Blades keeps such servants, without the added insult that he is no longer satisfied with those of his own race.”
She slowly walked down the first two steps to stand two sword lengths from me. I found her foreign features hard to read, she almost looked…amused. “I am not a whore, whoever you are.”
“Don’t make me laugh, you are clad in clothing bearing the Lord’s mark – obviously you picked up whatever was closest to you when you arose from his bed. He may allow you such liberties but I find such a lack of respect disgusting. Once I have killed him I will teach you better manners.”
The girl’s words dripped with malice “You will teach me…Kietsu, please bring me a weapon.”
The geisha looked pale “But Mis…”
“Please just do it Kietsu.” She looked at me levelly - pure insolence “If you’ve come here seeking to better the Dominus of Blades you must believe yourself to be unassailable in the force of arms. I have some small skill there myself, you won’t object then if thee and I cross swords? Unless you’re afraid of loosing to a girl I mean.”
The very suggestion! “Don’t expect me to show restraint. It should warm me up suitably for my duel with Lord Blades.”
The geisha had returned with a katana, which the girl unsheathed and held lightly in one hand as she walked calmly down the remaining steps to stand across from me. “Enough talking then, I wouldn’t want to keep you from you’re duel.”
With one smooth motion my swords were drawn and whistling towards her, high and low, belly and throat, as my feet carried me into reach. I didn’t expect the fight to go beyond this first movement; her pretension to arms was doubtless nothing more then empty pride.
The cold air rang with the sound of steel as she deflected the first two cuts, then parried the four follow-ups I made instinctively before really registering the fact that she wasn’t dead yet. Well no matter, she had some small skill it seemed, but I had been trained with the blade since birth.
We came together again and I rained down a further cascade of blows, which she parried and then returned a viscous cut across my eyes. Predictable and easily deflected, but executed flawlessly nonetheless. I circled her warily for a moment. She just smiled and kept pace with me, blade held alertly before her.
Three more times we came together and sprang apart, each time our blades darted and dived in a shimmering flash of steel. Three times she remained untouched by my blades edge. I began to feel a grudging respect; she had been trained well. “Who are you?” I asked as we circled, both looking for a momentary opening.
“Why do you ask – I thought I was just a western whore.”
“You fight well, better then any woman I’ve seen.”
“Oh I see, I fight well…but only for a woman” She suddenly launched herself at me, her blade whistling as it swept towards my head. I side-stepped the attack but I felt the rush of the air as the blade passed close to my cheek, my counter attack was parried with ease and she maintained her furious attack – reversing our roles for the moment as I defended myself for a time.
When we again drew apart I was keenly aware that if I had misjudged one step or movement the fight would have ended there. She was grinning and seemed unaffected by the fights first few furious minutes. I again looked at her with new respect. “I admit it, you fight better then some men I have know – though none of them were Samurai.”
I cut at her in a continuous swirl of motion, both my blades rising and falling as they sought an opening through her defences. As expected they found one - when we came apart there was blood running down her cheek where she had narrowly avoided loosing her eye. I smiled, it was a minor injury – but now she was hurt. The blood would damp her sprit and the pain would remind her of her weakness. More importantly I had found what I was looking for - she was fast but she favoured her left side, for whatever reason there was a stiffness in her right that I could exploit.
With this knowledge I leapt at her once again, confident that this exchange would be the last. It would almost be a shame, after all she had fought well…but she had challenged me and would have to live with the consequences. Perhaps she wouldn’t be injured fatally…
I hammered attacks at her left side and, though she blocked them, her arms shook from absorbing the force of the blows. I advanced on her a step at a time, beating her back, then suddenly switched the direction of my attack to strike at her weakened right side.
To her credit she brought her blade around in time, but it was an awkward block and the force of the attack dashed the blade from her hands. However, as I cut at her now unprotected side to finish the fight, she ducked under the strike – indeed seemed to be expecting it – and surged forward through the opening my all out attack had left to strike me squarely in the chest with her leading shoulder.
