Starry Night

[Samaritan]

"Yes, I haven't been there." Bishop nodded. "But I didn't get into this order without witnessing some of the massive crap, which scelesti pull for their own twisted agendas."
Bishop gently caressed his belly, where the scars crossed his skin.
<How long has that been now?> he wondered.
"But if you came to the conclusion, that the Wise should stay away from all these horrible things, then I'd say you have learned your lessons from the mistakes of others. And that is a good thing."
Bishop scratched his chin.
"I am a little concerned about the soul jars. The teddy-bear seems like the obvious threat, but the souls...I would try to get rid of them as fast and as clean as possible. Nothing good would ever come of them, if Scelesti have tampered with them."
He raised a hand to ward of protests.
"I know it is cold and I probably wouldn't talk like that, had I known the persons behind the souls, but from my rather cold and detached...and far away...point of view, they seem dangerous leftovers."

[Ermon]

Ermon simply nods at Bishop's words. The whole haunted house mess has given him a brand new insight into why people become Guardians and he doesn't particularly like the answer. The reasons are never good. Makes wonder about people like Star:

"Care to trade backstories? If it's not confidential Guardian stuff, of course".

The discussion of souls gets a contemplative chin rub from the Warlock. Those books on politics, marketing and shit have left something over in his mind:

"Well... The problem is that other people knew the Magi. Like, really knew. I bet that if we move to manhandle Triquetra's soul, someone will be getting a fistfull of claw in their stomach because of Animus. If it were up to me, I'd move to blow the jars up with explosives from a safe distance. With no one in sensory range".

[Samaritan]

Bishop gave Ermon a hard stare, before raising an eyebrow.
He pondered how to put it delicately and then decided, that a cabalmate merited an honest answer.
"Please do not ask such questions in the future." he said, quietly and very calm. "But, you are practically family, so I will indulge you, even though I will very much hope, that whatever I tell you remains within these walls."
Bishop crossed his legs and took a deep breath.
<I hope this will not bite me in the ass one day.> he thought.
"I will, however, answer to you as I would answer to anyone of my order, which is, lest we forget, an order of secrecy and oral traditions, for the written word betrays its author." Bishop began.

"This story is true. Know then, that there was a gardener, whose gardens flew with their own wings. His craft was small, his yards were few and little, but he enjoyed them nonetheless. Within them, there grew a tree of cherries, which he the gardener had tended and grown very fond of. In the summer, it spent shade and for a time, all was well."
Bishop improvised as he went along. He hadn't told stories in quite a while, but it all came back to him.

"One day, a farmer came to his porch and made an inquiry. His most prized collection of seeds had been taken from him, and he dearly wished for those to be returned to him. The gardener agreed and asked the farmer to tend his yards for the time, to which the man readily agreed. So the gardner started looking for the seeds. He went up and abroad upon his own wings. It was not soon after, when he learned of a carpenter, who used wood of the finest making which had not been seen anywhere within Rose City. So, the gardner inspected the houses, which the carpenter had built and he found the furnishing to be of extraordinary quality. And he marvelled at this sight and how such a thing may have been accomplished. And so he entered the houses and looked at the beams and timbers."

Bishop had to surpress a shiver. Even masked and veiled in metaphors, the memories still made him feel cold and no amount of heating, clothing or fire had ever made him warm, when his mind was on such things.

"Twelve houses he inspected. And at the fundament of each house, the gardener found the remainder of a seed from the farmers collection. And the seeds were most wickedly pried open and their amber liquids were in the construction of the houses. With great sadness, the gardener made his way home, to tell the farmer of his findings. It was at that time, that he was found by the carpenter, who waylaid him and challenged him to remain silent. For else, so the carpenter said, his cherry tree would make the beams of the thirteenth house. And before the gardener could reply, the carpenter took his tools and gutted the gardener."

Bishops scars burned and he had to adjust his posture. He hunched a bit down and took a sip of ice-tea.

"And so the gardener was left for dead. But something unexpected happened that night. The gardener came to in the pastures of the passed. And the trees of the farmers seeds stood there and greeted him, bidding him to return to his yards and tear down the twelve houses, so that they may finally come to pass on. And so the gardener came to at the farmers house. And the farmer told him, that his cherry tree had been burned down by the carpenter."

Bishops voice trembled a little and his face twitched. But he continued.

"So the farmer and the gardener took a torch to each of the twelve houses. And when the last of them had burned down, the gardener found the carpenter. And he took from him his voice. His eyes. His ears. And the hands, which had wrought the houses and which had taken an axe and torch to his beloved cherry tree. And he bid the carpenter farewell, as he sunk him in the river of the Rose City in the land which flies on her own wings."

