I approached the ship. Only its stern -- formed like a giant nautilus, its planks all engraved with Excrucian runes -- was relatively intact, tilted at an angle backwards as it lay upon the beach. The moans were coming from the captain's cabin, from the gallery at the stern. I landed, peered in through the windows, but could see little, even though my eyes could take in every fragment of moonlight within.
I opened the door, stepped in, alert and ready. The moan again, coming from a back portion of the cabin. A young man lay there, coiffed, beautifully dressed, gorgeously --
I paused. He was ... so ...
I shook my head. He was battered and wounded, opalescent blood staining his tunic, his pretty locks, his --
Dammit. What's the matter with me? Excrucians are beautiful. I knew that already. Get over it, man.
"I need to move you," I said to him. "It's too dangerous here."
He spoke a word in his tongue, a black and twisted language yet, from his mouth, like the chiming of bells.
I grunted, then reached down, gently picked him up, trying to keep his broken ribs and limbs immobile. It helped that I could gently fly across the room, back out the door.
In the moonlight, I could see his clothes were as from some court, where fine craft was reflected in minimalistic simplicity. Such style had never appealed to me -- a product of my time. Haley -- Imagination would probably be disappointed in me.
"Hey, what you got there, girl?" Crime's voice called up to me, where he and Fungus stood upon the sand. "Bring 'im down."
Wonderful. I was loathe to entrust even an Excrucian to Crime's tender mercies. But I wanted to check the rest of the wreck out, and didn't want to be delayed securing the prisoner, or taking him to medical care.
In the light, he looked 17 or 18 years old. I hoped he didn't have anything of value in his pockets.
Crime nodded as I landed. "I'm a doctor, girlie. Don't worry -- I won't hurt him. Let's see -- better splint that ..."
I nodded, glared at him sternly. "If you do hurt him, Guilt will know." And likely do nothing about it, but that's another matter.
He gave me a big grin. "But he's Excrucian. He deserves punishment for invading us, no?"
"Yes -- once we know what's going on." I couldn't stand his presence any longer. "I'm checking out the ship."
There was not much left. A few papers in the captain's cabin, at first glance, but I wanted to check for bodies before I gave it a thorough searching.
But there were no bodies to be found. The migo, the ogroids in the water, were maybe a score in number, but were also clearly not commanders of ships. The pretty boy (Keep calling him that) was only one -- the craft was too large for so few officers.
Of course, there was only part of a ship here. The rest was scattered across the reef. Yet, that wasn't how it looked. This was not a shipwreck, torn by impact. Instead, the ship had been -- rent. Torn apart, as though by giant hands, not a crash. Curious.
A further search below decks found no cargo (washed to sea), nor were there guns where one might expect them on a gun deck.
I heard noises above me, alarming for a moment until I recognized the breathing and movements as that of Crime. "What are you doing?" I asked coldly as I came back to the captain's quarters where he was rifling drawers.
"I'm picking up evidence, girl. Look -- the log book."
That would tell us where they had been, and where they were planning to travel. All right, that had been clever of him, though it was more likely he was out to sell it to a museum or some such thing. "Good job. I'll carry it."
We descended to the beach. Fungus looked at the log, nodded, then said, "I am speaking with my brethren aboard. They talk about five like our prisoner, along with one in a hood. They are making a contract, which they sign and seal. The hooded one is pointing at an image of the Earth. The hooded one promises a large chest as payment. Their leader looks within, and it glows. Our prisoner bears the chest below decks. The hooded one leaves. The ship heads to Earth, but the chest -- it is not clear, but a rupture occurs where the chest is, killing many, and the ship sinks here."
Excellent. "And the contract?"
"Look in the log book," Crime suggested and we found it there, tucked in the pages. The language it was scribed in was part Excrucian and part Angelic. The Angelic script promised services to be rendered, in exchange for (in Excrucian) good, or perhaps weapons. Since the rest of the log was in Excrucian, presumably the hooded one promising favors was the one writing in Angelic. Ostensibly one of the Light, or Heaven, but clearly a traitor.
An Excrucian rune was burn into the paper at the bottom. Beside it was a seal.
Cathetel.
But that trick never works.
After the attempt to frame Amaciel, which led to the battle which necessitated refounding our Chancel, it would have been a bizarre coincidence for Cathetel to have turned out traitor. Yet I was ready to leave, even then, to speak to him, and demand the truth. What I would do about it, were the implications true, was another matter, but I had to know where matters stood.
"This doesn't seem like the Big Boss," Crime suggested. "Let me try something."
He spoke, then, to the Spirit of the Contract, using his Domain to determine what crimes might be involved with its crafting. Betrayal and treachery, certainly, but also -- yes, forgery. Thank God. The contract was a forgery, to implicate Cathetel. It was almost certainly meant to be found, though the contract's spirit could not tell us why it had been done.
I joined in the questioning, if only to see if the contract had any punishment clauses for noncompliance or nonperformance. After all, what would motivate or frighten these Excrucians (the survivor of whom was watching us with expressionless intensity)?
Nothing, it seemed. The contract only promised what each would do, not what would be done if they did not. Interesting.
Of course, if the contract were meant to be found, the hooded one would not have worried -- since the destruction of the chest and wrecking of the ship were almost certainly intentional, and thus the contract was itself a sham.
"I must tell Cathetel of this," I told them. "You can secure and take care of him?" I added, pointing at the Excrucian.
Crime only smiled and nodded. Fungus -- well, I'd known it for over a century, and still its body language eluded me. But I trusted it would make sure Crime didn't simply slit his throat and dump the body into the ocean. I hoped.
The courtyard before the City Hall was packed with chupacabras, as were the streets beyond. They were gathering -- or being gathered -- and that was worrisome. I trusted it was at Cathetel's order.
I entered the building. Cathetel held court in, appropriately, one of the main courtrooms. Before it was a guard, the Bailiff, as well as a man dressed ornately. I moved past them to enter, having no time for ceremony, but the guard held his ground before the door. "His Lordship -- is, uh, busy."
I fixed him with a cold stare. "Indeed. But that does not remove my need to see him. Now."
"He asked not to be disturbed until the visit was over."
I hesitated. It was an order, but this news was urgent. "That is between His Lordship and me," I said, reaching for the door handle.
Amazingly, the Bailiff interposed himself, though he was sweating heavily. "His Lordship asked not to be disturbed." He added, in a less firm voice, "Please don't kill me."
The matter was rendered moot by footsteps approaching the door from the inside. It opened, and out stepped Michel Tomas, Saint of Justice, and investigator sent to settle the dispute between Cathetel and Arnaud.
It seems strange that a Noble of Justice would be so ill-favored by me, who am both just as a personal rule and in my execution of duties as Punishment. But Tomas was no friend of mine. He worshiped the law, to my mind, to the exclusion of justice. Mercy, and the fit of punishment to crime, both meant little to him. And worse, he dressed up his worship of codes and codicils with a piety that grated, as though he were divinely tasked to carry out his self-appointed duties, smiling only when the path to doing so was short and clear.
I knew I was not popular, even among my brethren, but I took cold comfort that Tomas was even less so. I, at least, had been known to go out for a drink. It had been some decades, but it had happened.
Nobody drank with Tomas.
Immaculate and haughty, he strode from the courtroom as though it were his chamber, not our Imperator. "Siân. How delightful."
"Tomas," I said, intentionally choosing his surname, not his given one, nor his Estate. Nor did I comment on my reaction to his presence here.
I was several paces past him when he asked, "And how is the boat?"
Obviously Cathetel had told him, but it was still irksome that he played games like that to throw me off-balance. I glanced over my shoulder at him. "In poor shape," I replied, as much about him as to him.
Cathetel sat in what had been the judge's seat, evidently lost in thought. I went to him and bowed. "My Lord."
He was silent, chin resting in his right hand.
"My Lord."
No reply. He did not even glance at me.
I would have withdrawn, but my news was urgent -- and a mission upon which he had sent me. "My Lord."
That drew his attention. He turned his gaze at me. "SIÂN. YES. REPORT ON WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN."
I told him of the boat, the prisoner, the contract, and what we had found out about it.
He nodded, slowly. "I HAVE BEGUN MASSING THE CHUPACABRA. IT MAY BE NECESSARY TO -- PROVE MY COMMITMENT TO THIS MATTER WITH ARNAUD. VERY GOOD. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE?"
I hesitated, but the truth must out. "My Lord, I am -- disturbed by -- the new member you have brought to our family."
"CRIME."
"Yes."
He gazed at me for a long moment, though whether choosing his words, seeking greater meaning from my soul, or simply seeing if I would change the subject, I knew not. At least he said, "HE IS A MANIFESTATION OF A DOMAIN WITHIN MYSELF. BUT IT IS NOT THE DOMAIN WHICH BOTHERS YOU, SO MUCH AS HE WHO ENNOBLES IT."
I considered. "Yes. My Lord."
"IT IS A RECENT ADDITION, AND SO I NEED SOMEONE RECEPTIVE TO ITS NEW DUTIES. YOUR OWN STRENGTHS WORK MUCH THE SAME WAY IN THAT REGARD."
Nodding, I pondered his words. I must be just, so I added. "I must confess, he did spot the forgery. But ... even as he aids our cause, my Lord, he corrupts it."
"IT IS NOT THE ROLE, BUT HE WHO PLAYS IT. HE IS THE FIRST. THUS, HE MUST BE SOMEONE WHO EMBRACES THE DOMAIN, NOT SOMEONE WHO SIMPLY SEES IT AS A TOOL."
Even as I did, I thought. I did not punish for the sake of punishment, but punished as a means toward achieving justice (a far truer justice than that which that Domain's Noble, Tomas, achieved). And if he were the first -- his place in our Court was not forever. Though I realized now I had no hope of changing Cathetel's mind. Yet.
"IT IS NATURAL FOR YOUR ESTATE TO BE REPULSED BY THE NATURE OF HIS ESTATE. I WOULD ENCOURAGE YOU TO SEPARATE THE REACTION OF YOUR ESTATE FROM YOUR OWN."
I nodded, though I did not think that would help. Crime -- whatever his actual name was -- clearly was as reprehensible as the Domain he had taken on. "I will try, my Lord."
"UNDERSTAND THIS, ALSO: I AM A PROPONENT OF THE CHAMOMILE LAW. ADVERSITY BREEDS STRENGTH. BY HAVING TWO OPPOSED DOMAINS, I MAKE EACH ONE STRONGER. YOU ARE STRONGER FOR HIS PRESENCE."
And he for mine? I wasn't sure that was a bargain.
Cathetel was continuing. "IT IS FOR ME A PLEASING BYPRODUCT THAT THESE TWO ESTATES EXIST WITHIN MYSELF AND MY FAMILY ..." Suddenly his gaze was like a burning weight upon me, driving other thoughts away. "... SINCE IT IS IMPOSSIBLE THAT IT WOULD TEAR THE FAMILY APART."
I nodded again, and bowed. That was, it is true, unthinkable. I would have to see what I could do to live with Crime, until, at least, I could make a stronger case to Cathetel.
"FINE, THEN. REGARDING THE SHIP -- FIND THE WEAPONS THAT WERE UPON IT. THAT, COUPLED WITH THE FORGERY, ARE THE EDGES OF THIS DAGGER THRUST AT US. FIND THEM."
"Very good, my Lord." I bowed, and turned to leave.
"OH," he added. "IT IS TIME FOR THE CEREMONY WITH PEN LO. PLEASE SEE TO IT."
I nodded silently, bowed, and left.
Outside the courty, the guard threw me a wary glance, but I did not even acknowledge it. More obtrusively, the nattily dressed man who had been there when I arrived was still there, and he stepped forward and took my hand before I could withdraw it.
"Jurai. Stephen Jurai." He pumped my hand and smiled in a way that made me think I should make sure my billfold was still there. "I'm this Chancel's representative from the Cammorae, and I'm so pleased to be here."
The Cammorae were Lord Entropy's people among humans, an organization that could -- and would -- do anything for the Nobles ... for a price. There was always a price, usually one that added wealth and power to the Cammorae. After centuries, it was an open question, in some quarters, as to who really served whom. Too many Nobilis relied upon the Cammorae to do their dirty work, or to get permission to do things otherwise forbidden. It was no crime for the Cammorae to violate the laws of the Nobles -- and no crime to violate those laws in exchange a favor rendered.
