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Post by caonedh on May 5, 2013 0:09:25 GMT -8
Ken Loper rubbed his eyes as his alarm went off. It was only the second night he had slept in his new apartment; he was still used to waking up in a warehouse, if not on Rowan's couch. It felt almost naughty for him to get up, walk around in his briefs, and just jump into the shower. He felt like SOMEONE should be around to look. He reached for his robe, but stopped at the last minute. No one was around. He was alone.
He turned on the water. It was cold at first, but then it got hot and stayed hot. And again, there was no one to watch him. For the last month, he had been using a solar shower he had got from REI. The water did get decently warm...but never hot. He stretched his shoulders as the water ran over them, and felt something in his back pop. The bed was so much nicer than the cot; he was actually getting some sleep again. But his back clearly wasn't used to it.
After his shower, he shaved his face. He also ran the razor over his head; there wasn't much stubble there yet, but for this meeting he wanted to look his best. Looking in the mirror, he almost called out to his wife, to look for spots he had missed. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he glared at himself in the mirror; he didn't need her for anything. Remember? He cleaned the bits of shaving cream off of his head and went in to get dressed.
The clock read 7:34. Ken took another look....he had apparently been in the bathroom for a bit longer than he had thought. Hurrying, he threw a shirt and jeans on, and grabbed his coat. It wasn't cold out, but it did a good job of hiding the focus he had on his back, and a blade in a pinch. Leaving his room, he opened the fridge. Not much in there...a bit of cheddar cheese, some butter, and an unopened bottle of wine.
He chuckled. He had never lived alone before in his life. and had never had the experiences in college to go along with that. So he had decided that on the first night in his new apartment, he would do the quintessential first apartment meal; grilled cheese and tomato soup. Rowan had wanted to join in to help celebrate, and it had turned into a date. He bought the sparkling white, and she brought flowers; yellow daisies. He hadn't had a vase for them; Ro had suggested that they put them into the empty bottle of wine when they were done with it. But they had never actually opened it. Now the flowers were sitting in a drinking glass on his desk.....which was still the only piece of furniture he had besides the bed. He was planning on getting a TV today, after his meeting; Anna assured him that he would be able to bring it through Agartha, as her own move from Chicago to New York had proven. Prices were so much better in the Midwest, and while he was getting a decent stipend from both Aegir and the Illuminati, there was no reason to blow money he didn't have to. He'd have to spend some money on satellite, he was sure; it may not be football season yet, but be damned if he was going to miss the Broncos games on the technicality that he lived 2000 miles away. And he'd need a recliner, to make this an actual bachelor pad. Maybe he'd get a couch, too; he wasn't quite sure about that. He had no desire to invite anyone over besides Rowan, and he was fairly sure no one in the company wanted to hang out with him.
Those people are not your friends
He shrugged. He knew that those people would never be his friends...though they did appreciate his intellect. Occasionally. That was enough. He'd been butting heads with Tess a lot more, but now that the SenTaxx investigation was winding down, he figured she'd go back to ignoring him. Probably best for all parties. He had briefly considered asking for a transfer to HR, to get away from her. Then he had realized that, no matter how frustrated Tess might get with him, at least she wouldn't vaporize him.
We liked Mercado though. We could work with her.
Yeah, that doesn't fill me with confidence in you OR her, he told the Voice as he stuffed the last of the cheese in his mouth. He'd have to visit that little store and get some actual food in the house; New York was way too expensive to eat out all the time. What did they call them again? Bodegas...that was it. City living was going to take a lot of getting used to. He thought about going downstairs and asking Ms. Rystaad for pointers .... but then remembered that he hadn't asked her which apartment she was in. On purpose. One should keep a professional distance from their boss. Especially when that boss is a raging alcoholic.
You're going to be late. Hurry up; you can get a bagel at the subway station.
I know, I'm going, he thought at the Voice. He took a look toward his desk. The stone inscription, and the paper one he had made a rubbing of at the Ankh, lay covered by a thick cloth. He was more sure than ever that it was a spell...and the only clue he had was repeated mention of the word snf. Blood. Especially when you look at the determinitives that showed context. But he didn't understand the language of magic. So he had to go to someone who did. Rowan was out of the question; her own health continued to be bad whenever she used her power. He had thought briefly about Ammie, but the Voice had started going on about her power; had positively swooned about it. He didn't trust whatever was in his head....and so he couldn't trust Ammie either.
Thankfully, the Illuminati employed a group comprised of some of the most feared blood mages in the world. Grabbing his hat, he hurried out the door. One was not late for a meeting with the Necromancers.