It was a perfect example of a shoulder strike, and set up by a most audacious feint. It lifted me off the ground and threw me backwards as pain blossomed out from my chest. Somehow I managed to keep hold of one of my blades as I landed, I brought it up to block the follow up strike if I could…but it didn’t fall. Instead she was standing over me with her left hand outstretched.
“Here, let me help you up. We’ve done enough to satisfy honour don’t you think? If we continue you may well get the better of me, but believe me you still have no chance against Lord Blades. Take my advice and leave, abandon this idiotic duel.”
I ignored her offered hand and rose to my feet. “Idiotic? How dare you!”
She looked at me with something akin to pity “Believe me, he will kill you. You’re good but, no offence, not that good.”
She turned to walk away from me. I picked up my dropped blade and answered “You don’t know of what you speak. Honour will be satisfied this day, I have lived too long with this shame.”
Her shoulders seemed to sag then. “So be it” she said.
She tuned back to face me and there was shimmer, like the air above paving stones that have stood in the sun, and the girls seemed to somehow grow before me. Her hair was more golden, her features sharper, more defined, her eyes seemed to have the depths of oceans…and the hated wings that haunt my dreams blossomed from her shoulders like steam rising from a quenched blade.
All along the Lord of Blades had been before me, laughing at me! This childish form had simply been a disguise he wore to mock my pain and honour. I screamed and launched myself forwards, into the thrust and sweep of my blades I poured all my hate and anger and pain. They flashed like lightning, struck like hawks, clashed steel against steel with the fury of thunder…but it was not enough.
The shortsword dropped from the nerveless fingers on my left hand before I even felt the fire of the cut that laid open my left arm. She stood a few paces away, my blood running down the edge of the katana. Unchained her skill was a thing of purest beauty – effortless in it’s mastery. I had no chance against her, none at all.
Her eyes held mine for a moment. “Say you yield! Don’t make me finish this.”
I spat at her feet. “I hope you’re deception amused you Lord of Blades. I will never yield to you again. I would sooner be dead.” I gripped my own katana tightly in my remaining good hand, raised it high above my head and charged screaming towards her.
She didn’t even bother to parry the attack. Instead she caught my arm even as I tried to bring the blade down, turned slightly, and twisted…I heard the bone snap even as the shoulder jumped from it’s socket to try and conform to the new movement. Her body struck mine with a shuddering force…then there was blackness.
I awoke lying on the grass staring up into the dark clouds above me. The rain had finally started, it fell against my upturned face. I blinked, and a voice spoke from beside me. “You fought most skilfully Toshiro Ishida.”
I laughed bitterly. “You played with me as a cat torments a mouse. I never truly had a chance, yet you played out the ridiculous charade. To praise my skill is an insult akin to a fish telling a dog that it swam well.”
She leaned into view and her face was open and sincere. “If a fish tells you that you swim well, is that not great praise rather then great insult? For who better to judge then a fish? You did fight well, well enough to cut me.”
“Pha – you were not trying when we fought.”
“No human could hope to best me when I use my full skill. So yes, I limit myself, I set boundaries – and then see how far an opponent can push. None have pushed me as far as you have, none have required that much of my skill. Certainly none have done so well as to cut me.”
I closed my eyes to hide from the piercing eyes. “It matters not how close I came. I did not best you. You are the victor – so kill me.”
“No.”
I looked into her eyes again, such deep blue. “But you promised!”
She sighed. “No Ishida, I really didn’t.”
“You are Blades! A year ago this day you promised me this final duel, that either I would kill you, or you me. That I could find peace!”
She shook her head again. “I may be Blades, but I am not the same Blades you met, he died over three months ago. I’m not like my brother Memory, much to the irritation of my brothers at the moment.”
“So you don’t remember me? My family? What you did?”