That was the sort of "law" that Tomas was willing to see. My own sense of justice was revolted by it, but it was not something I could do anything about, save avoid it. Crime, on the other hand, would love this man.
I withdrew my hand from his, and refrained from the temptation to wipe it on my pants. "Thank you for introducing yourself, Stephen Jurai."
"Oh, you can call me Stephen, if you want. Or just Jurai -- it sounds so much more mysterious and powerful, don't you think? Especially with that charming accent of yours." He chuckled.
"It certainly sounds -- like something."
"Yes," he said, the grin growing wider. "At any rate, anything I can do to help you in fulfillment of your duties --"
I considered where I was about to go and what I was about to do, and to whom, and in what state he was in. "I can sincerely say that I wish you were the with whom I could fulfill my duties right now, but, alas, it's not meant to be. Perhaps another time, Mr. Jurai."
"Count on it, your ladyship. Count on it."
I left him, then, happy for the distraction, even for just the moment.
Amidst rock and stone, half-natural, half-carved by artifice, the torso of Pen Lo hung, suspended by a gold chain hooked down his gullet, slowly turning in the eddies and air currents within the chamber. He was dead, of course, though dying amongst the Imperators was a long thing, and even after death the body held power for some time.
His head was missing, of course -- our brethren in Chancel Amaciel had that -- and he also lacked hands and feet. His chest was splayed open like a vast, horrid butterfly, and within the cavity revealed one could see that the organs had also been removed. All those parts had been distributed among other Chancels that had suffered at his hands, and the hands of his familia. The irony did not escape me. I wondered who actually did have his hands, and whether it gave them pleasure, or only an outlet for cold fury.
Below him, on the floor of the chamber, where geometric patterns of tile seemed to move and twist beneath the dust, sat a large golden bowl, wide and thick, shockingly plain and unornamented. The bowl was used for the Harvest.
As the Noble of Punishment, the Harvest was among my duties to Cathetel. An unpleasant duty, to be sure. I was no sadist, and received no pleasure at Pen Lo's fate; justice was something I preferred to be swift and final. I could appreciate that, perhaps, this, too, was justice, barbaric though it was. And I could appreciate the power that the Great Harvest gave to Cathetel, thence to our Chancel and my brethren -- and me.
But I still did not like it. It was duty, though, so I did it.
The body slowly turn on its chain as I approached, away from me. Silvery fluid, shining like quicksilver, was beaded upon the skin. It slowly ran down to the edges and extremities of his remains -- tattered fringes of ribcage, the legs, the arms -- and thence to drip into the bowl below. That fluid was the blood of the Imperator, still being renewed, sweating through his pores in some autonomic agony.
My job, as Harvester, was to take a small silken towel of red, which hung upon a wall bracket, and carefully, slowly, thoroughly clean the body further of its beaded silver blood, wringing each gleaming drop into the bowl. Then I would untie each arm's stump, undoing the crimson cord that bound them, and let the blood drain from there that had collected inside. Then I would kneel and do the same for the legs.
I would carry the bowl back up with me, replacing it before I left with the one I had brought down. I would present it to Cathetel, and he would do with it what his part of the ritual demanded. Then my work would be done for the month, to my great relief.
As I approached the body, I could smell something -- unusual. Musk, and sweat, and ambergris and sandalwood.
Lust had been here.
She had the right, I supposed. Not even she would dare interfere with the body in a way that would harm the Harvest. But it caused me a small apprehension.
Pen Lo's headless, handless, footless body slowly swung on its chain back around to face me.
He -- it -- was tumescent. And as I stopped dead still, taking in that sight, the body suddenly twitched, writhed, as though it were still alive, still capable of feeling, of awareness, of --
I closed my eyes tightly for a long moment, driving the image from my mind, clearing my thoughts, reminding myself of who I was, and what I had gazed upon in my long years, and what my duty now was. Then I opened them, and, seeing but unseeing, I did what needed doing.
Quickly.
I met Crime and Guild as I exited Cathetel's chamber afterward, my hands and arms still gleaming and sticky with Pen Lo's blood. If they had anything to say, my look at them stopped their tongues, until I could clean myself.
They were still waiting when I returned. I told them of Cathetel's desires. "He wants the Excrucian weapons that were aboard the ship," I told them. I blinked, seeing something I'd seen before, but for the first time. "Like that one." I pointed at the sheath and dagger at Crime's side. "The Pretty Boy -- the captive -- he had that, didn't he?" My eyes get sliding away from it. It was well-ensorcelled to be unnoticed, and I was slightly shocked that I hadn't noticed it when I'd taken him from the ship.
"I'll hold onto this one," Crime said. "For the Boss, of course."
"Of course."
I explained the chupacabras outside. They had heard, for their part, that, after trying to bribe Lord Entropy, Arnaud was now known to be giving a gift to Desecration's Regal, Meon. I shuddered slightly at what such as Meon would consider a gift worth having.
"Let me see," I said, changing the subject, "if I can figure out where those weapons are." I summoned up my Estate, and attempted to divine, Who within our Chancel must be punished for bearing Excrucian weapons?
In my vision arose a room, concrete and cinderblock, within which glowing, twisted weapons lay arrayed. A man, in a National Guard uniform, stood at the door, staring at the display.
That way. I knew the direction, and I knew our chancel. And I suddenly feared what was happening, because if others found the weapons first ...
"The lighthouse," I shouted at the others, even as I took off into the air once more, flying there as fast as I could. Had I thought to perform a miracle, to translate myself to where the weapons were, things might have turned out differently. But I did not. Haley was right about my lack of imagination.
I covered the distance in mere minutes, cursing each one, even as I approached the lighthouse upon our patch of shoreline. In the distance, I could see an invasion of mechanical creatures moving down the highway. Even as my thought flickered toward them, I could hear Cathetel's voice in my head: DO NOT HARM THEM. Fine. I had no time anyway.
Upon the beach, before a wave-carved cavern, I could see Fungus. It was doing something with the cave, but I could spare it no thought.
On the bluff, over Fungus, unseen by it and in turn unseeing, stood Tomas. Oh, damn my eyes, I thought, for I knew suddenly what was happening, what the plot was against us.
A frame. We have the document, which we know is forged, but how much better the case if Excrucian weapons are actually found here, in the hands of our people, uncontrolled by our Imperator, unable to be accounted for. Sweet Mary --
A Guardsman stepped out of the lighthouse, waving around something that glowed and writhed and was wrong, and opened his mouth to call to a friend on the beach. I was still a half-mile away.
I shot him.
At the last moment, I directed the shot to his hand, not his heart. I could have argued he was in illegal possession of an Excrucian weapon within our Chancel, but it was unfair to penalize him for that, especially since he was almost certainly a passerby or just being entrapped. But I needed to separate him from the weapon, and a bullet was still faster than I was.
The weapon, a trident, clattered to the ground. The Guardsman fell, screaming, clutching his hand. I landed, even as I saw Tomas bounding through the air, away from us, a beatific smile on his face. Shite. Not enough time --
I kicked the trident away from the Guardsman, into the building. There I quickly found the chamber full of weapons -- one other that, like the trident, rivaled one of Meon's swords for puissance, a half dozen of a tier below them in power, and another dozen of still lesser sorts. The lighthouse still had Guardsmen within, so I drove a length of steel into the door, pinning the portal to the floor. It wouldn't stop one such as me, but it would keep passers-by out.
I flew out the door at speed, to the shore, where Fungus was slowly striding across the sand toward the lighthouse. I updated her swiftly as to the situation, asked her to watch the weapons, and then flew as fast as I could in pursuit of Tomas, knowing I was already too late.
I reached the City Hall, strode past the Bailiff cowering before me, past Jurai listening at the door, into Cathetel's court ...
"... possession, knowledgeable or not, is a capital crime," Tomas was saying to Cathetel. "For which we need immediate testimony."
He turned and smiled at me, as though he'd been expecting me to enter at just that moment. "Ah. Siân. Just the person I was looking to see. I'm so pleased you're here."
I gave him as bland a look as possible, hoping that whatever I could contribute in testimony would help, not harm. "Remarkably enough," I replied, "me, too."
“I didn’t understand what the problem was, it was just a dog. Countless creatures have died at my hand; it is part of the definition of who I am. And yet. And yet this mongrel stared up at me, one of its eyes a bloody mess. Gore from the battle it had just fought with the other dogs spattered across the snowy ground and its fur. It didn’t whimper, even though it was in obvious pain.”
“I’d stopped to watch them fight, attracted by their natural ferocity, no quarter asked for and none to be given. Men call other men animals, but the truth is that men stopped being animals some thousands of years ago and have become something altogether unnatural. The ferocity of mankind is a hollow, empty thing driven by their emotions, most usually hatred or its sister, fear.”
“The dog deserved my gift, but I stayed my hand. For some time, the acidic loathing that drives me through my existence had been becoming more demanding, I had a broad feeling that I should be doing something more sweeping, something that would allow me to carry out my duties in a more automated fashion.”
“I looked more closely at the dog, stripping away the veil of mortality that clung to it like the caul of a newborn and considered what the philosophers call its soul. I deemed it a worthy vessel. Reaching out, I collected the death that was slowly spreading through its body and clenched it into a hard ball, holding the ball over its quivering form. A moment of concentration and the dog’s death crumbled into a thousand droplets which I scattered across it. The fleas on the dog were suffused with its death, each one a warrior in my cause. I turned and left.”
I finished my glass of wine.
“And that’s it? That’s how the Black Plague got started?” She asked me, pencil scribbling furiously across the cheap notepad.
“Yes.”
She stopped writing and looked up at me with the suspicion that only a ten year old can muster. “That’s not how it says in the books I read.” She looked down at what she’d been writing. “How do I know this is right?”
I dropped the wineglass to the floor, where it shattered. “I’ll prove it,” I said, and did so.
Something's off recently. Not quite deja vu but....
Worked on my section of the pavilion and spent all day on a tangent. What with my power, Death's and Reality's, and the strong Voodoo of Storeyville, we could probably gather one hell of an assembly of dead musicians together. I had a ritual half worked out in my head when I recalled that most of them would have reincarnated by now. Say Elvis is now a 13 year old boy in Bangla Desh. OK, which boy? June or Death could find out. A little lightning.... Crap. Some places I don't need to go, even though I can.
Off to get some loa for LaVeau to be a guardian for the chancel. Got a feeling we're gonna need all the muscle we can get, sooner or later. Haven't ever met a loa before that I know of, should be interesting.
When the new chancel is complete and the last soul is sacrificed, the Family gets to work. I take care of the entrances/exits with my patented fairy-ring technology. While walking around I talk to the buildings. For the most part they like their new look. I haven’t seen Tinker-boy around, but he may be hanging out with Lust or just hanging on Lust.
The imperator summons me to his presence. I enter a waiting room at city hall and see a noble from one of the inquisitor’s chancels. That guy who showed up at the end with that group from Aberland. It’s something with a “T”. He bows to Cathetal and leaves.
Cathetal greets me. There was a ship that crashed on the shore during the final storm. He would like me to investigate the wreckage. Guilt is busy doing chancel things, I don’t know the new Crime, so that leaves Punishment. I find her outside City Hall. She’s just back from the Locust Court and feels a need to talk to Cathetal first.
On cue, Cathetal says, “Yes.” Punishment encapsulated her mission succinctly and says that the Locust Court will investigate the matter. Cathetal notes that Tomas is already at the chancel investigating. Punishment wonders at his speed. But then time does odd things nears the Court. Cathetal would like us to bring the new Crime with us. He should be arriving shortly. Again on cue, Cathetal is gone and a polluting gas-guzzler pulls into two handicapped spaces. Introductions are made and we head for the coast. Punishment flies and I ride in Crime’s car.
There was a beach-comber just leaving the wreck. He had already scavenged the wreck and found the large wooden name plate. I didn’t recognize the word, but the lettering was Excrucian. The wood is twisted and weird. Joe-Bob also has some tools, pots, plants, trinkets and food in the back of his rusted out truck. I worry about Excruian things being spread around our new chancel. A minor creation of a hungry slime mold should reduce that to a slick pile of goo before he gets home. It will also let me track any stuff that doesn’t get eaten.
Note to self: Flower Imagination to help with the welcome to the new chancel party.
After a long string of Lust jokes.
Stan: This is great! Lust isn’t even here and we still get to joke about her.
Discussing the chancel workings.
HG: You will be in charge of Chancel affairs.
Guilt: Isn’t that Lust’s domain?
Discussing the chancel name.
