(Threads of Blood) So how was your day?
(Threads of Blood) So how was your day?
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THREADID
70
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Ariadne sent out a series of texts. The book sits rests next to her on a bench. A hand rests protectively on it. Hopefully the book is worth whatever cost is owed in the future.
Why she left town to get a copy of the book will have to be handled delicately. Hopefully being a Guardian will pay off.
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Flashes. A rampaging wolf. Fear, shame.
It had almost been people, instead of objects, and continued to haunt him despite the passage of time.
Cold washes over the Shaman as he enters the Circle. Eyes dart around the room, half expecting to be confronted with another painful corpse. But the only person present is the Epopt, and he relaxes the tiniest bit, even going so far as to give her a tentative wave.
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Sight, check. Armor, check. Stuff for safe mind-sex? Check.
Ermon enters about a minute after Animus. Blue jeans, white shirt hugging his agile form. And, of course, there are spells. Because, you know, precautions.
As always, when entering the Circle, the first gaze goes up, admiring the building. And the second one goes to Animus and his Cabalmate.
Damn, it's so much easier with Ariadne here.
He's come to think of her as an older sister. Okay, maybe a step-sister. Slightly older? Attractive? Not letting thoughts run down that road right now, though.
"Hey, Ariadne, Animus. Productive trip?"
Spells at Sanctum
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Ariadne waves back to Animus with a calm smile.
"Good to see you again Animus." There's a flick of something across her face but is quickly removed.
Jealous of them and now he's alone too.
"Yes. This should help us with our problem and serve as a good start to our own book."
Asp showed up at the Circle next, her outfit suggesting the degree of casual readiness that the Adamantine Arrow usually espoused. There was a backpack slung over one shoulder that carried all of her relevant gear.
It was important to be ]on for this sort of thing. As far as the Obrimos was concerned, this murder business was scary. Those bodies?
Most terrifying first day ever, anywhere.
She nodded to the folks there, settling in naturally next to Animus. He was her Order-mate, one who she had trusted to cut her down and bring her up again in the name of making her a better warrior. "Hey," she said to the group as she gave them a nod. "I got your message. What's up?"
1 potency Life Armor/1 potency Prime Sight, 24 hours duration
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Ermon takes a place near Ariadne. Undound, smoky and proud, or something along those lines.
As Asp comes in, she's greeted with a somewhat reassuring smile before he checks himself.
Is it actually ok to be supportive of Arrows, if you're not one yourself? Maybe they have that strong warrior act and only let go when they get smashed in a bar somewhere? Anyway, I'd probably just ditch the town after a first day like that. Corpses. Hallucinations. General unpleasantness.
As usual, his mind doesn't like to remain in one place when it's not focused on anything:
"Hey, Asp", - he then gestures towards the tome, - "Our own book? We are gonna write a book about a bunch of Mage-killing, Abyss-loving madmen?"
An eyebrow is raised in question.
Please, please not be one of those situations where we need to write a book to allow those who come after us defeat them, because it will take decades or something.
In his mind, the situation is perfectly clear. As is the solution: track them. Kill them. Burn the bodies.
Jaqen liked this post
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Leo found his way over to the gathering after coming down from the Arrow dormitories. The First Talon was in his regular attire of black jeans and boots, a dark blue t shirt, and black hoody. Hands were in the pockets of the unzipped hoody, and a lump on his lower back was obscured by his backpack. This was a man ready to get to work.
But for now, his eyes narrow on Animus cautiously. "I trust that little incident in the basement is all cleaned up and payed for?" Yeah it was Arrow only, and an Arrow problem, but the First Talon really didn't approve of Talons randomly ransacking the facilities. If Animus was embarrassed or ashamed, the Theurgist was okay with that. It means this wouldn't be a regular thing. Hopefully.
"Hello Ariadne." The words were practically an afterthought. The fact his gaze didn't break from Animus until he answered was proof of that.
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The Shaman's face flushes at Leo's question, eyes darting downward and to the right of the First Talon. "It's handled." He'd done what he could on his pittance of a budget, and even put effort into cleaning up other areas of the Circle, but that wasn't what kept him up nights.
The stark truth was that he'd been a thread's breadth from unleashing that destruction among everyone Leo had called together. He could have killed friends in mindless fury. And the brutal logic of what he'd felt and done pressed inevitably toward the blank wall of memory. What could have been so horrific as to cause his mind to snap in the first place?
Desperately fleeing those dark mental pathways, turns away from Leo with a growl, instead turning toward Ariadne. "They bottled her soul." The admission sticks in his throat, too painful to explain.
Attention flickers about the room. Trapped, hemmed in. Everywhere a reminder, or a question. Would it feed on itself again? Did giving in once pave the way for another loss of control?
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It took Avis the longest to appear, and for a very simple reason: she was afraid. After the adrenaline had faded, after the brave company of willworkers had separated from the magical autopsy, the insidious reality of what had occurred sank into her mind, slithering deeper with every hour, only to rear up in the dead hours of the night. Alone, sitting on her bed in the light of a reading lamp, knees tucked under chin, back against the wall, she pondered the murders that had occurred. her mind bent toward processing that sudden, irrevocably final act of destruction, that arching jet of crimson that would splatter and soak, and lie in a slick puddle under foot. First a wet impact, the tearing of flesh, the frantic burbling of red liquid, and then silence.
She'd seen it before. Lived through it, before. She'd dreamt of it for years, whenever she closed her eyes. That wet tang of copper in her throat, that oily slide of hot liquid tainting her skin. She'd seen meat hiding behind that film of tortured flesh; and seen the pieces pried off of a still squirming victim. The hands clasping her legs remembered the feel of a large fist crushing her fingers around the wrapped handle of a knife made from a piece of mirror. The glass had trembled through the tape and cloth, shaking with the heaves of the man it was trapped inside.
Night passed into day, and she remained on the bed. To leave, to go downstairs would be to live through that again. To enter that world of brutality and violence. That world of blood and meat, and shuddering, failing, heaps of carefully arranged flesh. Below her room lay a realm of nightmares, and she couldn't face it. She couldn't, but she had to. That was her existence. Her purpose was to walk in that realm. To look those who victimized, and killed, and made her feel like so much vulnerable meat in the eye and turn them into so much decomposing matter. The fear, the pain, it didn't matter. She had to find a way through it, she had to face her purpose and avenge those who were lifeless; to help those who still lived.
So Avis had stood. Cloth slipped over cloth as she stood and stretched rigid muscles. Slowly, mechanically she'd dressed. Stepped into lack jeans, pulled on a t-shirt, put her arms through a sweatshirt, slid her feet into socks, bent her fingers to tying the laces of her shoes. Avis liked the action of tying her shoes. The feel of the laces, the action of progressively tightening the strings over her instep; something about it was meditative and for the moments it took to secure her footwear she simply existed as an organic machine. Zen. Then she slipped back into the world, bent her will toward herself, trying to bolster her determination and weave protection about her mind and self. It took her some time, but finally, finally she appeared.
Walking slowly she approached the group, nodding to the mages gathered.
(Threads of Blood) The Plan
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