“Why don’t you listen!” For the first time she sounded angry. “I didn’t do it, it was my predecessor and he’s now dead and gone. So you won, you beat him in any sense that matters.”
I tried to make sense of her words. He was dead, but the estate lived on, as it would have done if I had killed him myself. I smiled, it hurt to do it – I must have landed badly at some point during the fight. “I never had a chance did I? The setting of a formal duel in years time – I could have trained for a hundred years and not been ready. It was all a joke to him, he merely got me to live an extra year with my shame.”
“Kietsu told me about what he did. It was an awful thing. Perhaps it is justified by the codes we Nobles live by, but for what it’s worth I’m ashamed to have even any connection to it. But you bear no shame in this, as you just said – there was nothing you could have done, no way you could have challenged him. All you could have done would have been to die beside your son.”
I turned my head from her pitying gaze. “I should have died then, better that then to have done nothing! That is my shame. I’ve carried this enough – I want nothing more then death.”
“Death is the easy way, anyone can do it. Life is much harder. Life requires courage.”
Grudgingly I looked at her once more. “Why should you want me to, after I have insulted you so greatly?”
“Because I want to try and put right what my predecessor did, not complete his work. Don’t you see? If you die, whether by my hand now or your own latter, then he wins.” It was her turn to laugh bitterly “Oh how my brothers would love the completeness of you’re death. But I see no justice in it. Instead I would have you serve me Toshiro Ishida, in a task I have recently come to realise I have neglected. Would that not appease you’re sense of honour? To live a life of purpose rather then despair?”
I swallowed. What she said went against everything I had prepared to do, and yet…and yet. Perhaps it is true what they say – that a Noble can bend you to their will. Perhaps they just see more clearly then we do. I found myself thinking of Shan, my lovely Shan, who still held on to hope after all this time. Who had begged me not to leave her to do this.
“You are very different from you’re predecessor.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I…yes. Yes I would choose life. ”
“You’re injuries will heal and heal cleanly, I made sure of that. There will be pain, and for that I am sorry, but you will recover fully. Once you have we will speak again.”
“You are…too kind.”
“Perhaps. I hope not. Leave you’re swords though.”
“Why?”
“A blade can take on an impression of its wielder, if used frequently enough, taking on a little of his – or her – essence and emotion. For a year you have bathed your blades in hate and revenge and memory, perhaps even a little obsession. All the while you strove for mastery of the blade complete enough to challenge even me. The striving for mastery is part of the worship that feeds my estate – and you have made a devotion so pure I can taste it. The blades carry it, and I would use it.”
“Then consider them a gift to you.”
My blades already lay beside her, she picked them up and ran her hands loving along them as if savouring their feel. “I thank you Toshiro Ishida. Kietsu will take care of you for now. If you’ll excuse me our little misunderstanding has given me quite an appetite, and my brothers have a lot planned for today.”
With that she stood and was gone, and I was left to wonder what I would now do – seeing as I would live past this day after all...
I adjust the twin swords at my side - I know them like my own flesh and bone, so long have we trained together. Today there will be an end. For which of us I cannot say but, as I promised so long ago, this day the blade will part the way for one of us into the beyond.
There is no one waiting for me at the entrance, no servants to offer me washing water or tea as would be proper, no witnesses to record my coming. I step under the arch and enter the garden proper, then slowly wend my way along the winding path towards the house until I stand before the steps leading up to the door. There is no one to greet me so I will have to announce myself.
“My name is Toshiro Ishida. I am here at the appointed hour on the appointed day to answer the challenge made to me. For the unjust murder of my son and the cruel maiming of my wife I challenge the Lord of Blades to stand forth and face me as was agreed one year past. We shall duel until either I or He is dead.”
There is no immediate answer. I wait, a few moments more makes little difference to me now. I am about to announce myself again when the door opens and a pretty Japanese woman steps out. I recognise her as the geisha Lord Blades had wait on me so humiliatingly the first time we met. It looks as if she has dressed in a hurry, but she looks tired rather then just woken, another example of the hedonism of Blade’s current keeper no doubt.