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Post by caonedh on May 6, 2013 15:31:05 GMT -8
Ken went down the stairs at 34th and 6th, part of a virtual tide of humanity swelling forward together but never as anything but separate entities. He had checked the subway routes before leaving; apparently, the R would take him from Manhattan to Brooklyn. He reached what he assumed was the right platform, and waited for the R. Beside him, a poorly dressed man was rapping to himself, they lyrics as uninspired as they were explicit. He didn't appear to be wearing earphones. He was half tempted to ask the man about that when the train pulled up. People filed off the train, and then others moved to take their place. Ken didn't even bother to find a seat. He simply grabbed one of the people hangers above and braced his feet as the train began to move.
The lights of the subway flashed past the window as he watched the cheap electronic monitoring station track the train's progress towards Brooklyn. It had a hypnotic effect; he gave a great yawn. He hadn't slept much the last couple nights. Two nights ago, he had been surprised by Ammie in El Merayah. She had been drunk and wanted to get high; neither of that was a surprise. But she had also needed someone to talk to. It had been nice; she was the only person to actually open up to him other than Rowan. He understood he was only a substitute for Ms. Rystaad, and a rather poor one at that, but she had seemed happier about life when she left. So either he, or the dope, had done their job. She still made him very nervous. He occasionally felt the effect of whatever she had done in the Hell Dimension to muddy his mind, even weeks after the fact; the power of the suggestion had left a permanent feeling of an incomplete seduction.
She is powerful. She would make a fitting partner
I have a partner, he told the Voice firmly. And I thought you wanted Rowan and I together?
You need Rowan. We need Rowan. That doesn't make us wrong about the other.
Oh, shut up, he thought at it irritably. He didn't like this new turn that the Voice was taking. He was with Rowan because he cared about her, not any other reason.
Wasn't he?
He had met her for lunch the day before. They had both had a salad at the God.... which in and of itself seemed wrong. Salad at an English Pub? The conversation had started out innocently enough...
Most things do...
No. Can't think of that. Needed to focus on the job at hand. Looking forward to what might come after would only be a distraction, and he needed to learn, and learn quickly. He didn't want to be around the Necromancers any longer than he had to. They had insisted that he leave his cell phone at home. He would be with them several days at least, they said. The price of sharing their knowledge.
Rumors had been swirling that he was up for a promotion at work. He wasn't sure why.... he certainly hadn't been suggested by Tess. Besides, his department already had two heads. Would he be transferred? Jenna would be behind any transfers... and that didn't bode well. He started to get worried, and then shrugged. That which happens, happens, and could never have happened any other way, he reminded himself. So going off comm for a couple days wouldn't affect things one way or the other.
Nevertheless, he unconsciously gripped the hand hold a little harder as the R train rolled inevitably towards Brooklyn.
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Post by caonedh on May 6, 2013 23:19:49 GMT -8
The room was dimly lit. Ken had been left alone in the dimly lit room. And he was annoyed as all hell about it. He had arrived fifteen minutes early for his scheduled meeting. He had been left alone for two hours.
Necromancers have always had a penchant for high drama. This modern breed doesn't seem to be any different.
Ken had never had much patience for dramatic nonsense. Lucky him, these modern necromancers seem to have perfected it to an art. There were no skull and crossbones, or anything like that. But the walls were covered in red velvet, and the floor would have been at home at any slaughterhouse.
Keep yourself calm. This is clearly a test.
This has to be a test, Ken decided. Just play it calm, he told himself. Eventually, they'll have to end this charade. So he schooled his face to impassiveness, folded his hand in his lap. And waited.
Finally, a man came through the door. He was wearing what looked to be the worst pair of pajamas ever sewn, with an incongruous scarf over his shoulders. He wore a mask over his mouth, and goggles over his eyes. "Ken Loper?" the man said in a voice straight from a science fiction film.
Ken nodded. "I take it you are the head of the Necromancers?"
"You take it wrong. I am merely the representative of our order you will speak to," the man said plainly. "Why did you wish to set up this meeting?"
Keep cool. Give them the answer we told you to.
"It has been whispered about me that I am wasting my gifts," he said. "So I have decided to learn more of the occult. I am starting with Blood."
The man paced around his chair. "Interesting. Why Blood?"
"Because I have a friend who is a Blood Mage, but she is being sick by her power. I was hoping to...."
"We are well aware of Ms. Malory's condition," the man cut in. "We keep an eye on our counterparts across the pond. Some of the greatest blood mages the Templars have are working on that problem. You cannot hope to find something they did not with only basic occult understanding."