Dave: How about Locus Nocturnus?
Margie: As long as we aren’t Locus Nocturnus Emissionus. That’s when Lust comes to visit.
On meeting an unknown Crime outside of City Hall!
Fungus: So, we’re going to automatically know who Crime is?.
Crime: Yeah, he’s the one parking in the handicapped space.
Just for the record, this is not how I envisioned the scene in which you recover Amaciel's spirit from the cornfields of Iowa.
1. The henhouse all a-flutter.
I haven't felt this way since I was a living woman. Where are my glasses? Are you my grandson, my great-grandson, or the janitor? What year is it? Why am I here?
There's something I can't remember. I know I can't remember something, because I would have remembered this LeFleur woman if I'd ever met her before. I would have remembered it so deeply in my head that you could screw off the top of it and see her name carved right in. She acts like I'm supposed to know her, but I don't. I don't like that woman. I would have remembered her. I know it.
She orders me--all of us--around like we were the hired hands on a farm. What is she? Who is she? Some old voodou priestess, heathen thing, and...arrogant! Acts like all I am is some old white woman.
But she doesn't bother me, really. These memories, that's what bothers me. It seems I should even know a ritual to restore memories, but I don't. I'll have to check the library. --Why didn't I think of that yesterday?
2. Ritual
The first time I went to collect the essence from him, Pen Lo's head talked to me.
Mind you, I don't like cemeteries in the first place. Not at night, anyway. During the daylight it's all right, you can bring the flowers, say the prayers, and do the mourning properly. At night it feels like the dead are gone, not wandering like ghosts or any fool thing like that, but gone. Meaningless, pointless, soulless, gone.
"So. You come to give that traitor my blood," it said.
You can imagine how I jumped! And there was a tiny squeak that may have been a mouse but was probably myself as well. At least I didn't spill anything.
Of course I wouldn't say a word, not to reply to an accusation like that from a creature of that moral degredation, so I just collected the stuff in a spangly bottle that LeFleur woman insisted on using (everything else would "let the soul out," she insisted) and left.
After that woman had escorted me to see Amaciel, I mixed up the blood with the roots and fish heads that she gave me (and won't tell me what are, although I'd guess it's just what she mixes up to make those zombies of hers) and put it in the silver dish for Amaciel to drink. If that's the word, drink.
The next time I went, the head just muttered at me. I made sure not to listen. As of late, all it does is roll its eyes.
3. The Summons
That d--- woman called us together today. Talk, talk, talk and boss. That's all she does. I don't know what it is about her that gets under my skin, but under my skin she is. She's just like a chigger. Poison ivy. Skeeters.
We built her that court of judgment she claimed we had to have. What we need a fancy place for, I don't know. I think she just wants someplace to show off. Well, the making of the thing goes on well enough. Everyone else magicked their section up, except Death who is locked up in that bug-wrapper. And that's fine with me.
I found myself a man who'd wandered into Storyville from the real world some time ago, and had been hanging around, doing odd jobs here and there. His name is Dapper Dan, and he used to be a circus barker. I found him in a hospital pushing a broom and hired him right there to come work for me. He's putting together the finest carnival you'll ever see, with games and sweets and prizes. There's a house of mirrors (into which I may put a prank or two, soon as I think of some especially good ones), a test of strength, a dunking booth, one medium that tells your future (no real talent except for saying what you want to hear), another one that tells you your past (and guess whether you want to hear that), pickpockets, pony-rides, a bottle-toss, and a freakshow. I had to think twice about putting that last in, but I did. I may just keep adding little things until it takes up the whole town.
Tomorrow we get to go out into the real, live swamps and summon this Bosou Koblamin, some kind of voodou spirit that's supposed to help protect Storyville. Well, bet you a dollar that doesn't go off as planned. That woman. Always insisting on something.
I'm starting to feel like I've been in town too long. May be time to get out and do some real work soon.
I, Little Doc Devereux have finally found fulfillment. Not that I was not happy before, but now I have a purpose beyond the simple pleasures I was able to afford myself as mayor of Dade Florida. The power I feel within me is intoxicating, almost too much so for a proper description.
A week or so ago I was a very worried man. I had begun noticing that I was being stalked, or at least surveilled. I thought perhaps the DA was after me again after a recent fiasco with one of my drug shipments. A scary looking white bitch kept showing up to my public appearances and I would see her from time to time out of the corner of my eye. It got to the point where I was forced to send a couple of my employees, Mooky and Choda to pay her a visit and discourage her.
Mooky and Choda disappeared, only to show up a few days later dead as hell. I was contemplating this turn of events and berating my brother when I had a vistor show up at the office. Another scary looking dude. I ushered him into my office and listened to what he had to say. His initial words to me made me think I had a psycho on my hands and I covertly pocketed my .38 in case I needed to defend myself. But then I began to listen to him and something in his eyes was extremely convincing.
I still can't explain what moved me. He offered me a ridiculous prize in return for killing my secretary right there and then. But somehow, I just knew he was telling the truth. Some self preservation instinct kicked in and instead of just knifing her with my letter opener as he requested, I ushered her into the toilet and found myself drowning her in the bowl after a brief struggle. The bitch was blackmailing me anyway so I was not overly concerned for her welfare. When I finished, panic set in. I was toast if this guy was wired or a nutcase.
He just smiled and plunged a strange glowing ball of light into my chest.
When I woke up I understood so much. Everything I had been led to believe was bullshit. I was part of a power now, hell I WAS the power now. This cat, calls himself Cathetel, is basically my boss. I have a job to do, fostering and looking after one particular aspect of reality. In my case crime. Make that Crime with a capital C. Something I have always understood implicitely anyway.
By concentrating, I can sense crime around me and by extension the criminals performing the crime. What fun! As I left the office, I could look around and see the true person bebeath the veneer of law abiding citizens. The janitor Benny [shoplifting, robbery, tax evasion] for example. Or my brother the police chief [theft, murder, extortion, possession of narcotics with intent to distribute]. I could sense nothing from Cathetel himself. He directed me to seek out a few "anchors" to help stabilize my power. Outside the world was getting very weird as our new chancel was beginning to form. I thought I would start with my brother.
He was in a panic, trying to get the force into some order to put down the rioting that was starting due to the change. I calmed him down a bit and then tricked him into drinking a bit of my blood. He soon saw the light. Next up was my cousin the newspaper man [plagiarism, grand theft auto, tax evasion]. He was very excited and confused, but not really unhappy about the whole thing as far as I could tell. Thirdly I paid a visit to my sister [prostitution, theft, drug dealing] and got her on board. Lastly I visited my premiere money launderer, my uncle the Archbishop [fraud, tax evasion, DUI hit and run]. It really turned his world upside down after I got him into the "family".
I was soon summoned to the chancel for my first duties. I quickly hijacked a car, made a quick robbery of a liquor store and hauled ass to the beach area. Slamming on my brakes, I spun the car right into the handicapped spot I was aiming for and emerged to greet the other nobles. Shit. The psychotic looking whitey was one of them (Punishment) along with a really ugly looking glob of fungus (Fungus) and some old white bitch with a face like a prune (Guilt). Putting on my best face I came up and introduced myself.
I could not sense anything from them, but felt assured that Fungus was violating a number of health ordnances simply by existing and Guilt looked like she had a shady past. The real criminal was whoever sold Punishment her personality. She got robbed big time. Anyway, a strange boat had beached itself a short distance down the beach and we were supposed to investigate. Punishment decided she was too good for our company and flew like a goddamned balloon out to the ship. I felt better about that cause I doubt she had a pilots' licence and it looked like she was carrying a concealed weapon or two without a permit.
A trespassing beach comber [theft, fraud, assault, child abuse, drug dealing, arson] had been there first and hailed Fungus, Guilt and I on over to check out what he had stolen. Looked like a bunch of fancy wood to me, maybe worth something to an antique dealer. It had some funky writing on it that I was told was Excrucian. The bad guys. I considered what to do next, but we let the beachcomber go especially since I could tell he was gonna tie one on and beat the old lady a bit when he got home. Guess I am gonna have to get my feet wet.
1. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
After Lord Entropy handed down judgment (clearing him of guilt if not blame), Amaciel Cathetel made a decision to split himself in half. Part of him (Cathetel) would be able to focus on the fight against the Excrucians and carry out the tasks of an Inquisitor; the other half would be able to find a solution to the crimes he had committed against Death as well as the crime Death had committed against him.
The first half of his plan succeeded completely: he separated himself into "Cathetel" (who then created a new chancel, Locus Noctis) and "Amaciel" who remained in Storyville.
However, several of the Nobles simply... didn't go to the new chancel as planned. Perhaps June stayed to help with the healing, or was too attached to 'her Amaciel' to go; Macy had sworn her oath to Amaciel personally; Donner (and all the Powers of Electricity) had always been more wild and headstrong than the rest of the Imperators Nobles. Death stayed because he could not go.
Amaciel accepted this change in his plan, perhaps because he felt he couldn't face the burden of Death alone.
Not only did Amaciel make changes to his self and his chancel, he changed time itself. The nature of Storyville changed in small ways, as did Amaciel's two halves: none of his Nobles (or any of the Nobilis) remembered this change. It was as if there had always been two chancels -- two Imperators like Brothers.
And Death slept within a ridged and leathery chrysalis (to protect Amaciel from another attack? to protect Death from his fellow Nobles? to complete the metamorphosis that expunging ten millenia of hate will cause? none know).
2. Mojo
It was the end of Summer when the Nobles (excepting Death) traveled to the cemetery to perform the ritual of collecting the essence of the dead Imperator, Pen Lo, which was required to keep Amaciel alive.
The head of Pen Lo rested on a spear set into the floor of one of the mausoleums. It dripped silver essence into a silver dish below. In the beginning, the head would talk--nonsense. Lately it only had the strength to grimace and roll its eyes. The Nobles collected the essence and infused it back into Amaciel. They were given to understand that the surviving essense of other traitors to the Valde Bellum might eventually be contained within -- one of the 'rewards' of an Inquisitor's chancel.
Soon after, they were all summoned back to the cemetery by the Chancel's new warden, Marie La Fleur. She had a voice like a disease and a face not much better, although you might have called her pretty to see her silhouetted in the dark.
"Y'all are done sitting around and collecting belly lint," she said. "The master's got you something to do, since you can't find anything to do yourselves. First you got to build him a court, a place to hold trials on the criminals I s'pose you'll eventually pull in. There must be a couple of them too stupid to get away." She chuckled. "Second you got to call up some muscle to protect the place, seeing as y'all can't do it. The master wants a mighty loa, called Bosou Koblamin, and he wants him chained up in the heart of the chancel, standing right over his body. Just in case something should get in there, 'cause you can't unless I takes you by the hands and leads you."
3.
The Inquisitor's court was to be built jointly by all of them, one quarter to each. The whole structure resembled a carnival. Electricity's quarter housed a dance-floor, sparkling lights, strange contraptions and weird, gigantic theramin. Reality's quarter held tests of strength and skill, barkers and side-shows, beautiful women geeking and children sticky with cotton candy (in the darkest corner of was an entrance to the freakshow; few entered twice). Lust's quarter held curtained booths, some silent and dark (but not empty) and others brightly-lit and loud with the stamping of feet and thrown beads and calls to the performers. Death's portion remained barren -- might even remain so once Death emerged, but who could say?
After that had been completed, they went into the swamp to start the ritual of calling the loa...
Bosou Koblamin: Violent petro loa. Bosou is a violent loa capable of defeating his enemies. He is very popular during times of war. He protects his followers when they travel at night. Bosou's appearance is that of a man with three horns; each horn has a meaning--strength, wildness, and violence.
Sometimes Bosou comes to the help of his followers but he is not a very reliable loa. When a service is held, Bosou appears by breaking chains that he is restrained. Immediately upon appearing he is given a pig, his favorite food. The ceremony in honor of Bosou always pleases a congregation because it allows them to eat. Usually a good number of people attend such a service. --Via Webster University, although the description seems to be copied to/from practially everywhere.
Pictue of Bossou on a voodou flag at Carrie Art Collection.
Oil drum art at Art-ickles. Sweeeeeeet.
Another flag at Oh-La-La. Bosou's stomach has been replaced with an eye.
I found quite a few more refences to "Bossou" than "Bosou."