She quickly comes down the steps. “Ishida, why are you here?” she asks me quietly, “You cannot mean to go through with this now?”
“I have thought and dreamt of nothing else since that day, you are a fool if you think I would change my course, as was you’re master if that is why he isn’t here ready for me. I did not come to bandy words with glorified servants, announce me to Lord Blades!”
“Please, keep you’re voice down…”
I interrupted her, raising my voice still louder. “If he is asleep then I demand he rise and face me!”
She was looking fearful now, no doubt worried how her master would punish her for being woken from his sated sleep. “Please! You don’t understand, you’re a fool if you go through with this!”
“You dare insult me, bound one?” I raised my hand to strike her, but the sound of the door opening again distracted me. I had hoped it would be Blades, roused at last form his slumber, but instead it was another woman, a girl really. A flaxen haired westerner I noted with distaste. Then I noticed that she was clad in a hastily wrapped kimono bearing the mark of Blades. So, he had lowered himself to consorting with foreign trash had he? Not even his own people satisfied his urges? I felt my face darken as my blood boiled.
“Where is Lord Blades! Never did I expect to be greeted by the sight of foreign slatterns at the house of Blades itself. Has the keeper of Blades become so debased then?”
The girl had been listening intently to the geisha as she whispered something, but now she looked at me in surprise. “What did you just call me?” The geisha tried to say something, no doubt a warning about not angering a warrior of my stature, but the girl waved her away.
“I named you as you are, western whore. Bad enough that Lord Blades keeps such servants, without the added insult that he is no longer satisfied with those of his own race.”
She slowly walked down the first two steps to stand two sword lengths from me. I found her foreign features hard to read, she almost looked…amused. “I am not a whore, whoever you are.”
“Don’t make me laugh, you are clad in clothing bearing the Lord’s mark – obviously you picked up whatever was closest to you when you arose from his bed. He may allow you such liberties but I find such a lack of respect disgusting. Once I have killed him I will teach you better manners.”
The girl’s words dripped with malice “You will teach me…Kietsu, please bring me a weapon.”
The geisha looked pale “But Mis…”
“Please just do it Kietsu.” She looked at me levelly - pure insolence “If you’ve come here seeking to better the Dominus of Blades you must believe yourself to be unassailable in the force of arms. I have some small skill there myself, you won’t object then if thee and I cross swords? Unless you’re afraid of loosing to a girl I mean.”
The very suggestion! “Don’t expect me to show restraint. It should warm me up suitably for my duel with Lord Blades.”
The geisha had returned with a katana, which the girl unsheathed and held lightly in one hand as she walked calmly down the remaining steps to stand across from me. “Enough talking then, I wouldn’t want to keep you from you’re duel.”
With one smooth motion my swords were drawn and whistling towards her, high and low, belly and throat, as my feet carried me into reach. I didn’t expect the fight to go beyond this first movement; her pretension to arms was doubtless nothing more then empty pride.
The cold air rang with the sound of steel as she deflected the first two cuts, then parried the four follow-ups I made instinctively before really registering the fact that she wasn’t dead yet. Well no matter, she had some small skill it seemed, but I had been trained with the blade since birth.
We came together again and I rained down a further cascade of blows, which she parried and then returned a viscous cut across my eyes. Predictable and easily deflected, but executed flawlessly nonetheless. I circled her warily for a moment. She just smiled and kept pace with me, blade held alertly before her.
Three more times we came together and sprang apart, each time our blades darted and dived in a shimmering flash of steel. Three times she remained untouched by my blades edge. I began to feel a grudging respect; she had been trained well. “Who are you?” I asked as we circled, both looking for a momentary opening.
“Why do you ask – I thought I was just a western whore.”
“You fight well, better then any woman I’ve seen.”