Play it cool.... he's just testing us.
"Yes, well, that doesn't mean I'm not going to try."
The man put his face on his chin...or where his mask covered his chin, and seemed to nod. "Yes, that is what we hear about you. You are reckless. You think there is nothing you cannot do. Your ham fisted attempts to heal her may kill her, and you. Have you given no thought to that?"
"What you hear about me? Have you been checking up on me?"
"Nicely deflected," said the man. "But yes, we checked up on you when Geary set up this meeting for you. You use a blade, is that correct? It's hidden beneath your coat." Ken unconsciously touched his sword through the fabric of his jacket, and the man chuckled. "Yes....I thought so. It seems you have more of an affinity for Chaos then blood."
"Because I use a blade?" asked Ken incredulously.
"Yes, and don't interrupt. You precious little idiot, you think you know so much and yet you know so little." The man stood in front of him. "Tell me, Mr. Loper...why do you suppose the members of my order wear a mask? And goggles?"
"Terrible fashion sense? I can put you in touch with Ms. Rysaad if you wish. Have her give you a makeover."
The man lifted a hand, pointing it towards Ken. At first, Ken was confused. Then, he started to feel a choking sensation in his chest. Without really meaning to, he stood up. Everything began to look like a red mist, and he could feel something...being pulled from him.
Fight it!
Seemingly of their own accord, his arms were surrounded by a blue black... he had always called it a flame, but now it looked like more of a void. He thrust his arms out, and the void lashed from him like a whip. It caught the man in the chest, who staggered, his arm dropping. Ken dropped to the floor gasping. As his vision cleared, he could hear the man laughing through his mask. He looked over, and saw that while he had not hurt the man terribly, he HAD managed to knock him on his ass.
"Chaos. Just like I thought. You're pretty strong, to get through my wards." He stood, and then extended his arm again. This time, though, it was to help Ken up. Ken looked at the hand suspiciously, and then took it. The man pulled him to his feet. "That is why we have such terrible fashion sense," said the man. "Blood anima is most easily drawn from a victim via a wound, or a cut. But in a pinch, the eyes and mouth will do. That was your first lesson. Do you want to know more?"
They should rename them Drama-mancers. We hate having to work with them.
They should rename them Drama-mancers. I hate needing their help. "Yes," he said simply, hoping his disdain did not reach his face. "I must."
The man studied him for a moment. Or at least, Ken thought he did; it was tough to tell through the opaque goggles. "You did not bring a cell phone. You will not contact anyone while we teach you, not even your mistress. Is this understood?"
He's trying to anger you. Don't let him.
I know that! he thought furiously at the Voice. And you know what? Too late. "Do not refer to Ms. Malory as my mistress. It implies a lack of moral fortitude on her part which is simply not the case. I will not allow that to stand."
The man waved that away. "Whatever you want to tell yourself, Mr. Loper. Welcome to the Necromancer enclave. I will show you to your cell now."
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Post by caonedh on May 7, 2013 22:29:09 GMT -8
"What do you believe anima is?"
Ken shrugged at the nameless man. It was not the same man as before... which didn't mean it couldn't be the guy's brother. Who dressed exactly the same. "I don't know. That's why I came here."
"You do know the three main types of anima, though?"
"Blood, Chaos, Elemental. I just figured it was just different foci for the same power."
That gave the necromancer pause. "Well... they are, and they aren't. They all three have to do with one aspect of the universe. They are what powers it. Not just Gaia, but everything. It is primal, Mr. Loper. It is our own minds, our own predilections, that give it shape."
What IS this boob going on about?
You're the one who wanted to come here to learn, so shut up and learn, he thought at the Voice. "Please, go on."
"All three of them are primal powers, Mr. Loper, and all three are complex as well. Elementalism is probably the most raw, the most powerful, but also the hardest to direct. It is the force that powers hurricanes to blow and continents to move. It does not try to create or destroy, thought it does do both. It is simply THERE; creation and destruction are simply byproducts. Then there is Chaos... which most people outside of the Dragon believe to be only disunity. But those who know Chaos, really KNOW it, will tell you it's more than that. It is the slow entropy of everything, yes; it fights to tear down everything in this universe. But it also creates, too....no moment was more chaotic then the Big Bang, and from that we were ALL made."
"And Blood?"
"Most believe that it is the power of life... that life itself is the most magical thing in the universe, and that by using that force, we can draw from it's power. But it's more than that, Mr. Loper. It took the Necromancers hundreds of years...not to mention gaining a terrible reputation... to realize the truth."
"And that is?"
