Wayland Glimpses

[Wayland]

Wayland casually walked into the St Mary's cemetery on 66th st. It was dark, being around 10pm at night. He'd made sure before he entered that there were no Sleepers still inside, and hadn't been for a while.

As he entered, he Willed into place his Sight so that he could see the presence of those that still lingered in this place. Those who had left behind a shell of their former selves. Fragments of what they had been. They were broken, and needed to be fixed.

As his Sight settled into place, he saw them. At first, only a few noticed his gaze. Once they realised Wayland could see them, they began to follow. Only a couple at first, then more as Wayland walked through the cemetery.

Wayland walked without fear. As he wandered with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, he could hear their whispers. Questioning, silently calling out to others. A calm settled over Wayland as he walked. In this place, surrounded by ghosts, he felt more at home than he had in a long while. There was a peace to death, a comfort in knowing that there is more to the "beyond".

As he reached the middle of the Cemetery he sat down on a wrought iron bench. There was now a gathering of ghosts from the cemetery lingering around him. Waiting. Curious.

"My people have long created items to protect people from harm, and to help prevent death. I am sorry that I could not help you prevent your deaths, but perhaps I can still help you. This is not your last stop on the journey, but something is holding you back."

Wayland believed the Atlantean teachings that ghosts were not the people they once were, but were mere fragments of their former personalities. He also believed that in order for their souls to completely move on, these fragments needed to "catch up", and enter the Underworld as all the dead should. They were broken. Broken things need to be repaired. The soul cannot renew its cycle of life if there is a missing piece left behind.

Wayland leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. "Tell me your stories."

[Wayland]

Its been a little over a month now since Wayland had arrived in town. Sacramento had turned out to be a bit more dangerous than he had originally expected. Its a damn battleground if you believe what everyone says.

Over the past few days Wayland had come to the realisation that he had very little idea about where things were in the city, and that if push came to shove, he had absolutely no idea where any safe places were, or ambush points and whatnot. Today was an excercise in getting to know his new home.

He started with the basics. Public transport. Where do they go? Are they on time? How reliable are they? When are the busy times? Next came major public places. He searched for hours, looking for short cuts and hidden corners. Spying out places where if he got caught in, might be a death trap. He also, looked for vantage points, such as balconies in shopping centres.

Towards the afternoon and into the evening, he started travelling through the rougher parts of town. These were the places he grew up in, and he knew the language. There was a feel to them, like a rhythm, and you could follow it if you knew the song. There were plenty of hostile looks from the locals. Dont talk to them. Not today bro. Today is about beeing seen, to become a regular sight around here. Then I can start to talk to them.

All in all, it was a productive day. Boring as bat shit granted, but it was necessary.

[Wayland]

Deep breath in through the nose..... there it is, the smell of wood, lacquer and age. It was a wonderful smell to the nostrils of the aprentice Powersmith.

Wayland came to the Circle of Creation early this morning, tools in tow, to walk through the Church and take a stock of what repairs were required and fix now what he could.

Coming up to a pew towards the back of the church, Wayland noticed that one of the pews was starting to come apart at the end, loose where the side joins the bench. Pulling the pew away to be able to work on it, he gently pulls the side piece away from the main bench. Using a small chisel, he cleans out the groove, puts a smal amount of wood glue back into the groove, and replaces the side. As he hammers in some finishing wood nails to firmly secure the side, he cant help but feel his connection to the Supernal though the simple act of repairing an object, by restoring it to its ideal form.

Running it hands gently over the wood pew, almost lovingly, "Perfect. Now lets go have a look at that broken door handle..."

[Wayland]

Early morning. There was a chill in the air, just the way he preferred it to be. Cold like the grave. Standing in the shooting range under the Circle of Creation, in the heart of the Adamantine Arrow's training ground in Sacramento, the lone Talon was preparing for some light shooting practice.....Arrow style.

Initially, Wayland had decided to start with the basics, and up the intensity level as he went. 'You are only as good as your tools' as his Master used to say, so he started the training session as any self-respecting Powersmith would, and saw to ensuring his glock was in as tip-top shape as it could be. On the table he had laid out all the implements required for cleaning and servicing his weapon, and he went to it with gusto. Using the Attainment he had gained in the crafting of his soul, he went beyond mere maintenance and ensured his weapon truly was able to function in its Ideal form.