... and Cathetel wished that none would interfere with him or his, and so he sent Punishment unto Lord Entropy, to claim injury from Arnaud, that all would know that Cathetel would brook no such interference, no such offense. - from The Book of Cathetel, Chapter 7, Verse 2
I watch her face in profile; her expression gives nothing away, her attention entirely upon my lord, as it should certainly be.
But still it seems I should read some hint... some... flicker of triumph in her eyes when she looks at me.
Nothing.
Nothing when she had entered the Desolate Lands, nothing when she had destroyed (or as good as destroyed -- desecrated, one might say) the slander-fly serpent, and nothing when I had moved to greet her.
I, Desecration’s Regal, found wanting in my Master’s sight for the failures of the Inquisitor Swords and relegated to the lowliest of duties. Majordomo. Worse, a simple Doorwarden, as though I were a witless beast or sentry scarecrow.
And yet she, whose bastard familia exposed -- shamed -- my designs before all Creation, shows no sign, no knowing smirk with which to take proper offense, and so shames me yet again.
I find myself inexplicably aroused.
- from the thought-record of Meon, Descecration's Regal
IMPERATOR
Name: Amaciel
Properties:
- Granted Gift: Durant (1)
- Harvest (1): The cemetery (and one Mausoleum in particular) in Storyville is rich with Spiritus dei.
- Dim Warding (1): Amaciel has invested some of his spirit in protecting his nobles from Excrucians.
- Sympathetic (1): Amaciel's interest in humankind makes him (and his nobles) excellent judges of a person's (or Noble's, or even Inquisitor's) emotional state.
- Granted Handicap: Summonable (-1) - Amaciel wants his Nobles to be easily available to one another, himself, and those who need them.
- Granted Handicap: Ceremonial (-1) - The ceremonies required by Miss Laveau to harvest the spiritus dei from Pen Lo's still-living head involve all the nobles of the Chancel on a regular basis.
- Straightforward (-1): Amaciel's strong ties to earth, humankind, and his nobles makes his intentions (and those of his nobles) quite clear and fairly easy to predict.
- Failing (-1): Amaciel was poisoned by one of his own nobles whom he had greatly wronged. Amaciel remains poisoned in body and mind because of his belief that he deserves this punishment. Only the constant influx of spiritus dei from the Harvest ceremonies keep Amaciel and the Chancel relatively stable.
- TOTAL = 0
CHANCEL
Chancel Name: Locus "Storyville" (Chancel Amaciel)
Landlord: Miss Laveau
Powers:
- Electricity (Ambrose Donner)
- Lust (Macy Hamilton)
- Reality (June)
- Death
Chancel Properties:
- Important (free): Storyville is a new Inquisitor Chancel
- Important - Target (-4): The chancel is a primary target of Excrucians.
- Banes: 2 (-1): The Banes of Storyville are shifting, impermanent things; sometimes Loa riding a crazed chancel inhabitant, sometimes a mob of unruly zombies, sometimes far more unpleasant or annoying things.
- Landlord: Agressive Warden (Marie LaFleur) (-3)
- Magic Inhabitants (+3): Voodoo and the magic of the Loa is strong in the Chancel.
- Gateway: Friendly Chancel (Cathetel) (+2)
- Defensive Blessing: Auctoritas 1 (+2)
- Tech Barrier - All > AD 1917 (+1): Technology from the outside world that dates after the time when Storyville left the Prosaic Earth is not welcome.
- Weird Science - psionic communication (+1)
- TOTAL = 1
Description: Storyville, the home of dozens of bordellos and small businesses during the early part of the twentieth century in New Orleans, but long since faded from sight. Hot and humid, home to weird magics, Loa, voodoo, and a fading Imperator. Zeppelins and prop-driven biplanes (among other, less savory things) sail through the Chancel skies, where technology in many ways has barely progressed beyond that first fateful night of enchancelment.
The warden 'landlord' of Chancel Amaciel is known simply as Miss LaFleur -- her voodoo is strong, her control over "her" town is far stronger. Miss Lafleur controls most of Storyville, even the Nobles' access to the ailing form of Amaciel.
THUNDERSTRUCK
While Death, Punishment and Fungus were off a-questing, Mariska, Macy, June and I worried about the army on our doorstep. Some of them were from Locus Nephys and – hopefully – honest and good at their jobs. We had almost nothing to hide, after all. Not if you looked at it the right way, and I did.
Conspiracy, Regret and Justice agreed to meet us at a local oyster bar. Mariska manned the fort while the rest of us met the presumably uncorrupted Inquisitor chancel. They were wary, as were we. Things got tense when June disappeared – summoned – but calmed down pretty quick. That left me or Macy to speak for us -- and Macy is not diplomatic. We had a good hand to play. We’d been working with the injured party, sharing information, dug up some good, damning-to-others facts and generally being our fine upstanding selves. They didn’t need to know about our attempts to put Humpty Dumpy back together. Conspiracy studied me closely. I kept the conversation focused on safe subjects. They agreed to check on our story with Locus Sanguinas and the First Castle. We gave them flowers for contacting Macy or me.
The questers returned with the missing parts… almost for certain. Mariska led us into the chancel’s Heart for the Imperator Reassembling Ritual. It went fine, and then it went wrong. Amaciel was hemorrhaging. Regret prayed to me by flower with an urgent plea for help. He was in Beijing, getting whacked by Pen Lo’s lot. Crap. I sent Gwen to him via fairy ring. Then our people let us know that Storeyville was under attack. Mariska locked down all the entrances. Gwen called with Regret over her shoulder needing to get back in. Punishment got hold of Imagination and asked her to succor Gwen and Regret. Macy, Death, Punishment and I went out to deal with the invaders. Much slayage of Pen Lo’s Chinese soldiers. I got a large group to surrender by running highly visible but low-amp current through them and threatening to toast them.
Death contacted Knives and learned that L. Sanguinas was under attack by Friendship and Sacrifice, and losing. Mariska opened the entrances – Imagination flew in on a dog with Gwen and Regret – so we went there. Ife had the Sword. We piled on, along with those Sanguinites still standing. Sacrifice tried at the end to stop Ife and was Sworded. I didn’t have to use the Thunderbolt. We killed Ife. Justice showed up with the cavalry (Locus Abrolam) too late.
Lost Things, Regret and Jealousy were badly hurt but recovered. Knives, proven innocent, was sent to join Abrolam; now Strife will have someone to talk to. The Estate of Friendship was added to L. Sanguinas, and Sacrifice to L. Nephys.
Right triumphed, Wrong was vanquished, our virtue was proven, our Imperator restored (more or less), we picked up the remnant of Pen Lo’s soldiers for our own, Gwen did great and avoided injury and I didn’t have to use the goddamned Thunderbolt. It’s good to be a thunder god.
“The Mythic Realm: I’m soaking in it!” Margie.
Gatekeeper to Sian: “To what end, ma’am?”
Margie: “Woman!”
“Use your Imagination,” said Punishment to Imagination.
“Everybody says that,” she replied, “But it’s not really that funny.”
Imagination: “Where’s Punishment and the other one?”
Lust: “They’re on a quest to remove the stick from her ass.”
Speculating on how to get Amaciel’s state-wide cornfield shard into some less dispersed form… silage… corn spirits…
“Potent Spirits!” – Dave, I think
“Potent Spirits that are 100% proof!” – Stan
Stan: “Nothing says lovin’ like a bag full of fingers!”
Dave: “Sounds like a greeting card.”
1. When all of a sudden, who should appear?
I never would have cared about libraries if it hadn't been for Amaciel. The library was just a place to leave kids so they'd stay out of your hair for a couple hours or so. The librarians picked out the books for them when they were younger, and I'd read to them, but that was about it. I must have read Huck Finn our loud from cover to cover six times. I didn't enjoy reading, myself. I had too much to do. Any spare time I had went into quilting, or embroidering--flowers, cottages, dogs with their tongues lolling about, little girls in pinafores, crucifixes. Gifts.
It's a pleasure to read. Books are just as strange and unusual as ghost towns out in the middle of the desert. It's a pleasure to search for books in that near-infinity of space, too, when all the titles leap out at you. It's even a pleasure to clamber up and down that ladder, my skirts a-flyin', now that my knees don't hurt anymore.
I found a ritual for mandrake root, little defenders that would screech their heads off and follow around any intruders like kids after the beaters when you make cookies. I also found the Word of Amaranth, an old ritual by someone I've never heard of, the Lord of Grain. I wonder if Fungus's met him. It's a good one, with unleavened semolina flat bread baked with amaranth and sprinkled with rosemary. You lay down what pieces of the spirit and body you can get ahold of, speak the ritual, break the bread, leaving a spare piece for the guest of honor, and eat it together as you speak his name.
I had the bread just pulled out of the oven when Macy came to fetch me to help negotiate with one of the Inquisitor chancels (trying to get them to at least hold back a bit when the First Castle attacked us), when all of a sudden someone said the magic words, "This had better be here when I get back..."
2. E T E R N I T Y :: T I N Y T R E E
I don't remember what it was I ate. An apple? A pear? Some kind of fruit without a pit; I ate it, seeds and peel and all. I was with the others on the Tree before I realized. What it was I might have eaten, I shudder to think.
Sian flew with me (trying to make it as dignified, I suppose, as flight with an old lady in a calico dress with a handbag large enough to hold a small baby could be) to follow the newborn body of Amaciel. He was mad, and oh, it hurt to see him out of his mind, or his mind out of him. I tried to show him visions of the chancel, of places there he loved, of the funny things people would do when they thought nobody watched them, but mostly of the trees, of the greenness of it. He slowed and spoke with me, but he wasn't himself, more like a naughty child that needs to be convinced to come home than a lord over the Earth itself. He said he'd go back, though. He'd see.
We stopped at the Graveyard; I wrapped the roots of the Bay tree up in a towel and brought it back with us to the heart of Storyville. I haven't been there too often; this time it looked like a park in the heart of a city, with old trees dripping with moss, easy walkways for the old folks to wander, a little pond with ducks, and a painted, raised gazebo big enough to hold a quintet to play Sousa marches on Independence Day.
3. Body and blood.
The ritual was easy. We chanted the words, broke the bread, spoke the name, and ate. The tree, the corn, the fungus, and I forget what else (or maybe that was it) faded, not like paint in the sun, but like--images in an old photograph. You forgot about them. Amaciel grew.
And then everything went wrong.
The First Castle attacked, the sword slicing left and right, and the rows and rows of terracotta soldiers marching into the city. But we finished it, the ritual, that is. Amaciel drank the pieces of his spirit, and the corn and fungus and tree collapsed into themselves and were dust. He lifted his head and said, "I remember...you have to..."
And then everything went wrong, only more so, and he coughed up blood like silver or mercury and collapsed.
4. Waiting, hoping, breaking.
The others left to defend the chancel. I sat with Amaciel. He didn't stop bleeding. I didn't know how to stop it or even how to slow it. I've never done that before. Sitting. Charles was taken quickly, with a heart attack. He was alive and I hated him, and then he was dead and there was nothing. The children, none of them went slowly when they died.
I've known slow death, but it was at the nursing home. Everything hurt, and it seemed like everything that I did, everything that everyone else did for that matter, was a preparation for death. The aides would give you a bath, and it was washing the corpse. They'd do your hair, and it was just saving time for the mortician. I didn't mind; I was ready.
I knew it was wrong, but I just didn't care what happened to the chancel. I just didn't care. I sat, and I rotted out my heart. Not to mention my stomach.
Friendship was destroyed, Jealousy (that poor girl) was destroyed, the rest of them were killed. And I just didn't care.
Amaciel touched us all and told us in our hearts, "My children, I remember the moments that led up to this. I cannot say that every choice made, every plan laid was perfect or just. But my path in this has been true...I am sorry for causing you pain."
And that's all. He isn't moving. He isn't breathing. I know he's there, and at least he's stopped bleeding.
But he's starting to mold.
Tweak to the page layout to change the visual grouping of the two chancels, which then required rearranging the stuff below it to keep the composition balanced.
I should note that I renamed the 'Thought Records' categories to follow the "Thought Record - [Domain]" format, instead of the "Thought Record - [Name]" format.
Shouldn't change anything for anyone, but if you notice discrepancies or a broken link, lemme know.
July 19th
1. Special K: or, A Type of Cornflake
Sometimes you look for something just to have looked or at least said you looked. I can't count the number of times I looked in the cellar off the basement for monsters my children just knew were there. I could, but it wouldn't be as many times as I remember, so I won't.
I looked through the cornfield I'd described to Amaciel before the explosion, expecting to find nothing.