"That we are all a universe in miniature. Anima runs through the cosmos like the veins in your body, powering everything from the rotation of pulsars to the splitting of a single cell into two. Even that tiny cell has blood; we call it something different, but it serves the same purpose. What does our own blood do? It brings air from the lungs, nutrients from the digestive track, and all important antibodies to every part of our bodies. And that is what anima truly is to the universe; it's the very life's blood of Creation."
"So.. you're saying that Chaos is the life cycle of the universe, Blood is the Fuel, and Elemantalism is the tool used to bring it all together."
The man nodded. "I've never heard it put that way, but yes, I suppose. And each person has a predilection to one of those three powers. They can learn to use all of them...but one generally stands out. For you, it seems to be Chaos. You are obsessed with the past. Probably because you feel that is the only way to make sense of the present; to piece it together from the picture it used to be. Bringing Order to Chaos isn't fighting it...it's simply completing the circle."
"The man I met when I arrived said he knew that I was Chaos inclined because I use a blade. Why?"
The man nodded. "You DO know how to ask the right questions. Understand, the relationship is not one for one. There are exceptions. I once met a Chaos Theorist who could wield a hammer so well that he could have emasculated Thor. But generally, even those who chose to channel anima through a more mundane medium show their predilections. Those with elemental predilcitions like to use the hammer or an axe....both tools that can build or destroy depending on how they are directed. A blade, of course, is designed to kill.... but the finest swordsmen are also artists, creating designs and patterns of swordplay that are beautiful to behold, even as they are terrible. Order and Entropy....beauty and terror...the marks of Chaos. Blood disposed individuals....they train their own bodies to be weapons. A living conduit of anima that can flow through them unobstructed. Though I understand a lot of them are putting claws on their hands like they're fucking Wolverine or something. Idiots."
Yeah, but THESE idiots use Assault Rifles. When do we get to the part where we learn how to read spells? This is tedious.
A good point, he thought at the Voice, so he asked the man. His instructor shook his head. "Guns are newer....we're still trying to puzzle them out. We think that those who enjoy shotguns are using Chaos, for obvious reasons. However....you remember why we wear masks and goggles?"
"Oh, yes. I wont soon forget THAT lesson."
"Well, then, it's simple. Assault rifles put a lot of holes in people quickly. Those holes are portals that we can use to access their power and make it their own. We have not forgot the lessons of our forebears. A blood sacrifice IS power. We just were doing it for the wrong reasons before."
These people are disgusting. But don't tell them that. We still need them.
"I have to tell you, I don't do guns," Ken said.
The man handed him an old M-14. "You want to learn from us? You learn it all. You said you would see it through to the end. Will you?"
Take the gun, you pussy. We haven't come this far to be blocked by your squeamishness.
Ken pursed his lips in anger, but took the weapon. I can't wait until this partnership is done, he thought at the Voice.
Awwww, but we make such a great team!
If the man noticed the look, he didn't show it. "Then to the firing range with you. It's time you learned how to leech."
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Post by caonedh on May 8, 2013 23:05:47 GMT -8
"You recieved a fax yesterday, after you returned to your cell," the man asked accusatorially. It was the man from his first day; Ken had gotten better at figuring out which brother was which, even if they did not give their names.
"I was required to inform HR at my job that I would be taking a short leave of absence. It was your men that passed Ms. Mercado's fax on to me."
"Yes, well, they're not stupid enough to trifle with that woman. She would have made a great addition to our order, if she had shown any interest," the man said. Ken filed that tidbit away; he had not seen any women Necros, but apparently they did exist. The man was still talking "...any idea why she would send that file to you?"
"There has been...talk...of my receiving a promotion soon. Either to something within my current branch, like Chief Agent or Head Researcher or something. Or perhaps to Human Resources. My guess is that this was a test by Ms. Mercado to see if I could fill those shoes; even if I don't go into HR, department heads often conduct their own interviews. Understand: as far as I know, it's still all rumor."
"Interesting," the man said. "Well, I have come to congratulate you. You have done exceedingly well in our training program. Especially for one so predisposed to another form of anima. Under different circumstances, we might offer you membership in our brotherhood."
Of course they would. TRUE talent never finds it's way to them. To get their hands on you would be a coup for them.
Ken ignored this; it was clear the Voice wasn't a fan of Blood magic or the Necromancers. He did wish it would shut up about it. "I appreciate the sentiment," he said. "Though I doubt I will ever be good with a gun."
"You were passable," the man said. "But now it's time to teach you that which differentiates us from other men...and makes us Blood Mages. It's time to teach you our spellcraft."