Bishop took a moment to compose himself. He managed a canted grin, a meager masque to veil his pain.
"And now I need something with at least 45% alcohol in it." he said and moved into the kitchen again.

[Ariadne]

Silence is all Ariadne can do as Bishop tells his story.

Twelve bodies? Twelve souls? Maybe one day she'll find out. Though she isn't sure that she wants too. Ariadne takes another sip of the hot spiced wine.

"The jars, the souls they contain need to be released as soon as possible. Studying them could lead to the same fate for others." Reasons, like why that damned book from out of town isn't allowed into most hands.

[Samaritan]

Coming back from the kitchen with a tumbler of a vintage Talisker, Bishop seated himself again and helped himself to a generous swig of alcohol.

"I concur with the Epopt. I don't think, any good will ever come of those jars. The bodies of those souls...were they found?" he inquired. He realized, that the question had potential to be misinterpreted, so he added "I mean, if there are strong emotional ties between the living and one of the souls...such as the case of Triquetra and Animus, that may have dangerous potential for someone running around and trying to reattach the soul to its body. Which besides being an utter hubris could yield us with a potentially awakened, broken and not to forget most likely undead mage, which could be a potential puppet, if the soul was tampered with."

Now there was a creepy notion. Bishop came to the conclusion, that he should probably ask councilor Mace, if any help was needed handling those jars.

[Ermon]

For the first time in a very long time Ermon shudders. Some small part of his brain registers that he avoided freaking out even when they were storming the Abyssal house with what later turned out tobe a team of Magi, most of whom were deeply disturbed by some thing or the other.

The difference is, right now there is no immediate danger so he doesn't need to close off. And all the studies that the Warlock has recently done let him understand just what his Cabalmate is saying.

He stays silent for a long time, waiting for Bishop to return with a drink of his choice and for the conversation to go back to the jars before he starts speaking:

"That's some deep stuff, man. You weren't kidding when you said you've encountered this kind of thing before, were you?" - a pregnant pause as he thinks of what to divulge about himself, - "Well, can't quite hold back after that. And I won't talk about what you've just said, of course. My own story is... much more commonplace. But I suppose that is why I am not a Guardian".

Things change when we talk about our past and our feelings which if why it is normally polite to avoid it when you can. But Bishop is right, a Cabal is very much like a family:

"Ariadne already knows most of it but before all this", - he gestures around, trying to encompass everything in that wave of his hand, - "I was a conman and a thief. I still have the pull, though I've layed off the Sleeper illegal stuff as Awakened one is more than enough of a headache".

He scratches the back of his head and sips on the glass of warm wine:

"A rather boring and mundane story, actually. A boy who found out that cheating was easier than working and that information was power that had very little of a price as long as you didn't let yourself become vulnerable. I lied and cheated my way through most of my life, taking what wasn't mine, impersonating people and trading secrets. And, as most people in my profession, finally I bit off more than I could chew. Awakening saved me from incarceration and the things that Pandemonium showed me... I don't know what you see in Stygia, probably crumbling riches, dead and undead - that sort of thing?"

He's actually curious about this, so he waits for Bishop to reply before continuing:

"Pandemonium shows you the flaws in your Soul and how you can iron them out and help others do that too. This is what being a Warlock is all about, so I learned that digging up people's weaknesses can help them grow. That happened in L.A. and I pretty much went on as I did only focusing on my work making people stronger, not destroying them".

An wry smile plays on Ermon's lips as he remembers the days that are long gone:

"I suppose, my problem was that no Order picked me up right off the bat. Obviously, you can't really fly under the radar all the time. The local community found me, showed me some ropes but not all. I went through hearing the spiel from each of the Orders but thought I needed some more personal experience with their philosophies before deciding who to join".

His countenance turns a shade darker but he finds this much easier to talk about than before:

"My decision didn't sit well with the local Visus Draconis. I was without a Cabal, an Order or a Council position and I practiced magic a bit too openly for their liking. No incidents but plenty that could attract the Throne or Banishers. Basically I was a liability and they put me under surveillance. The moment I understood what was going on, I got the fuck out of L.A. No sense in waiting what they had in store for me".

A shrug and a large gulp indicate the end of the story:

"You know the rest. After getting here I immediately started searching for allies and joined this Cabal and eventually joined the Ladder. I've drifted long enough from a job to another job so now I want to be a part of something permanent".

He fiddles with the glass in his hand, considering Bishop's words:

"I don't believe Animus will try and resurrect Triquetra. He seems like a guy who will sacrifice everything for others, letting his pain bite at him, I don't think he's capable of such hubris. But we should definitely push for the destruction of jars and souls' release at the next official Consilium".