“Oh I see, I fight well…but only for a woman” She suddenly launched herself at me, her blade whistling as it swept towards my head. I side-stepped the attack but I felt the rush of the air as the blade passed close to my cheek, my counter attack was parried with ease and she maintained her furious attack – reversing our roles for the moment as I defended myself for a time.
When we again drew apart I was keenly aware that if I had misjudged one step or movement the fight would have ended there. She was grinning and seemed unaffected by the fights first few furious minutes. I again looked at her with new respect. “I admit it, you fight better then some men I have know – though none of them were Samurai.”
I cut at her in a continuous swirl of motion, both my blades rising and falling as they sought an opening through her defences. As expected they found one - when we came apart there was blood running down her cheek where she had narrowly avoided loosing her eye. I smiled, it was a minor injury – but now she was hurt. The blood would damp her sprit and the pain would remind her of her weakness. More importantly I had found what I was looking for - she was fast but she favoured her left side, for whatever reason there was a stiffness in her right that I could exploit.
With this knowledge I leapt at her once again, confident that this exchange would be the last. It would almost be a shame, after all she had fought well…but she had challenged me and would have to live with the consequences. Perhaps she wouldn’t be injured fatally…
I hammered attacks at her left side and, though she blocked them, her arms shook from absorbing the force of the blows. I advanced on her a step at a time, beating her back, then suddenly switched the direction of my attack to strike at her weakened right side.
To her credit she brought her blade around in time, but it was an awkward block and the force of the attack dashed the blade from her hands. However, as I cut at her now unprotected side to finish the fight, she ducked under the strike – indeed seemed to be expecting it – and surged forward through the opening my all out attack had left to strike me squarely in the chest with her leading shoulder.
It was a perfect example of a shoulder strike, and set up by a most audacious feint. It lifted me off the ground and threw me backwards as pain blossomed out from my chest. Somehow I managed to keep hold of one of my blades as I landed, I brought it up to block the follow up strike if I could…but it didn’t fall. Instead she was standing over me with her left hand outstretched.
“Here, let me help you up. We’ve done enough to satisfy honour don’t you think? If we continue you may well get the better of me, but believe me you still have no chance against Lord Blades. Take my advice and leave, abandon this idiotic duel.”
I ignored her offered hand and rose to my feet. “Idiotic? How dare you!”
She looked at me with something akin to pity “Believe me, he will kill you. You’re good but, no offence, not that good.”
She turned to walk away from me. I picked up my dropped blade and answered “You don’t know of what you speak. Honour will be satisfied this day, I have lived too long with this shame.”
Her shoulders seemed to sag then. “So be it” she said.
She tuned back to face me and there was shimmer, like the air above paving stones that have stood in the sun, and the girls seemed to somehow grow before me. Her hair was more golden, her features sharper, more defined, her eyes seemed to have the depths of oceans…and the hated wings that haunt my dreams blossomed from her shoulders like steam rising from a quenched blade.
All along the Lord of Blades had been before me, laughing at me! This childish form had simply been a disguise he wore to mock my pain and honour. I screamed and launched myself forwards, into the thrust and sweep of my blades I poured all my hate and anger and pain. They flashed like lightning, struck like hawks, clashed steel against steel with the fury of thunder…but it was not enough.
The shortsword dropped from the nerveless fingers on my left hand before I even felt the fire of the cut that laid open my left arm. She stood a few paces away, my blood running down the edge of the katana. Unchained her skill was a thing of purest beauty – effortless in it’s mastery. I had no chance against her, none at all.
Her eyes held mine for a moment. “Say you yield! Don’t make me finish this.”
I spat at her feet. “I hope you’re deception amused you Lord of Blades. I will never yield to you again. I would sooner be dead.” I gripped my own katana tightly in my remaining good hand, raised it high above my head and charged screaming towards her.