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Post by caonedh on May 9, 2013 22:16:13 GMT -8
This is pointless. This is not getting us the information we need.
For once, Ken was tempted to agree with the Voice. It was true he had learned a great deal about how to use blood anima; he had never realized how self sacrificing a pursuit it could be. When he had commented on that, the brother training him had asked him to remember Ms. Malory's struggles. Despite how sick it made her, she continued to use it to help others. Chagrinned, he had nodded and gotten back to the lesson.
Still, all he had learned was of a more practical bent. He wanted to see their library...see how the spells were actually written. He knew it was a jump to think that spell forms would have remained the same over the course of three and a half thousand years...but it was the only lead he had to go on. And the Voice had led him here for a reason.
Yes But we're starting to wonder if we had a reason for our reasoning...
At the end of the lesson, Ken returned to his cell. It was cramped, but he had just spent a month living in a warehouse. This place had a bed, a desk, and a chair. He could make do. Though even he could see the irony of staying here AFTER he had finally found a place to stay. He entered the room and froze. There, sitting in his much praised chair, sat a figure. It was wearing the outfit of a Necromancer, but was clearly a female. Instead of the mask and goggles worn by the brothers, this woman had a full mask on; none of her features were visible.
We're not sure this is a good thing.
No shit? "Hello, miss. Can I help you?"
"Cut the bullshit, Loper. I know why you're here." The voice emanating from the mask was feminine but mechanical... or, Ken supposed, it sounded like every GPS voice ever made.
"You should know. I haven't made a secret of it," said Ken. "And even if I had wanted to, Geary would have gotten it out of me. You could have asked her."
"Geary is a formidable woman, it is true. But she has a lot on her plate, and she is sometimes...easily misdirected. Especially if she thinks the matter is trivial. Like teaching an operative the basics of anima."
Ken looked at her in the where-he-guessed-her-eyes-were-generally-located. "Alright, then. You tell me what my real purpose is."
The woman shrugged. "You're an archaeologist. You clearly found something that you think is a blood spell. You're hoping to get a look at what a spell looks like when written down. I have to tell you, that's terribly old fashioned. Most spells are kept on encrypted servers now."
Fuck. We should have thought about that. We could have just asked Anna.
Then we would have had someone else in the loop, thought Ken at the Voice. "Seems to me, then, that the plan you think I have is seriously flawed."
"It would have been. Thankfully enough for you, we're willing to let you look at some of those spells...for a price."
"There's always a price. Alright, then, assuming that I wanted to visit your library,what would your price be?"
The woman turned her head slightly to the side, as if studying him. "That whatever it is you found, you do NOT share what you learn with the Necromancers. Destroy it."
Deal. Wait...what?
Ken shared the Voice's confusion. "I do not understand."
The woman sighed; through her mask, it sounded like the droning of an angry cicada. Darth Vader would have killed to have a breath sound so sinister. "The Necromancers have some bad press, Mr. Loper....and it's deserved. Through the centuries, some of the order have decided to focus on Death, rather than blood. Hence the name, given by fearful priests and villagers centuries ago. That temptation exists even today. Whatever this spell is, it may be incredibly powerful. Destructive. You have a reputation as a scholar, Mr. Loper. You are motivated by knowledge, not money or power. Not everyone, even among our order, is so noble."
"And so you don't think I'll use it for evil purposes," said Ken.
"Oh, I never said that. No, you may cause great harm through whatever it is you're working on, even if it not be on purpose. No, I just think you're stubborn enough to figure it out sooner or later, and I may as well help you. That way, I can ask this condition of you, and you feel indebted to the Order."
A woman motivated by self interest. True Illuminati. Go ahead and make the deal; she has no idea where you have the inscription. Admitting there is one does not harm us.
This woman is true Illuminati, thought Ken. And I do need to see those spells. "Deal," he said simply.
"You leave us tomorrow evening," she said. "That gives you less than twenty four hours to find what you are looking for. Come with me; you'd better get started today."
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Post by caonedh on May 10, 2013 23:02:13 GMT -8
Ken Loper finished packing his bags and waited. He had learned what he had come to learn, but it had been drilled into him that he should not roam the halls of the Necromancer enclave without one of the brothers with him.
We think we know, now. We think we can help you finish translating the inscription.
Ken was pretty positive he could translate the inscription now. He also had a new appreciation for the users of anima, though he doubted he would ever use it exclusively. Too hocus pocus.
Finally, the door to what had been his cell opened. It was not one of the brothers at all, but the strange woman who had spoken to him yesterday. "Are you ready, Mr. Loper?" she asked.