I found something, but I'm not sure what it was. The corn felt funny. I can't describe it any better than that. The corn spirits themselves were acting silly. Silly even for corn spirits, that is. "Look at the sky!" "Look at the birds!" "Look at the clouds!" Some of them lay on the ground in a pattern I almost recognized. I asked them just what they thought they were doing, and they giggled at me. Well. I walked around and around the pattern until I had it: it was the letter K. In angelic script.
I didn't come up with any brilliant ideas, more's the pity, so I went to the next place I'd talked to him about, Wisconsin, to see if there were any more messages there.
2. The comforts of memory
The House on the Rock was hot. The spirits of the place panted with heat.
"Australia gets hotter than this," said a painted boomerang.
"I was made by Spanish missionaries in Florida. This is nothing compared to the summer of 1887," said a row of tiles.
A terra-cotta armless Venus fountain nearby muttered that its neighbor must be confusing Florida with Taiwan again, mutter mutter damned replica.
"I miss Alaska. It's cold in Alaska. Let me tell you about Alaska--" a carved ivory dagger said.
"Shut up!" hissed the others.
The dragons on the front drive snapped at cars. Some of the drivers noticed, but since it looked as if the things were jumping out at you anyway, nobody commented.
How hot was it? The mosquitoes slept. They just slept.
I stopped to talk to the woman at the front desk; she hadn't seen anything unusual. She was the kind of person who loved to hear stories, so I stopped to tell her a few. Strange woman. She'd listen to you all the way through, nod once to herself, and tell you what time it was in another time zone.
I wandered through the Streets of Yesteryear and played tokens in the mechanical bands. Some of them were getting a little rusty, strings broken and cymbals awry, so I stopped to fix them up a bit. Not too much, though. Part of the charm is all the dust.
At the merry-go-round, I saw something rustle and ripple among the manikin angels on the ceiling. “Hello up there,” I called.
Penelope, the Power of Memory, stepped down out of them. She introduced herself and said she found the place comforting. Well, so did I. I gave her my name and told her I was looking for something.
“Ah,” she said, and left. I suppose I'd of preferred she either turn me in or help, but I suppose I'm an idiot sometimes.
3. It was aliens! I seen ‘em!
I traveled the entirety of the House, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, otherwise. I bought a couple of bumper stickers on the way out and vowed to find a way to affix them to Death’s sword without him noticing me.
On the way out I glimpsed a news program at the ticket-taker’s desk (she had a small television she watched between customers, a thermos of scalding-hot coffee, a heavy quilt, a bag of pretzels, six different kinds of mustard and cheese spread, and a Mickey Mouse wristwatch that she had under a glass bell) about a plague of crop circles, so I stopped to watch it. Fourteen different locations (including the one I'd been to). They flashed the pictures: all letters of angelic script. Not the sort of thing you teach to farm boys out cow tippin'.
KOLCRHOONHHHAAA
I stopped at a Norwegian coffee shop, drank coffee and ate lefse, and copied out combinations of letter on a stack of paper napkins. I used to be pretty good at puzzles, but I couldn’t make sense out of this one for anything. Finally I gave it a good squint and stuck my tongue out, which always makes things work better.
LOOK CORN HAHAHA
Good lord. That was Amaciel, all right.
4. Honor
I went back home to report to the big guns and wait for the Graf to come back with some advice. The place was in an uproar. The cops ran one way, and everyone else ran the other.
Someone shouted a shout that covered the entire town: “Ifay!” I heard shots. I’d been running toward Guilt’s office, expecting something to have happened there, but I changed direction toward the gunshots.
The Bronze Man stood in the middle of the street with Donner and Macy glaring at him. The flower I held in my hand bloomed with a sick, unnatural blossom that stank like an old woman that hadn't bathed in six weeks. And it wasn't me, either.
I was so mad I tried to freeze him like a statue where he stood, which of course didn’t work. I don’t get angry very often; when I do I sometimes lose my head.
Macy and Donner turned over the Power of Friendship, who’d also triggered the bloom of Crime I found out later. They turned her over--and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that there was something between that woman and the statue. I hollered at him about the sword and showed him the flower; he promised he'd look into it. Well, that’ll be the day. He might keep the word of his promise, but I can't see him sticking to the spirit of it. No heart. He won't find anything.
The Graf and the others got word back that Amaciel's body wasn't in the graveyard. He'd shed his skin and left it behind. Well, I knew where his spirit was, but you have to have somewhere to put these things. The others had another lead to follow, further out on the tree.
Sure. All we had to do was defend the home place from any and all, no matter what kind of idiots they were. Wouldn't have traded them for the world.
It is an irony of the highest order that, at a time when I have tried to seize my humanity, become less the cold sword-edge of Punishment and try to remember who Sian once was, events conspire to drive any joy or happiness from my heart. Perhaps this is why I became so cold, so inhuman -- not my immortality, lost and now forsaken, but the anger and hatred in my breast that holds ready to consume me.
From the battle against Friendship and the fall of Pen Lo, I was energized. I knew, from the strength I gained, I could take on my Immortality once more. But I feared it, feared what it had done to me, locking me into an unchanging weapon (figuratively, at least) at the cost of being a person. Instead, knowing that our rebuilt Chancel would need my strength, I made my eye, breath, and strength that much more stronger and quicker -- more deadly, perhaps, but also of more use to my Imperator, Cathetel.
Have I erred? Would matters be easier if I could return to unfeeling certainty?
First, there was the crafting of the Chancel, to replace that lost in the great battle. To build such a place requires the sacrifice of one hundred, one a night for one hundred nights. Not that there was any lack of worthy candidates among the citizenry of Dade Twenty-five alone were mine to take, though I divined for the others those I thought best to choose. Cathetel overrode my directives thrice, for reasons I did not know, though now understand.
Still, though each target was suited for the Final Punishment, it felt ... wrong. Mechanical. One after another, like an assembly line, dehumanizing both to the killed and to the killer. Yet, if I let myself feel the righteous rage justice would demand at the crimes of those who were killed, could I do it any more effectively? Would I be more or less human for it?
The new chancel echos in my mind of the old, though I cannot now clearly remember that place. Dark and garish, hot and humid, we crafted it well to its defense, recalling how we lost our earlier home.
And deep within the bowels of the courthouse building, whence the Chancel is ruled, in catacombs formed there deeper than the original city was ever delved, are chained the remains of Pen Lo, the shell of the Imperator whose neglect and spirit stood behind the crimes and killing that led to our reborn Imperator's death, among so many others. There, once a month, I descend, to harvest from that shattered from the quicksilver power that will nourish Cathetel, and so our Chancel and Estates. As Punishment, this is my job, my duty, even my pleasure -- and, yet, it is a terrible task, one that forces me to retreat behind its formality. How, then, can Sian do this, and not Punishment?
Upon creation of our Chancel, with the One Hundredth Death, the first task set me by Cathetel was to travel to Lord Entropy, and lodge a complaint against Arnaud, the Imperator of the Chancel to our north. He is greedy and proud, certain that in this area will spring forth the Fourth Age. If, he believes, or so Cathetel tells me, he alone possesses this area, then he alone will reap the blossoming of that Age, becoming a World Tree himself. It is a monstrous thought, and some of his peers and kin hold him in scorn, or anger, or fear, for it.
Arnaud is the first among those who sought to block our Chancel being built here. Indeed, Cathetel told me, he arranged for the hurricane dubbed Isabeau by the humans of this land to strike here, in hope that it would kill so many, and then so few more would need killing, that there would not be enough to finish the rite. Monstrous, indeed, and so he must pay.
And yet Cathetel did not wish suit brought merely to punish Arnaud, but to make it clear that any who interfere with us, any who try to oppose us in our duty or existence, will face retribution, legal or forceful. A show of strength it was, then, and a demonstration of our ties and importance to the order of things, to Lord Entropy himself.
I was given the option of traveling to the Locust Court, to file the grievance there, but chose instead to go before Lord Entropy. The strength was in me, I thought, and the power, and I thought it a better strategy to go directly before Entropy than before his minions.
His court is in the Lands of Desolation, islands in the Atlantic surprisingly close to our own new Chancel's location, in a corner of what the people here call the Devil's Triangle, a place of lost ships and souls where the Mythic bleeds through to the Prosaic. I could fly there, and did.
As I approached, I could see the islands below me, wrapped in waters bearing the foulness of the ocean, even when I turned my vision to the Mythic. Storms wreathed the place, buffeting me with their winds. A pale, serpentine figure, born aloft by translucent wings, flew to attack me. A test, I knew, though a mortal one. I destroyed its wings and it fell to the ocean below, still alive, but its blood drawing the predators nearby. A fitting punishment.
Entropy is served by three Nobles, Regals of their Domains -- Scorn, Desecration, and Destruction. When the second of those appeared before me, a cloaked spectre, like the Grim Reaper, forming out of the clouds themselves, I felt my heart quail, so foul was his presence. Yet when he spoke, his voice like a one near death, desperate and wheezing for air, I recalled my purpose, and answered him formally and faithfully.
"You are one of the new Inquisitors," he said, looking at me up and down, though I could not see his cowled face. "Come with me."
Too foul was his wake, and so I flew beside him, silently. We passed by monstrous beasts and horrors , above and below -- but also, in the distance, I could see islands of great beauty, and glimpses of white gleaming upon them at times. Unicorns, I knew. Creatures of purity and magic.
"Do you hunt?" he asked me, eagerly.
I felt sick, but let myself be cold. "Those who deserve to be caught."
"Heh. I prefer unicorns."
After a moment, I replied, "I'm sure you do."
I felt a deep, burning, abiding hatred for him, then. I put it aside, for I could not then act on it. If I ever could, it would be in a millennium -- but I knew it would burn just as fiercely then as now.
We descended into the city of black glass, in whose subterranean tiled halls, other hunts are held. There we passed through more which I will not now recount, until we arrived before Lord Entropy. He was breathtaking in his beauty, yet his hands ended in black, twisted claws, and he sat upon a throne of scorched stone.
SPEAK.
I bowed deeply. The obeisance was not feigned -- his was a presence before which any must bow. "I come from Cathetel."
He nodded. THE CHANCEL IS FORMED?
"Yes. But I come on Cathetel's behalf to file a complaint on Arnaud, who has unlawfully interfered with the lives and lands involved in forming the Chancel. He --"
A brief twitch of his claw, and I was silenced. WE WILL NOT INTERFERE. WE WILL NOTIFY A NEUTRAL INQUISITORIAL CHANCEL, AND ASK IT TO INVESTIGATE. THIS WILL SUFFICE.
I could only bow, and then was escorted out. Desecration himself walked with me back to the outer courtyard whence I would leave.
"The second visit from an earthly chancel," he informed me, "requires a gift."
I nodded. Cathetel would know the protocol, but I would mention it to my brethren.
"Expect a visitor from Locus Nephys by tomorrow."
I nodded again, then took my leave without speaking. I did not trust my tongue.
Somewhere south of the Bahamas, beyond sight of the Devastated Lands, I was finally, violently ill. That proves me, I suppose, still human to some degree, but I knew the sights I had seen, if I dwelt on them, would drive that humanity away. And, yet, if I shut them off now, I would be cutting into myself as well. I did not, and do not, know the answer to that conundrum.
At last I returned to the Locus Noctis, only to find the Inquisitor promised, Michel Tomas, had already arrived and spoken with Cathetel. My Imperator informed me and Fungus that Tomas would be staying on, handling the full investigation. He'd also been told that Arnaud had sent spices to Lord Entropy's chancel -- a gift, it seemed, or a bribe. Cathetel speculated that he might have to invoke certain rules of conflict, if this continued, and that we should be ready.
He then spoke to us of a ship that had been driven into the shore by the storm, and told Fungus and I to investigate it, along with our new brother Noble, Crime.
I stood upon the top of the steps to the courthouse, as he drove up and parked in a handicapped spot. I knew him, for he had been the mayor of Dade City before it was taken for the Chancel, a foul and evil man. Indeed, I had argued for him as one of the sacrifices, but had been overruled by Cathetel. I knew now why.
I hated him -- him and his Domain, inseparable in corruption. I remembered once Cathetel had mentioned crime to me. "BUT WITHOUT IT," he'd noted, "THERE WOULD BE NO NEED FOR PUNISHMENT."
"So be it," I'd told him. "If I did not wish to become obsolete, I would be as evil as that I fight."