She didn’t even bother to parry the attack. Instead she caught my arm even as I tried to bring the blade down, turned slightly, and twisted…I heard the bone snap even as the shoulder jumped from it’s socket to try and conform to the new movement. Her body struck mine with a shuddering force…then there was blackness.
I awoke lying on the grass staring up into the dark clouds above me. The rain had finally started, it fell against my upturned face. I blinked, and a voice spoke from beside me. “You fought most skilfully Toshiro Ishida.”
I laughed bitterly. “You played with me as a cat torments a mouse. I never truly had a chance, yet you played out the ridiculous charade. To praise my skill is an insult akin to a fish telling a dog that it swam well.”
She leaned into view and her face was open and sincere. “If a fish tells you that you swim well, is that not great praise rather then great insult? For who better to judge then a fish? You did fight well, well enough to cut me.”
“Pha – you were not trying when we fought.”
“No human could hope to best me when I use my full skill. So yes, I limit myself, I set boundaries – and then see how far an opponent can push. None have pushed me as far as you have, none have required that much of my skill. Certainly none have done so well as to cut me.”
I closed my eyes to hide from the piercing eyes. “It matters not how close I came. I did not best you. You are the victor – so kill me.”
“No.”
I looked into her eyes again, such deep blue. “But you promised!”
She sighed. “No Ishida, I really didn’t.”
“You are Blades! A year ago this day you promised me this final duel, that either I would kill you, or you me. That I could find peace!”
She shook her head again. “I may be Blades, but I am not the same Blades you met, he died over three months ago. I’m not like my brother Memory, much to the irritation of my brothers at the moment.”
“So you don’t remember me? My family? What you did?”
“Why don’t you listen!” For the first time she sounded angry. “I didn’t do it, it was my predecessor and he’s now dead and gone. So you won, you beat him in any sense that matters.”
I tried to make sense of her words. He was dead, but the estate lived on, as it would have done if I had killed him myself. I smiled, it hurt to do it – I must have landed badly at some point during the fight. “I never had a chance did I? The setting of a formal duel in years time – I could have trained for a hundred years and not been ready. It was all a joke to him, he merely got me to live an extra year with my shame.”
“Kietsu told me about what he did. It was an awful thing. Perhaps it is justified by the codes we Nobles live by, but for what it’s worth I’m ashamed to have even any connection to it. But you bear no shame in this, as you just said – there was nothing you could have done, no way you could have challenged him. All you could have done would have been to die beside your son.”
I turned my head from her pitying gaze. “I should have died then, better that then to have done nothing! That is my shame. I’ve carried this enough – I want nothing more then death.”
“Death is the easy way, anyone can do it. Life is much harder. Life requires courage.”
Grudgingly I looked at her once more. “Why should you want me to, after I have insulted you so greatly?”
“Because I want to try and put right what my predecessor did, not complete his work. Don’t you see? If you die, whether by my hand now or your own latter, then he wins.” It was her turn to laugh bitterly “Oh how my brothers would love the completeness of you’re death. But I see no justice in it. Instead I would have you serve me Toshiro Ishida, in a task I have recently come to realise I have neglected. Would that not appease you’re sense of honour? To live a life of purpose rather then despair?”
I swallowed. What she said went against everything I had prepared to do, and yet…and yet. Perhaps it is true what they say – that a Noble can bend you to their will. Perhaps they just see more clearly then we do. I found myself thinking of Shan, my lovely Shan, who still held on to hope after all this time. Who had begged me not to leave her to do this.
“You are very different from you’re predecessor.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I…yes. Yes I would choose life. ”
“You’re injuries will heal and heal cleanly, I made sure of that. There will be pain, and for that I am sorry, but you will recover fully. Once you have we will speak again.”
“You are…too kind.”
“Perhaps. I hope not. Leave you’re swords though.”
“Why?”