We wonder what she looks like under that disguise. Necromancers and their drama. Why the secrecy?
Ken briefly wondered what the woman looked like under her disguise. Was she a shriveled hag, or perhaps disfigured? Or maybe she was beautiful, but did not trust outsiders. Ken mentally shrugged. Necromancers and their drama. Why the secrecy? "Yes, I'm ready."
The two of them walked down a narrow passageway. "You should know that many of the brothers were quite taken with you," she said in her machine-disguised voice. "They thought you a model student, and very charming."
That's because compared to them, you ARE charming. Most of them have the personality of toothless comb.
That's because most of them have the personality of a toothless comb, he thought to himself. He did not think the metaphor strange, even though he himself hadn't needed a comb since the mid nineties. "Their instruction proved invaluable," he said instead. "Already I have ideas about my research that I would not have had without this experience."
"I am glad of this. I trust you remember our deal?"
We would never have trusted anything with a Necromancer anyway. Stupid bitch.
"Honestly, I had never intended to share anyway, so your concern in this matter is unwarranted." And if you couldn't figure that out for yourself, he thought to himself, then you're a stupid bitch.
When they got to the door, a package was waiting for him, complete with his name scribbled on a piece of paper. A wrapped bundle and a highly ornate rifle. "What's this?" he asked, mostly to himself.
"It's a gift from some of the brothers," she said. "Normally only one of our order would be allowed clothing like that. But you completed a most rigorous training; the level was even boosted. We wanted to break you, to prove that our way was superior to yours. Instead, you succeeded. It was the belief of some of the brothers that you should be allowed to wear our habit, so that all may know that you trained with the Necromancers and passed our tests. I agreed."
"My deepest thanks...though I am not sure I will need the gun."
"Still squeamish about guns, eh?" Even with the voice disguise, she sounded amused. "Take it anyway. You want to stay in practice, after all."
Ken hesitated, but nodded and took the bundle. "Thank you again."
The woman nodded, and then opened the door. He stepped through it, and she closed it behind him without another word. It was late...extremely late. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but at 1 am, it was safe to say that it was dozing, at least in Brooklyn. He wondered if the subway ran that late...and lo, it did. He hopped on the R despite the rifle he had in his coat. He was sure that the Illuminati would be able to make it go away if he was caught by the local PD with it. As it turned out, it didn't matter. The only people he saw on the train were a tired looking middle aged woman, and what looked like a homeless guy talking to himself. He got to Manhattan without incident, and to his apartment. There, the inscription sat in a locked drawer of his desk. It seemed to be calling him.
Go ahead. Let's have a look. It's not that late.
I could take a look now, he thought. This is what I've been working for. It's not that late. Only ....2:30am. Jesus H. Christ. I'd better get to sleep.
With one last look, he sighed and jumped in the shower. When he went to bed afterwards, he never felt his head hit the pillow.
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Post by caonedh on May 14, 2013 1:30:01 GMT -8
"Thank you, sir, have a great day!"
"Yeah, you too," said Ken to the innocuous delivery man. He slid the various boxes into the apartment and shut the door. It was starting to look more and more like someone lived there. He had turned what was supposed to be a dining room into his office. The living room had a cheap sofa and an expensive recliner. He had a TV now as well, and a DVR recording all the shows he had never missed before February. Of course, he didn't bother with the ghost shows that he had used to eat up. What they dealt with was so.... tame. But he had to have his fix of Neil Patrick Harris. I should get Netflix, he thought to himself; it's been a while since I watched Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog.
But for now, his attention turned back to the boxes. "Hello, gorgeous," he said. Right now, they were nothing but parts. But in a matter of hours, they would be a beautiful new computer. Ken had always enjoyed building his own machines; probably why he had been sent to IT originally by Tiev. Ken chuckled when he thought of the man. Give him an explosive and he was a genius. Anything else? Well, he just wasn't interested. Ken grabbed a knife and started opening boxes.
You're wasting time. Why won't you look at the inscription?
Because trying to build a life for myself is important, too, he thought at the Voice. Hell, I doubt if anyone even remembers the work I'm doing at Aegir.
The rumors he had heard before leaving for the Necromancer conclave had ended up being true; when he arrived back, he had been greeted with news of his promotion. Apparently, Tiev had given up his title of Chief Agent. Probably for reasons involving an explosion and a surplus consumption of cheap vodka. And expensive vodka. He had left a present of both on his desk at HQ. Ken thought it hilarious that they would name him to that position; if two people could be more opposite, it was Tiev and himself. He had taken to signing his emails as "Head Researcher" instead. He hoped THAT title would stick. It was, at the very least, an honest description of what he did.