And now Crime, personified, came up the steps toward me, exchanging introductions and pleasantries. I hated him, hated him to the core of my being with a revulsion that threatened to make me ill again, or strike out against him. And yet, bound to our Imperator, a piece of his soul was from the same source as mine, and we were bound to the same great purpose as our lord. I could not strike him down any more than I could not not do so.
He flashed me a toothy grin. "How's it going?"
"We have a job," I said, so coldly I expected the humidity to frost out of the air before me. I took to the air before he could reply, trusting that he and Fungus would follow in his no-doubt-stolen car.
How could Cathetel do this to me?
And how can I not be unfeeling and businesslike, carving off any joy or love or humanity I might otherwise feel, when the alternative is to be so filled with hatred and anger -- at Crime, at Desecration, at what duty calls me to do? It was easy for Hailey to speak about using my imagination, to break out of old habits and ruts, but to live, to feel, called for so much more than that, and without that living, the rest made no difference.
I arrived at the shoreline, and saw it, its bow smashed in. It was an old, wooden ship, but strange and unsettling in design. As I descended, I could see hairy, pasty-skinned bodies floating in the surf. I could see, as well, strange script written upon it, like the writing of angels, but, in its own way, the opposite, dark and disquieting and certainly not human.
I heard a cry for help, not in words but in tone, and went down to offer aid. If I were to be human, and not simply a machine of punishment and retribution, there was naught else I could do ...
A reading from The Book of Cathetel, Chapter 7, Verse 1 ...
Many great changes had come upon the world, then, as has previously been related. The Chancel of Cathetel, kin serpent to Amaciel, was destroyed in the great battle that did see Friendship and Sacrifice also killed. And, yet, with the fall of Pen Lo and his Inquisitors, the Lord Entropy did name Cathetel to lead a new Inquisitorial Chancel, which must be built anew with one hundred days of blood sacrifice.
Then did Punishment slay a quarter of those to die, for many there were in the city chosen who deserved such a fate. And so did Guilt slay her quarter, driving them to felo-de-se, or to slay others, as their own feelings dictated. And so did Fungus slay her quarter, the weak and ill. Yet all the slayings were just, according to the law.
Cathetel himself, slew a quarter of the hundred, unto the last death. For he came to the mayor of Dade City, which would be the new Chancel, and offered to him the opportunity to serve as a Noble, giving him a taste of the power which he exemplified. The man did agree, and committed the final killing, that of his aide, and did so with his own hands, scorning the blade offered to him.
Then about them did the city melt, descending into madness and perpetual night. Dade City left the memory of Man, to become the new Chancel Cathetel. And it was named Locus Noctis, the Place of Night, for never would the sun shine upon its people.
Chapter 7, Verse 2
Cathetel did name the man Crime, and bespoke him of the Mythic, and what he must do to serve.
Then, the Chancel created, did Cathetel consider the ills that beset him. For others of his kin and peerage were against him, out of envy, malice, or greed. And they had sought to prevent the great rite which would create the Chancel, even unto sending a great hurricane upon the land, to kill so many of the people there, by its winds or by direct action should needs must, that there would be not enough for the hundred slayings.
One such foe was Yolet, self-styled as the Empress in Sapphire, who drew unto her Architecture, Colors, Protection, and the Transformation of Life. She argued bitterly with Cathetel, who sought to know humanity and considered it of importance, where she simply saw humanity as the knife's edge of evolutionary change.
Yet still greater a foe was Arnaud, who wished no Chancel built in that place. For there, so he thought, would the Fourth Age begin, and any who held sway over that land would ascend in greatness. Arnaud, called also the Clockwork Dragon, who drew unto himself Hours, Rotation, and Mechanical Devices, spoke even the blasphemy that he might, should he alone hold sway over that area, become as a new World Tree when the new Age arrived.
Cathetel wished that none would interfere with him or his, and so he sent Punishment unto Lord Entropy, to claim injury from Arnaud, that all would know that Cathetel would brook no such interference, no such offense.
For Cathetel knew that to show weakness in this would be to invite further attack, but to show strength would be either forestall further attack, or draw his foes into more open combat.
Chapter 7, Verse 3
And Cathetel sent Fungus to craft the entrances and exits for the Chancel, devising fairy rings which would tie it to other lands and places.
For this was a skill Fungus knew of old, and so could pass from place to place about the world.
And Cathetel sent Guilt to organize the affairs of the Chancel, though the people there would hate her for it. For they were confused by the change, tormented by old memories, and panicked unto riot. Guilt, then, would use a rod of iron to break them, declaring martial law, using her talk show radio host to make them compliant, and building a great skyway from the borders of the land to its center.
And Cathetel did set as warden and chancellor over the land a mortal, though gifted with power, named Alejandro de la Cruz. And the warden had known Crime when the latter was mayor over the city, and cared not for him. Cathetel did this, knowing that the warden's will was strong, and would at times conflict with that of his Nobles, but this was according to his plan.
And Cathetel sent Crime to select Anchors, bringing them unto him through draughts of his blood.
So did Crime seek out his brother, who was chief over the police, and made him an Anchor. And he sought out another brother, who did chronicle the events of the city each day as a journalist, and made him an anchor. And he sought out his sister, who did whore within the city, and made her an Anchor. And he sought out his cousin, who was a high priest of an Earthly church, and made him an Anchor.
Chapter 7, Verse 4
Punishment, at her master's behest, flew then to the Desolate Lands, the Chancel of Lord Entropy. This was close by, at the southeast corner of the area known to humanity as the Bermuda Triangle. And she passed through great storms, and slew a mighty beast that sought to oppose her.
Yet, when one of Lord Entropy's Nobles came to meet her -- Desecration, rather than his brethren Scorn or Destruction -- she stayed her hand, and spoke of her business. And Desecration escorted her into the Desolate Lands, over its fouled waters, past the great beasts, and yet also past places of tremendous beauty. And Desecration jested with her, speaking of how he enjoyed to hunt the unicorns which were there, for sport, and she was wroth, but said nothing, only holding that flame of anger close to her heart, where one day she would call upon it.
She was brought before Lord Entropy, terrible in beauty and hideous in strength. And she spoke the words Cathetel had bade her, and Lord Entropy said that he would send Inquisitors to them, to investigate the charges, and that this would suffice. And she took her leave.
Chapter 7, Verse 5
Guilt did dispute with the warden over the skyways to be built, for the latter, knowing well the city, called upon five such ways to be crafted, not the four which Guilt had wished.
Guilt acceded to his wishes, and together, then, they also held of the hurricane which still could strike at their new Chancel, preserving the weather upon it.
Then did Guilt travel to the Chancel of Amaciel, which Chancel was linked to her own by a gateway. And she brought from there to her new home her Anchor, Christopher..
Chapter 7, Verse 6
Then did Fungus build up the gates from the city, starting with places with were of interest to Fungus -- England, the south of California, France -- and then crafting fairy rings to tie to all other places in the world, that it would be convenient to travel to and from the Chancel and anyplace upon Earth.
Fungus did see Cathetel speak with the Inquisitor from Locus Nephys, Michel Tomas, dark of skin and like unto a woman in manner. So it was Tomas whom Lord Entropy had dispatched to investigate the charges Cathetel had laid. And Tomas took up a residence in the Chancel, for the length of his investigation.
Then did Cathetel come to Fungus and said that Arnaud had sent unto Lord Entropy many rare spices, seeking to stay his wrath. And Cathetel warned that soon he might needs must invoke certain formal rites of conflict, and that they should stand ready for this.
And Cathetel also spoke of a ship which had run aground upon the coastline they now did possess, and bade Fungus to take Punishment, just returned from the Desolate Lands, and Crime, just returned from his Anchors, to investigate it. So did Punishment and Fungus first meet Crime, and Fungus was cordial, for all is the same in the long memory of that Noble. But Punishment was cold in anger and disdain. For though Punishment would not exist save for Crime, she did hate the injustice he did, and was offended at their tie through their Imperator.
Crime and Fungus did drive to the coast, while Punishment flew. Upon a promontory, they saw the ship, and Punishment flew to her. Crime and Fungus did speak with beachcombers in a pickup truck, who had gone to the wreck and taken some pieces of wood as souvenirs. And upon that wood, Fungus saw the writings of the Excrucian race, and wondered at it.
Punishment, too, saw the writing upon the wreck of the boat, and knew it was not of the Earth, for it was like unto that of the Angels, but not so. In the water she could see strange corpses, of hairy, pasty-skinned beasts, but she also could hear the voice of one in distress, and flew then unto that one's aid.
Thus endeth the Lesson.
Former DA of Dade City, Florida.
Current Warden and Chancellor of Locus Noctis (Chancel Cathetel).
More resources on the chupacabra:
- El Chupacabra Online: It is hard to describe the appearance of El Chupacabra because sightings greatly differ. Most say it is either gray or green. Some say it has a large lizard-like tongue, others say it has wings. A bipedal creature (one that stands upright like a human), the Chupacabra has had many sightings where its height was reported to be anywhere from 3 and 6 feet tall. Some say it walks, some say it flies, and some say it has a kangaroo hop.
- Chupacabra - Where Are You?
- Casa de Chupacabra (and Casa De Chupacabra 2002): Chupacabras are goat sucking, nocturnal alien panthers who've been stranded years ago on earth. They can fly, evade much human detection, and have intrigued the paranormal community and Hispanic America for years. Origionally discovered in puerto rico, and since mostly seen in Miami, Mexico, and the Southwest U.S., Chupacabras are rapidly replacing yetis and the loch ness monster as the most popular legendary monsters on planet earth...
- The Skeptic's Dictionary: Like other creatures in the cryptozoologist's barnyard, the chupacabra has been variously described. Some have seen a small half-alien, half-dinosaur tailless vampire with quills running down its back; others have sited a panther like creature with a long snake-like tongue; still others have seen a hopping animal that leaves a trail of sulphuric stench. Some think it may be a type of dinosaur heretofore unknown. Some are convinced that the wounds on animals whose deaths have been attributed to the chupacabra indicate an alien presence. However, they do not attribute the "mutilations" to the aliens themselves, but to one of their pets or experiments gone awry. Such creatures are known as Anomalous Biological Entities [ABEs] in UFO circles.
- The Straight Dope
- The Chupacabras: The animal's skeleton that sucked the blood of the sheep at the farm "San Lorenzo", property of Jorge Luis Talavera, 154 kilometers of Malpasillo, was found in the early Monday morning hours 80 meters from the victim's corral. "It could be a hybrid animal made up of several species, created in a laboratory by genetic engineering", said Gioconda Chévez, veterinarian of Malpaisillo. The Specialist described the animal like a very uncommon specie, after observing the skeleton with yellow hair on its short tail, having great eye cavities, smooth bat skin like, big claws, jaw shows big teeth and a outstanding crest sticking out from the main vertebra. With pictures!
- The Chupacabra: In the Hispanic neighborhood of Clearwater, Florida some 69 animals had been destroyed and mutilated. Among the carcasses were goats, chickens, ducks and geese. Local officials blame the massacre on a large sized dog. But the people of the neighborhood blame Chupacabra. One young man saw Chupacabra from a balcony and gave authorities the common description of 3 to 4 feet in height, spikes along the spine, glowing eyes, wings and long fangs. Chupa had stepped in to the backyard of the young man's home and attacked and killed the family's goat. The goat had been gutted and drained of blood.
IMPERATOR
Name: Cathetel
Properties:
- Durant (1)
- Summonable (-1)
- Great Harvest (2)
- Cold (-1)
- Bright Warning (-1)
- TOTAL = 0
CHANCEL
Chancel Name: Locus Noctis (Chancel Cathetel)
Governor: Alejandro de la Cruz
Powers:
- Fungus (The Graf)
- Punishment (Sian Ewig)
- Guilt (Mariska)
- Crime ("Little Doc" Devereaux)
Chancel Properties:
- Important - Treaty (free)
- Important - Target (-4)
- Banes (-1)
- Landlord (-3)
- Magic Inhabitants (3)
- Convenient (2)
- Defensive Blessing (4)
- Tech Barrier - firearms > AD 1911 (1)
- Weird Science - communications (1)
- Gateway to Friendly Chancel - Amaciel (2)
- TOTAL = 5
Description: Miami in perpetual darkness. A pastel Gotham, lit in neon of garish pink and green. Hot and humid, a voodoo beat vying with dance club salsa rhythms, its people still struggle with the change that has overtaken them. Gargoyles flit overhead, their faces the masks of African demons. Spiny chupacabra lurk in the darkness, awaiting command (or an unattended goat). Until recently the city of Dade, Florida (a now-non-existent coastal neighbor of Miami), now it is the Locus Noctis, City of Night.