“A blade can take on an impression of its wielder, if used frequently enough, taking on a little of his – or her – essence and emotion. For a year you have bathed your blades in hate and revenge and memory, perhaps even a little obsession. All the while you strove for mastery of the blade complete enough to challenge even me. The striving for mastery is part of the worship that feeds my estate – and you have made a devotion so pure I can taste it. The blades carry it, and I would use it.”
“Then consider them a gift to you.”
My blades already lay beside her, she picked them up and ran her hands loving along them as if savouring their feel. “I thank you Toshiro Ishida. Kietsu will take care of you for now. If you’ll excuse me our little misunderstanding has given me quite an appetite, and my brothers have a lot planned for today.”
With that she stood and was gone, and I was left to wonder what I would now do – seeing as I would live past this day after all...
Well Diary today’s been a strange day.
It began with a man who had sworn to kill me, even though we had never met.
Actually this makes more sense then it sounds – he had a beef with my predecessor, and somehow managed not to realise that the estate had changed hands since then. Now I’d have explained all that to him right off the bat…but we kind of got off on the wrong foot, what with him calling me a western whore and all.
Anyways as it turned out it wasn’t hard to avoid being killed by him – he was, after all, only mortal. A little harder was convincing himself not to seek his own death after what he viewed as a failure. I’ll tell you something else – I was almost sick when Kietsu explained to me just why this guy had sworn to kill me, well, to kill Blades.
It seems my predecessor, curse his little callous heart, had been offended by the ‘disrespectful’ way a woman looked at him. So, being the careful follower of our Darkest Lord’s decrees on the ‘Rule of Man’, he cut out her eyes as punishment. Her son attacked him in grief, so he killed him. Would have killed the father too, but decided it would be more amusing to challenge him to a formal duel one year hence, knowing damn well that no amount of training could make this guy more then a light bit of exercise.
Honestly I have no clue how ‘Lord Blades’ managed to walk from one end of the chancel to another without depleting our population…and all the while he’s upholding his sick vision of ‘justice and beauty’. I think of what he’d make of a girl like me as Blades and I just can’t help laughing - he must be spinning in his metaphorical grave.
And that was just before breakfast!
The task for the rest of the day was to be hunting down and slaying our resident banes. We can’t destroy them permanently…not yet at least…but this would stop them from messing with us for a couple of days at least.
It was a wonderful sight that greeted me outside the hall of Memory that morning– all the members of my famillia were armed. Antipathy and Bertram carried blades, Heinrich had thing made of bone and sinew, even Jacob brought along a baseball bat. So nice to see my dear brothers getting medieval for once – along with my collection of weapons we looked like a line-up from the usual suspects.
Even cooler Heinrich provided horses for us. Okay they were skeletal undead horses (I mean what else would you expect in this place) but it was a lovely gesture. Besides, once you got past the, you know, being dead thing, mine was very friendly…and kind of cute. I hope Heinrich will let me ride her some more.
As to the hunt itself…well I didn’t enjoy that at all. I know that they, the banes I mean, aren’t capable of remorse or forgiveness, I mean hell I’ve suffered in their attacks myself now, but I still can’t help but feel sympathy for these poor tormented souls. After all, they are the original victims in this saga. I wish there was some way we could end their suffering, allow them to move on at last…I wish…I wish a lot of things that just aren’t going to be.
I did what I could for them – I tried to make their ‘deaths’ as quick and painless as I could. Unlike some of my brothers. Antipathy in particular took great pleasure in tormenting the bound spirit of the one (the pair?) we call ‘The Brothers’. It’s his nature I suppose, but the glee with which he went about it…I don’t think I’m ever going to feel comfortable with his brand of service to Balthiel.
The only other wrinkle is that the banes had been detailing our chancels defences and weaknesses to someone, before our hunt stopped them. My brothers believe it was the thoroughly unpleasant ‘Innovation’ who we crossed paths with when Heinrich was attacked with the Rite of Inversion. I admit Innovation is a tempting suspect as he holds no love for us, hell his sibling Expectations is involved in some kind of blood feud with Antipathy, but I don’t know. I wonder if we need to look a little further before jumping to conclusions – especially when we’ve accumulated as many enemies as Antipathy seems too.