So you've been promoted. Does that mean your work not important anymore?
But did the extra responsibility mean his own work wasn't important anymore? Ken shook his head. No. Of course it didn't. That was one of the reasons he wanted the computer.... once he networked it to Aegir, he could do most of the busy work from home. No more dealing with Tess' obstinance (that he was obstinate to her as well never crossed his mind), or Sera's strange desire to kill every problem she came across, or Seanne's insistence that everyone should party all the time, or Jenna and her desire that he should explode. Just....work. Research. Solitude and serenity.
Those people are not...
...my friends, he finished for the Voice. Dude, I get it. And if I didn't hear you the first two hundred times, I probably could have figured it out myself.
No need to get snippy. We have changed our minds. It would be good for you to get away from those people. You don't need them. You do the busy work for them, and use the money they give you to fund what really matters. Our Research. Go ahead and build your little lightning box.
Ken grunted, in both agreement and surprise. The Voice hadn't put together that long a thought since Tanis. He still didn't trust it... but it was actually talking sense. And a lot of the things it had told him to do had helped. The Ankh inscription. The visit with the Necromancers. Even Rowan....would he have pursued a relationship with her if the Voice hadn't pushed for it? He wasn't sure; before, he had felt guilty even thinking of it. But now, it was a source of great happiness for him.
Yeah, the Voice has done right by me, he decided. So I should do right by it. It wants me to look at the inscription? Let's take a look.
Ken grabbed the key from where he had hidden it; under a vase that contained the daisies Rowan had brought him on his moving day. Keeping them fresh and alive was a simple matter, with what he had learned from the Necromancers. He unlocked the drawer with the inscriptions; that bastard piece of stone with the strange markings he had puzzled over for weeks, and the rubbing of the inscription he found under the Ankh. He looked back and forth....now he understood the syntax agreements. It was all so simple; the spell was in a slightly different format than what he had seen in the library, but not different enough to pose a problem. It said....
Ken looked at the tablet in sudden understanding. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open, twisting in revulsion. He re-covered the stone inscription and went to the kitchen to pour himself a Crown and Coke. At the last second, he decided that he didn't really need the Coke portion. He downed the whiskey in a single shot. He then held his empty glass for a long moment, simply staring, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do now.
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Post by caonedh on May 17, 2013 23:51:52 GMT -8
Ken sighed in contentment as he lay on the couch he had nearly not bothered buying. He wondered why he had ever doubted the utility of a couch. One simply cannot properly cuddle a lady on a recliner. Rowan lay with him, cuddled into his shoulder, telling him about her week. It had been a while since they had seen each other; both of them had had insane weeks at work. After yesterday's tromp through the Hell Dimensions for the sponsers, Ken had strongly suggested that he work from home today. Tess had rebutted him by giving him a personal day. Also, giving herself a personal day.
If she wasn't more careful, he was going to start to like her.
And what better way to spend a personal day than with a pretty girl? He nuzzled her a bit as she talked, which made her giggle. "And what about you?" she asked when she was done. "D..do anything interesting?"
"Not really," he said, shrugging. "Had meetings most of the day, a little bit of fieldwork. But I finished translating the Tanis inscription."
No! You fool! Don't bring that up!
"Oh, yes, I remember!" she said. "W..what did it say!"
She wouldn't want to know.
"Oh, you wouldn't want to know," he said. Why was he deflecting her question? It was quite reasonable for her to ask; he brought it up.
"Oh, I'm sorry. It m..must be one of those work things you can't tell me about," said Rowan. That was the balancing act that came with dating someone from a rival society; there were some things that they really couldn't talk about.
But this wasn't one of them. "No, no, it's not anything that was assigned. I work on it when they don't have something else for me to do."
"What is it?"
Do NOT tell her!
"It's a spell. Very very dark, and old. It blends chaos and blood magics." Ken was starting to feel a bit panicky as he talked to her. That didn't make much sense; he had been perfectly content a moment before.
"Oh? That's interesting, what does it do?"
"It's a spell that allows you to speak to the dead," he said frankly. "It uses chaos magic to unleash the power inherent in a person's blood, which allows the caster to part the veil. Of course, the longer the person has been dead, the more blood it takes. But it scares me... because it made me think of you."
Rowan sat up and looked at him. She got that deer in the headlights look that she used to get whenever he suggested she was pretty. He had forgotten how endearing it was. "M.me?"
"Well, it has a very..specialized requirement. For the blood."
That's it. We're taking over, before you ruin everything.