The warden of Locus Noctis is Alejandro de la Cruz, in the old regime a crusading district attorney. Now he holds power in cooperation with -- or in competition to -- Cathetel's Nobles, in particular his old boss, former mayor "Little Doc" Devereaux.
Spilled images race across my eyes, flickering and blinking by. How can sanity hold such madness, or make sense of it? Yet, if I forget, am I any more sane?
A spiraling highway of earth and stone, like the spirals of DNA, upon which ribbons we travel, no longer upon the tree, but above it. The Appian Way, fifty miles wide, a true highway for Serpents.
A timeless time, we travel down the tree, until at last we see a city, spanning both strands -- Locus Abralam, the Pristine Citadel. Here we must pass, though they bear one of the swords.
(In my flickering memory I see shapes of the Rocky Mountains in the US -- where Abralam touches the Mundane Earth, I wonder?)
We must pass through. It's too far to the tree, stellar space with titans a-nodding, stars and comets. Nor is the tree here easy to pass, hence the road.
Above us, titanium birds circle, mine for coal and water.
I see figures of memory. Ada Willamette, Strife, bearing six-shooters for a century ... Patrick Romneyson, from the alternative 19th Century, the force of Chaos. Borders ... a pile of gravel.
We could sneak through, perhaps, guise ourselves -- but Death cannot be guised (how appropriate), and so we must face the clockwork city head-on.
A checkpoint. A big tower with a sun dial. An old man guarding -- to what end do we travel? To, it seems, the Augur of the Two Roads -- thence we follow a grey path to a lushly appointed room, to meet the Augur ...
... the Imperator, lord of this city, a true god. Ever-shifting, ever-flowing waters of green and blue, dividing and joining again, only the eyes a constant, boring through us as though we were nothing ...
It asks us what we are doing and we tell, citing Orachi and paying all due obeisance.
"ENOUGH. A TITHE. FROM FUNGUS WE WILL REQUIRE A SPECIMEN OF THE GROLIANT SHELF MUSHROOM.
"FROM PUNISHMENT, WE REQUIRE JUDGMENT COME DOWN UPON THE HEAD OF ONE WHO HAS WRONGED US."
If it is just ... I can do no other. This is the truth, though I fear what it will mean.
"AND FROM DEATH, SPARE THE BARON OF KNIVES. PERMANENTLY."
We agree, so as to leave the city. Nor do I know what the alternative would be. My mind nearly rebels -- this is too strange, too dangerous. Mortal danger means little to me, even though I am once again mortal. But concerns over my family, and Amaciel ... these, are too new. Can I rid myself of such thoughts. Do I want to?
Reality had found Amaciel in fourteen cornfields in Iowa. We'd found him in the Bay Tree at the cemetery. Where else was he? How could we pull him together -- or how could we convince him to pull himself together. And should we?
The guard to the city bids us farewell, and warns us to watch for the thing that eats faces. Feh.
We travel south, downtree, hearing rumors of strife and chaos, random acts of unpredictable weirdness. An abandoned town of demon men set to flame. A nearby village locked in a month-long orgy. More. I begin to sense a thread in the strangeness. All seem to tie to our domains -- just as Amaciel does (or we tie to his). Fungus tries to find him -- "head toward the rumbling" -- we see nothing, save a horrible storm in the distance, wreathed in lightning.
The the lightning is upon us, striking us down.
Within -- the Serpent we seek. "Orachi?" No. "Amaciel?" Who?
It looks like Amaciel, but it has no memories, is capricious and young, and bleeding quicksilver. It knows not even its name, but we sense the truth.
We must bring it to another part of itself, try to build its memory. Iowa? No, the potential damage to humans is too much to contemplate. But the Bay Tree ...
I mention Sepulchre Adforari. "OH, NO!" It flees.
We pursue, try to speak to him. I make contact with Reality, bring her to us. She reaches out to him, a Ghost Miracle of the Chancel. He does slow. "We missed you," she says. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU," he replies.
Still, there seems to be some recognition. "We are your creations, your servants," I say. "WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER? WHO DID THIS TO ME?" In his words, the flashing of his eyes, I see myself, and I see Death.
Reality assures him. "We think you did it to yourself." Fungus adds, "We think you let this happen, to allow another's crime to be revealed."
We convince him, and he agrees, reluctantly, to return to the Bay Tree, to find himself there. He heads up the World Tree, directly, avoiding the Appian Way.
Time passes. Comets dance in the sky in the complex waltz of the heavens. I am not being poetical when I say that.
We arrive at the graveyard, where burial mounds like mountains stretch a hundred miles long, great valleys stretching between them.
He touches the tree. Naught. A sense of familiarity, but no change.
Reality nods. She shrinks the tree, a "forced perspective" on reality, once I fly her a sufficient distance away first. We bring it with us back to the Chancel, to the Heart, which we show to the Serpent. Electricity gathers corn from the sites to bring back. Fungus checks out the mushrooms in the lab. I have my Spear. We will all create a great ritual to restore Amaciel.
The ritual begins, deep in the Heart of the Chancel ... but we are only half-way through when Electricity gets a prayer. It's Regret, bleeding quicksilver --"Help ... please ..." Pen Lo has attacked them. We get word of other attacks -- and then battle comes to our own chancel.
But not before the ritual is completed. The earth moves, and Amaciel is restored to us.
"I REMEMBER!" he cries. "YOU MUST --"
Then he coughs up silver, and keels over. He murmurs something ... "ALATYR" ... the healing stone at the base of the World Tree.
The invading troops to the chancel had been cut off, and surrendered to Electricity. A wise move. Lust and I waited at the gates for them to open, to launch our counter-attack on those coming in. It was odd to stand by her side, but I knew she would more than hold her own in battle.
While we wait, I contact Imagination -- Haley -- to warn her. She thanks me, and bids me be safe. A nice girl.
The gate goes down, and we set forth to battle, in a warehouse full of Mardi Gras floats.
None can stand before us. At last, all our foes are downed. "If you want to live, go home!" Lust urges those still alive -- though unconscious. Guilt offers to ward the gate with the gargoyles.
We return to Amaciel. "MY CHILDREN. I REMEMBER THE MOMENTS THAT LED UP TO THIS ... NOT ONLY THIS TRAGEDY, BUT YOU AND I AND THESE RELATIONSHIPS TOGETHER. I CANNOT SAY EVERY CHOICE, EVERY PLAN WAS PERFECT, OR EVEN JUST. BUT MY PATH HS BEEN TRUE. KNOW YOU THAT. AND FOR EVERYTHING I'VE DONE THAT HAS CAUSED YOU PAIN -- I AM SORRY. He coughs, and collapses again.
I have an image of Haley, riding a winged cocker spaniel.
We head for the Fairy Ring, to get to Lost Things. We get there, to see the Bronze Man down, a sword thrust through his brazen chest. Friendship battles us all -- Death, Lust, Punishment, Knives, Eternity, Lightning ...
But what brings Friendship down is Jealousy. The Earth becomes jealous of Friendship's allegiance, and draws away all the matter of her body.
And then it is over.
And the rest is a blur, as though seen at a distance of days, weeks, even months, though it's been but hours.
Some will join our chancel, I think. Some will leave, ambassadors, liaisons. Amaciel's conviction is overturned. Does he still need healing? I don't know, though should.
Inquisitors. I thought someone said we were Inquisitors now. That should fill me with joy, shouldn't it? I don't know. Everything is changing.
I don't remember why I came here. I just wanted to leave for a while. And I hadn't spoken with you for too long.
My memories are still not what they should be. The time, however brief, I spent as mortal, bereft of Amaciel, changed me beyond the old patterns of my life. I don't know what that means, or how that change, too, will alter my life.
I just know it's all changing.
Alanna Metcalf, third chief of detectives for New Scotland Yard, put a blanket over the sleeping figure. She'd never seen Punishment this way before -- but, then, she'd not seen her for months. The worry of that interval was relieved now, though replaced by worry over her Mistress. The cold, hard, gleaming sword of a woman was still there, but somehow softened, more vulnerable, more mortal.
It made no difference. She loved her, and would serve her, forever, to the best of her ability. Which, at the moment, seemed to be letting her crash on the couch of the upscale London flat she rented.
Punishment had shown her a bit of the Other World before, but never spoken of it in such detail. Alanna wasn't sure if she believed it all, though enough magic had come through her life since Punishment had chosen her that she wasn't going to rule any of the ... well, ravings, most would call them ... out.
Great serpents bleeding quicksilver? A World Tree with DNA Highways? Flying cocker spaniels?
Alanna shook her head. Again, it made no difference. And, doubtless, all would be put right in the morning. That's what her mum had always said -- before she was murdered. Punishment had set that right, and whatever aid she could provide, even unto her own life, she would.
Alanna gave Punishment's silver hair a soft stroke with her hand, then shut off the light, and went to bed.
With everything starting up anew this weekend, I thought it would be a good idea to lay out what RSB calls a 'play contract' and state a few things for the record.
First, the Play Contract:
General
Players (including me) should refrain from any deliberate attempts to make other players uncomfortable. In addition to physical or verbal harassment, this includes inappropriate descripts of in-character behavior or drives, sadism, child abuse, and other miscellany that may offend. Character can certainly engage in controversial or deviant behavior (if necessary for their character concept), but if the issues raised are known to make one or more players uncomfortable, we'll keep the descriptions of such things short and to the point.
That said, we are all adults with (I think) both an interest in a strong and compelling story and a level of maturity that can allow for elements of the game to become uncomfortable ("grin and bear it") in order to achieve a 'good' scene. I will proceed with that assessment in mind.
Autonomy
You control the minds and emotions of your character(s). If I or another player describes your PC's mental reaction to something, you can always correct them. They can always clarify why they made that description, but that can't argue -- it's your character.
This is 100% true of your nobilis characters and about 70% true for your mortal anchors: keep in mind that I or another player might be playing one of your anchors (in order to be involved in a scene). Hopefully, everyone has a good idea of the character's involved and can play them accordingly. Purposely 'messing' with another character's anchor will not be permitted, but as we are adults, I expect the shared roleplaying of some characters will only add to the game.
Sex & Violence
Not to put too cynical a point on it, but most stories boil down to sex and violence and since this is a story we're all telling, we can expect both elements to make an appearance.
- Sex
Plots and character actions can feature the full range of consensual human behavior, but descriptions of same will not be lascivious or unnecessarily graphic.
Violence Violence tends to follow the style of darker action movies and comics. Death can sometimes be casual and sudden for some, and violent forms of expression might be commonly used by PCs and NPCs alike. PCs are expected not to kill one another -- anyone else is fair game.
Emphasis, Genre, and Expectations
Just a few bits to give you an idea of the sorts of things I tend to end up running, one way or the other.
- Estates
It's difficult to give good advice on what type of characters will work. Part of the wonder of this group is that you all will think of character concepts that I never would have and then make them work.
I think that general Estates work better than specific ones. I think that responsible/dedicated characters will work better than irresponsible/desultory ones. I'm willing to be proven wrong on both points.
- Estate vs. Personality: It is very easy to fall into the trap of choosing your character's Estate and then basing everything in their personality on making them a perfect fit for that Estate. Equally dangerous, is the contrarian bent of making everything in the characters personality the direct opposite of what would be expected from their Estate.
Theme
There are many kinds of stories you can do in a Nobilis game; it works for a light-hearted, comedic, over-the-top powerfest -- it also works for dark and brooding metaphysical horror. Different groups (in fact, different characters) might be doing either or both in a single session, but it can ruin one story if another type of story overwhelms it, or if a character just doesn't fit.
Generally, I think it helps you predict the feel of the game if you know some my current influences.
- Story
Sandman, American Gods, Neverwhere, Dark City, Perdido Street Station.
Combat (as it would be in high-Aspect scenes)
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, The Matrix, The Hulk, Pirates of the Caribbean, Grosse Pointe Blank
Scenes & Plotting
Gilmore Girls, anything by Joss Whedon, Alias (graphic novel or TV show)
Mythic Imagery
Baron Munchausen, City of Lost Children, Ghormenghast (in some places), Underworld, The Hulk, Amelie.