Either way we’re going to need more solid intelligence before we act. In the mean time we’re going to have to see about improving the chancels defences – I guess it’s about time I had a chat with some of the pilgrims of my Estate…
It began with a man who had sworn to kill me, even though we had never met.
Actually this makes more sense then it sounds – he had a beef with my predecessor, and somehow managed not to realise that the estate had changed hands since then. Now I’d have explained all that to him right off the bat…but we kind of got off on the wrong foot, what with him calling me a western whore and all.
Anyways as it turned out it wasn’t hard to avoid being killed by him – he was, after all, only mortal. A little harder was convincing himself not to seek his own death after what he viewed as a failure. I’ll tell you something else – I was almost sick when Kietsu explained to me just why this guy had sworn to kill me, well, to kill Blades.
It seems my predecessor, curse his little callous heart, had been offended by the ‘disrespectful’ way a woman looked at him. So, being the careful follower of our Darkest Lord’s decrees on the ‘Rule of Man’, he cut out her eyes as punishment. Her son attacked him in grief, so he killed him. Would have killed the father too, but decided it would be more amusing to challenge him to a formal duel one year hence, knowing damn well that no amount of training could make this guy more then a light bit of exercise.
Honestly I have no clue how ‘Lord Blades’ managed to walk from one end of the chancel to another without depleting our population…and all the while he’s upholding his sick vision of ‘justice and beauty’. I think of what he’d make of a girl like me as Blades and I just can’t help laughing - he must be spinning in his metaphorical grave.
And that was just before breakfast!
The task for the rest of the day was to be hunting down and slaying our resident banes. We can’t destroy them permanently…not yet at least…but this would stop them from messing with us for a couple of days at least.
It was a wonderful sight that greeted me outside the hall of Memory that morning– all the members of my famillia were armed. Antipathy and Bertram carried blades, Heinrich had thing made of bone and sinew, even Jacob brought along a baseball bat. So nice to see my dear brothers getting medieval for once – along with my collection of weapons we looked like a line-up from the usual suspects.
Even cooler Heinrich provided horses for us. Okay they were skeletal undead horses (I mean what else would you expect in this place) but it was a lovely gesture. Besides, once you got past the, you know, being dead thing, mine was very friendly…and kind of cute. I hope Heinrich will let me ride her some more.
As to the hunt itself…well I didn’t enjoy that at all. I know that they, the banes I mean, aren’t capable of remorse or forgiveness, I mean hell I’ve suffered in their attacks myself now, but I still can’t help but feel sympathy for these poor tormented souls. After all, they are the original victims in this saga. I wish there was some way we could end their suffering, allow them to move on at last…I wish…I wish a lot of things that just aren’t going to be.
I did what I could for them – I tried to make their ‘deaths’ as quick and painless as I could. Unlike some of my brothers. Antipathy in particular took great pleasure in tormenting the bound spirit of the one (the pair?) we call ‘The Brothers’. It’s his nature I suppose, but the glee with which he went about it…I don’t think I’m ever going to feel comfortable with his brand of service to Balthiel.
The only other wrinkle is that the banes had been detailing our chancels defences and weaknesses to someone, before our hunt stopped them. My brothers believe it was the thoroughly unpleasant ‘Innovation’ who we crossed paths with when Heinrich was attacked with the Rite of Inversion. I admit Innovation is a tempting suspect as he holds no love for us, hell his sibling Expectations is involved in some kind of blood feud with Antipathy, but I don’t know. I wonder if we need to look a little further before jumping to conclusions – especially when we’ve accumulated as many enemies as Antipathy seems too.
Either way we’re going to need more solid intelligence before we act. In the mean time we’re going to have to see about improving the chancels defences – I guess it’s about time I had a chat with some of the pilgrims of my Estate…
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)