"And you thought of me?" she said, blinking slowly. "Y..you want to use my blood?"
"No, no, I wouldn't ask it of you even if you volunteered. This is dark magic. But it calls for the blood of a female blood mage... I don't know why it has to be female. Perhaps something to do with bringing life into the world?"
At least, that's what he meant to say. However, those aren't the words his lips made. "No, no, I wouldn't ask it of you even if you volunteered," he heard himself say. "It is a dark magic. Besides, I'm probably overreacting. I do think of you a lot...maybe it just bled into my work."
Rowan looked at him, now more concerned. "Who are you trying to talk to?"
"The first Atenist. About three thousand five hundred years dead." Well....THOSE words had come out. What had just happened?
"The f..first Atenist? Akhenaten?"
Ken shook his head. "Cults are cults until a leader becomes a member. Then it becomes a religion. He may be the one we know...but I'm willing to bet there was a cult before he was ever approached by the Aten."
"Well, be careful," she said, looking at him in earnest. "Who knows what strength so old a spirit may have?"
"I will be. I should destroy it.... it'd be dangerous in the wrong hands," he said. Then, inexplicably, his mouth kept moving. "But I can't. Maybe I'll work on it the old fashioned way. People think it's quaint....that I have skills and I should use them. But that may be the way I have to go. Or I could just say it's a dead end. It'd hurt my credibility, but..."
Rowan nodded, for all the world like she understood. Which made one of them. What was happening to him? "You do what you think is best," she said.
Eventually, they decided to go to dinner. Ken could afford to take her to a fancy restaurant, and why not? He held the door for her as she left to get a nice dress from her flat in London, then shut the door. Alright, he thought at the Voice, seething. What the hell was that?
It's time we had a talk.
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Post by caonedh on May 19, 2013 13:23:14 GMT -8
Ken paced back and forth in his apartment, locked into an arguement no one could hear but him. You did not have the right to change my words, he thought furiously.
You did not have the right to ruin all our plans.
What plans? What are you talking about?
We haven't been this close in centuries. We will NOT allow you to let your ape instinct to mate get into the way.
Ken froze. Close to what?
Escape. Freedom. Nothing but what you would want for yourself.
Who are you?
Ah, the human desire to label everything. We've had many names. The Babylonians called us the shedim. When we whispered into the ear of Socrates, we were called Daimonian. The Egyptians called us Apep, the Dark Water serpent who devoured everything. When we confronted the Prophet of Galilee, we wished to intimidate him and his followers with a Roman, and much more fitting, name: Legion. We underestimated him; he sealed us away until the Norsemen found us much later. They had the highest opinion of us...in their minds, we were the Valkyries, taking their soul to Valhalla. We took their souls, alright, but the only ones feasting were us. They took us to America, where we sensed a rift...a seat of power we could use. Others were already there, but our Norsemen were more powerful. Unfortunately, when the shaman cast their spells to seal the rift, they caught us up, too. Now we can barely touch minds...except the few that were most like us.
I am NOTHING like you.
Oh, but you are. But you were always so afraid of yourself. You were weak. So we whispered. We whispered that you weren't good enough, not strong enough. How many times did our whispers drive you to the point of madness? Don't answer....we already know. Because we were there. But then...those bees came. And we knew we could use you. Now we can summon the spirit of the Shaman that imprisoned us, and force him to release us. Or we will be able to, once you find the shaman's remains.
I will not help you do any such thing.
Ah, but you already have been. Roaming Soloman Island.... dispatching the reanimated dead... what do you suppose you were looking for? And you even provided us with the blood we will need to power the spell. So we guess there is a use to the human drive to mate, after all.
Ken's mouth worked in horror. I won't let you, he thought. I'll stop you.
Stop us? You can't stop us. You're one of us now. One voice among thousands. You gave yourself to us in a hundred different ways... in Tanis, when you partnered with us. In Denver, when you severed ties with your past in oh so dramatic fashion. When you agreed to study with the Necromancers. Even the way you isolated yourself from everyone else. A hundred little ways you gave yourself to us...
I most certainly did not! I am my own man!
Ah, denial. Feel free to continue existing in this state for as long as you wish. You are one of us now; your voice is as important to us as those who have been here for centuries. But you cannot stop us. You have been.... outvoted.
Ken screamed, but no sound came from his mouth. Instead, he walked to the mirror. He had two weeks growth of beard now; he rubbed at it and nodded. He then ran a hand over his head. What an idiotic affectation. There was too much to do to spend that much of his week shaving. He smiled. We have been called so many things, he thought to himself.
It won't be so bad, to be called Ken Loper for a while.
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