Overall feel
I like to have fun and laugh, and I like things to get creepy from time to time. Hopefully, I'll creep you out sometimes without going into that Call of Cthulu zone where your chance of survival is a joke. That said, actions have consequences.
Characters should be capable of treating their responsibilities seriously and of dedicating the greater part of their lives to the often unsavory tasks associated with defending reality (and themselves) against those who would destroy everything. At the same time, the character should also have some interests and pursuits other than those necessary for the maintenance of their Estate.
Experience Level
With a few exceptions, everyone's assumed to have had some experience as a Noble: enough to learn pretty much everything in the rulebook (excepting those described as a secret).
Rules
I direct you here.
Secret Music
I keep such music in my brain
no din this side of Death can quell;
Glory exulting over pain,
And beauty, garlanded in hell.
My dreaming spirit will not heed
the roar of guns that would destroy
My life that on the gloom can read
proud-surging melodies of joy.
To the world's end I went, and found
Death in his carnival of glare;
But in my torment I was crowned,
and the music dawned above despair.
S.S. 12/16
-Road-
Death, Punishment and Fungus continue down the double helix superhighway of the Appian Way that winds down the side of Yggdrasil. The roadway is as varied as life itself; sometimes 40 feet, sometimes 40 miles wide. They are concerned about the lack of time on the tree, Death finding it most annoying.
In the distance they spy a city and debate what to do next. Looking around, they are able to see that all four lanes of the double helix (since both sides of both strands are used for travel) terminate at (or pass through) the City. From what they can tell the City is HUGE. After debating how much time would be wasted going around it, the approach and find the distance closes rapidly.
Locus Abrolam - Inquisitor Chancel
The Inhabitants refer to it as the "Precipice Citadel". Even though Fungus is the eldest she has never met Strife, Chaos, or Borders, the Powers who control this Chancel. They find the great amount of flying creatures over the area to be a bit disconcerting (since they certainly interfere with simply flying past the place).
They think about guising themselves to pass through the city easier. Death puts the kibosh on that when he informs the other two that he is unguisable.
-On into the City-
Punishment parlays with the gate keeper and it goes better then expected. They are told to follow the grey line along the streets until it ends. They try and cheat the grey line by wandering away from it, but it always tracks them, appearing in the cobblestones of whatever street they've turned on to, showing the correct pathway to their final destination.
After a bit, they find themselves in front of a large palace, where they are greeting by the Power of Chaos. None of them have a good feeling about this. 'Patrick' shows them in. The green swirling interspatial jelly that is the Imperator of Locus Abrolam demands to know where they are going. The intrepid three refuse to say. The green swirling jelly that is the Imperator of Locus Abrolam demands...things.
- From Fungus: a Galanti Shelf mushroom, which the Graf attempts to Create, but cannot -- apparently, the fungus in question is from the Second Age, and no longer exists.
- From Punishment: Judgement against one who has wronged US.
- From Death: Death is to spare the Power of Knives - Permanently.
After they (reluctantly, in some cases) agree to fulfil these demands, they are on their merry way again.
-Chancel- (Macy, Donner, June, Mariska)
Macy finds some records about Ife, the Sword and Tamerisk. It seems that since the ritual tied into the Tamarisk was designed to determine Guilt, it flowered both in the presence of the Sword and... the one who wielded it? Friendship?
Macy also finds a chart of concepts -- possibly some sort of word association game, and ostensibly done in Amaciel Cathetel's hand. While she is pondering the odd associations between the various words, the Chancel is visited by Imagination. Punishment's stick is discussed, but the discussion as a whole turns to the "Hipbone Game", as Imagination calls it -- the word association game is common amongst some circles of the Nobilis.
Meanwhile, Donner and Mariska discuss the army hidden outside the Chancel within the Prosaic city of New Orleans. The Bronzeman's troops of humanized terra cotta warriors make up most of the forces, but the Inquisitors from Locus Nephys are in the area as well, watching both Storyville and the Army equally. (Although Locus Nephys was commanded to become involved in the Inquisition that originally 'belonged' to the First Castle (Sacrifice, Friendship, Knives), they have never taken direct action.)
The group decides to go and have a little chat with the powers of Locus Nephys (they hope Nephys might be neutral in this situation). They arrange to meet them in an Oyster Bar just outside of the gate.
-Road-
Death, Punishment and Fungus
As Orachi predicted, a huge Aaron's Serpent is causing large amounts of damage to the tree in the regions 'south' of the Appian way.
They find random weirdness: A destroyed daemon nest in one village, a huge orgy in another. "Dylan" (Fungus) has a flash! She starts to divine traces of a path o' Fungus and they start to follow it.
Rumbling.
Rumbling.
Some more Rumbling.
Lightning!
Lightning!
Lightning!
Oh frell... a Lightning strike out of the nearby clouds, deadly wounds all around for everybody, and suddenly the great huge Serpent is among them.
Orachi?
Amaciel!?!
The huge Serpent looks a lot like Amaciel to Dylan. Amacial is not to sure what they all are. He is also not very sure who he is either.
Dylan decides that it is time for some serious sacrifice. It shows Amaciel that it is part of his blood by exposing Amaciel's Soul shard within itself. [It takes a serious wound for this action.]
More discussion on what to do, but when the group mentions that they want Amaciel to come with them back to Adforari (the cemetery of Serpents), Amaciel freaks out and takes off -- Death is pimp-smacked by Amaciel's tail trying to slow him down and the group pursues as best they can. Sian Summons June from the Oyster Bar, hoping for some kind of help with stopping the thing.
June appears (a bit bewildered) with cup of tea in hand. The Chase is on. Death moves at mach 3 to keep up with him, while June formulates an impromptu plan.
[Insert plan here -- for the life of me, I can't remember how you guys stopped him.]
-New Orleans-
Macy, Donner, Mariska
The meeting continues in the Oyster Bar, once everyone calms down about June's abrupt departure (Mariska contacts Christofer and tells him to get in touch with June's Anchor's to find out what the heck just happened). Donner somehow ends up speaking on behalf of the Chancel, while Depa Vastri (Conspiracy) speaks for Nephys -- Regret and Justice remain very close at hand and look vaguely dangerous.
Conspiracy talks about the charges against the Chancel. They come to an agreement wherein Nephys will investigate some of the suspicions and possible evidence that the group has revealed, and Macy and Donner decide to give Conspiracy their flowers for summoning (so Mariska doesn't have to).
-Amaciel gone Wild-
Once calmed down, the group gets Amaciel to travel back to Adforari (they travel in his wake through the wildlands of mid-Tree). Gigantic 300 mile long mounds dot the floor of the Cemetery... and the group gathers at the Bay tree near Amaciel's false grave.
They plan to head back to the chancel, but they need the Bay tree, which seems to hold a portion of Amaciel's... self. But it is too large to transport.
June comes up with the idea of forcing the perspective on the tree so that is always small. Sian flies her away from the tree, everyone turns away from it except June (and Sian, who keeps her eyes closed), and as Sian flies back towards the tree, June (Reality) Changes the tree so that it remains the size that it appeared to be when she was far away from it. By the time they get back to the tree itself, it's the size of a Bonsai. The three of them carry the very portable bay tree back with them to the Chancel.
-Back at the Ranch-
Everybody gets back to the Chancel safely with the Bonsai Bay tree in hand.
-To the Heart-
Mariska leads everybody to the Heart of the Chancel (she is the only one besides Amaciel who can reach the Heart unaided). They place the Bonsai next to the fallen statue, but it is clear that not all of Amaciel's Self has been collected. A plan is devised by June to collect the essence of Amaciel that is currently scattered through over a dozen corn fields in Iowa. Donner locates more of his Imperator within the Spirit of a rolling Brown-out in Japan and captures it. Fungus realizes that she regained some of memory when she reformed herself from the fungus within one of her anchor's labs, and that it must have been Amaciel's presence within that fungus that caused it to happen, so she brings that back in. Mariska and June create/modify the memory ritual to tie it all together and...
...and...
...and something is going wrong. The rejoining of Amaciel occurs, but the Serpent himself seems to be hemorraging his quicksilver blood. Something is very wrong.
...meanwhile, Donner is prayed to urgently by Regret. He is under attack in Beijing and is seeking help -- the Bronzeman's troops pursue him, and he is injured badly. Donner sends Gwen to help get Regret back to the Chancel.
Prayers are coming into Mariska, June, and Macy. The Chancel is under attack. Mariska calls on the defenses of the Chancel and LOCKS DOWN all entrances and exits for the Chancel. Everyone else but Fungus and June leave the Heart to prepare to fight off the intruders (Death later regrets this, for reasons that will become more clear in the prelude to next session).
Amaciel comes to after the completion of the Ritual...and coughs out a huge amount of quick silver. He murmurs something about poison and collapses into some sort of coma.
Death talks to Knives (remembering his Oath and concerned that all members of Locus Nephys are under assault). Knives is at Locus Sanguinas and all is good.
Lust checks with Lost Things and discovers that Friendship has just arrived there(!) Her warning is just a bit too late.
Dylan talks to the Power of the Verdant about possible cures for Imperator-grade Poisons and is told about the Alatiri.
Amaciel tells all in the Chancel "MY CHILDREN, I REMEMBER THE MOMENTS THAT LEAD UP TO THIS. NOT ONLY THE CRIME BUT EVERYTHING THAT LEAD UP TO THIS. I CANNOT SAY THAT EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE HAS BEEN JUST, BUT IT HAS BEEN TRUE TO MY NATURE. IF I HAVE CAUSED YOU PAIN, I AM MOST HUMBLY SORRY." When he is done, he discharges a bit more quicksilver and lapses into half-consciousness again. June and Fungus administer to him as much as possible.
Gwen calls back to Donner to inform him that she's found Regret, he's BADLY beat up, winged hunters are closing in on her location and THE ENTRANCE TO THE CHANCEL ISN'T FRELLING WORKING!
Oh yeah, Mariska has to unlock the Chancel. Hmm. Someone (Sian?) requests that Haley go 'help Gwen out' as much as she can.
Death tries to 'check up' on Amaciel, but discovers he can't locate the Heart without Mariska. Darn.
Imagination 'retrieves' Gwen and Regret, bringing them back towards the Chancel, so Mariska finally opens up the Chancel entrances and Lust and Punishment suddenly find themselves defending the main Chancel entrance from the troops of the First Castle. As they fight, Imagination, Gwen, and an unconscious Regret come flying in through the entrance riding on a giant flying cocker spaniel.
Death heads over to Sanguinas which is under heavy attack. Ife (Friendship) is hovering in mid-air and everybody in the Chancel just LOOOOVES Ife (except for the Nobilis). Sacrifice is helping her fight even as he tries to get her to stop.
The members of the Chancel stave off the First Castle attack as well as they can and head to Locus Sanguinas as quickly as possible. Lust locates a nearly bifurcated Lost Things and has to stop to keep him alive. Death and Knives attack Ife, as do Loyalty, Eternity, Punishment.
Sacrifice finally turns on Ife, but she runs him through with the Sword and he is utterly destroyed. Just as things seem darkest, Jealousy uses a Word of Command to destroy Ife, calling on the Jealous nature of the World itself to pull all the mortal parts of Ife back into the soil from with she came, while Locus Sanguinas pulls all of the robbed power back from the Sword.
It's very very messy. Friendship dies. Sacrifice is dead. Knives is the last standing member of his chancel. Lost Things is barely alive and may not survive. Jealousy did herself major harm in destroying Ife. Regret is badly hurt.
Michel Tomas (Justice) shows up with Strife, et al. from Locus Abrolam (the third Inquisitor Chancel). The spoils of the event are split up between the two wronged parties and the two remaining Imperator Chancels. Reports are made to the Valde Bellum.
Later, after the dust settles, Lord Entropy decrees that Amaciel over-stepped his bounds, but that he did the correct thing. Sanguinous and Amaciel's Chancels are made into new Imperator Chancels to (a) replace the First Castle, which is being UnMade and (b) provide an additional Inquisitor Chancel.
- Cerny remains the Power of Knives and is 'adopted' by Locus Ambrolam (the chancel that already requested that Death spare him forever).
- The Estate of Friendship is added to those of Loyalty, Eternity, Lost Things, and Jealousy within Locus Sanguinas.
- The Estate of Sacrifice is subsumed within Locus Nephys alongside Conspiracy, Justice, and Regret.
And Locus Cathetel, the city of Storyville? Within that Chancel, Something Happens, and Things begin to Change.