[Ariadne]

"The bodies were all found mutilated as far as I know." Ariadne adds quietly with a shake of her head. "I hope that no one tries anything like resurrection. I don't even know if it can be done, much less should be done."

She looks into her mulled wine, set in its mug held by both of her hands. "I awoke when my ex-husband got what he wanted and we separated. A Veil was there, something drove him to think I would Awaken soon."

[Samaritan]

Bishop listened to Ermon speak his piece.
<What would have become of me, had I not been treading down the road, that Piper had shown me? What would have become of me, had I not been shot?> he asked himself.
He shurgged at Ermons question.

"It is very much a matter of...well...education. In the sense of a child, that gets taught by his parents and adopts their ways. Until Sacramento, I had never been aware of what a Consilium even looks like, much less consists of. I was an asset to a guardian. So my ways were that of a guardian. And being a good kid, I did as my parent told me."
He left it at that. The question, how Stygia actually looked like took him off guard. He had to think, while Ermon finished his talk.
"Stygia. Land of shades. Stygia won't show you yourself. It leaves you to be whoever you are, when you get there - whatever your condition is, mind you."
Closing his eyes, he remembered the river. It all had had the haunting beauty of landscape pictures taken in black and white photography. Sometimes out of focus.
"Rather, Stygia makes a statement. It tells you, that no matter who or what you are, you will leave everything irrelevant there. Race, gender, status, wealth, power, even such abstract notions such as love, joy and sadness...all will stay there. If you do not wish to give it, then you will stay. Because it doesn't matter anymore."

That moment, he realized, that he had...in a very, very strange way...enjoyed Stygia.

"It also tells you something else. Don't be afraid. Look at us mortals. 99,9% of our deeds nowadays result because we are afraid of loosing things. Ultimately our lives. The most powerful tool Stygia has, is this. It tells you, what will happen to you after the end. You die - that moment of transition will inevitably vary. Once dead, you will be there. If you leave...is up to you, I guess."

Bishop delibarately left out the part, that most mages never even went there during their awakening. From what he had heard, awakening could happen by something so profane as signing your name on a piece of paper...maybe with an extraordinary pen, but that was it.

"I am also under the impression, that the realm of your path reveals itself in different manner to everyone else. But since this is very much a private matter, I haven't actually asked any of the other Moroi, how...and if...they had been to this realm. To me it was soothing. Anguish, sorrow, all taken away and replaced with a certainty more powerful than any painkiller. Imagine being raised in a house near a highway in the biggest, loudest city ever until you are 25 years old. And then visit the countryside for the first time. Blissful silence. No more obligations. Just letting go."
<And now I have made it sound like a trip to a wellness spa.>

Drinking some more whiskey, Bishop had found himself much more composed and a little more at rest. Maybe the drink was working.

"I don't know, what kind of person Animus is. I don't think I have ever talked to him. I am merely stating a concern. People having lost something very dear to them may at times be foolhardy enough to try and get it back, no matter how. I'll get on the horn with councilor Mace, ask her how this project of hers is faring. Releasing the souls is the right thing to do and better sooner than later."

[Ermon]

Ermon listens to Bishop carefully, nodding and trying to remember everything as well as possible. It's not often that you hear someone speak about what some other Path is like:

"So Souls go to Stygia before moving on and you can actually see it. Weird, because Pandemonium has those too: people being rid of their weaknesses by demons. I wonder how the realms are related? Too bad we can visit the Supernal only that one time when we don't understand anything".

He cocks his head and thinks on Bishop's description of how he felt when he became a Necomancer. Eventually, he shrugs:

"At first, I was just... so confused. But in time it led me to realise that traditional good and evil aren't very meaningful: there are just things that make you grow and things that damage you, possibly also making you grow. Helping yourself and others learn: that's what bein a Warlock is all about for me".

I'm good to wrap this up

[Samaritan]

Bishop gave a noncommital shrug.
"I would say, that the souls of the dead would go to Stygia, yes, but after that...I don't know. Maybe experiences have marked a soul, so that she is inevitably pulled to somewhere else, making Stygia merely a stepstone. But I would assume, that every soul will at least bear a mark of that realm, because transitions are a part of the Path of Doom." he added.
"I don't know, if experiences will make you grow. I would rather assume, that experiences change you. Some more than others. But than again, that may be the Necromancer in me speaking again. I consider my path more a matter of internal significance. I will help others, when they ask and only if they fully understand, what they are asking for. Everything else, I consider too dangerous. This would be my order speaking now."
He leaned back and smirked.
"Or my age. Take your pick."

Ready to wrap.