Moving to the range with its paper silhouettes, he took some standard standing shots at the target, going through a few clips in the process. Most recreational shooters would be content with this level of "training", but the warriors of Atlantis are not known for half measures in training. He began setting targets at different depths and began shifting from one firing position to the next, shooting at a different target each time, using the walls of the shooting stalls as pretend cover, trying to simulate "real world" conditions as much as possible,

Next came the "running shoot", where he ran from one end of the range to the other, shooting at a single target, and not some casual jog, but firing under full run, taking shots as he passed each stall. After a few rounds of this, he introduced a second target, and started trying to shoot at both targets as he ran past each stall.

Finally, he did a practice shoot he liked to call, the "Tracer shoot". Walking over to the wall switch, he turned off the lights. Making his way back to the stall he had prepared, he took a general shot in the darkness. Using the brief flash from the shot to light up the room, he used it to get his bearings and proceed to unload the clip at the night shrouded target.

Walking back to the wall switch, he turned on the light and went back to his station with all his cleaning and maintenance tools. Ensuring the weapon was clear and safe, he put it aside and went to inspect his targets.

Hmm, did ok, but not great. Well, that's why we practice yo. Looking back at his weapon, then to his shooting positions, he thinks to himself, Round two? And goes to find some more targets.

[Wayland]

Sitting at the table, with his tools laid out in front of him, and the boss's camcorder pulled apart into various pieces, Troy waited for the soldering iron to heat up. He could see the mini cap that had blown, and it was a simple thing to swap out for a new one. Its funny how society had gotten to such a disposable state, but when you're dirt poor, you gotta make shit last. Especially when its how you make a living, to like, Get By.

Skinny Leon was sitting across from him, with rag in hand wiping down the slide of his pistol, tryin' to look tough. "Yo Troy, how come you dont come out rollin' with us bro? You could be like me, get real tight with the crew, you hear me?"

"What, you think im fuckin' stupid Leo, nagh man, you know me, im just doin' what I gotta to keep me old gal from workin for Smack yo." Skinny Leon just shakes his head and smiles. Fucker thinks he's so tough, he he'd seen him almost piss himself when the cops walk past on patrol.

BOOM! The door crashes open and armoured police start storming into the apartment screaming, "Police! Get down get down!" Hoser the fat Canadian dude by the door pulls his shotgun and blasts the first cop through the door. Skinny Leon jumps out of his chair so quick the table flips and Troy is thrown backwards and hits the deck.

Gun shots ring out, the sound deafening in the small space of the apartment as the gangers trade shots with the cops. Paralysed with fear, Troy sits behind the table, stupidly cradling the pieces of the camcorder. Skinny Leon falls back to land on the floor, an arms reach from Troy. The sounds of gunshots receed into the background, as Skinny Leon turns his head to him. The bullet holes in his chest are plain to see, the blood flowing freely.

This was the moment he Awakened. Wayland could remember now. There was no pain on Leo's face as he looked at him and spoke. "Where did you go man? Cops come in and tear the place up, how come you didnt avenge us?"

Wayland sit up, no longer concerned with the faint sounds gunfire and flashbangs around him. "I couldn't bro, as much as I wanted to. There are greater battles to be fought yo, then some fucked up attempt to avenge this lot." The shade of his friend Skinny Leon was unmoved though, "You're a coward man, forget these stoners, what about me Troy? I was your friend."

Wayland shook his head sadly, "To what end? We were the ones doin' the wrong thing bro, but it doesnt matter, there are greater wrongs that I can help fix." Skinny Leon closed his eyes and turned his head away, "You're not the Troy I knew." He put the broken camcorder down, "Thats because i'm not Troy any more. Im Wayland bitch."

Wayland woke with a start and jerked bolt straight upright. It took a few moments to realise where he was, in his room in the Sanctum, and he felt a cold sweat, he was cold in a way he had not felt before, colder than the grave.

It was the feel of shame.

[Wayland]

9:30 at night, and Wayland was walking alone on a road in Downtown Sac. His mind was racing in a way he wasnt prepared to face right now, and he needed an out. Further down the street he spotted his destination. The Park Ultra Lounge was a place he'd been to before, and for what he needed tonight, it was the place to be.

He'd been having a bit of a rough time lately, and things didnt seem to be working out the way he'd thought they would. I had a plan yo. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

There was a line out front of the club, mostly guys, cause lets be honest, if you're not famous or 'know a guy' and you are a guy, then you'll be spending at least an hour in line out front of a place like this. As he gets closer to the front of the club he can finally see who's working the door. Ahh, good, Brock's workin' the door. Brock spots him coming and moves to open the door. With a $50 in his hand he goes to shake Brocks hand, "Yo Brock, good to see ya bro." The hand-shake occurs and the door opens before him to the sounds of several upset people waiting in line, their voices quickly drowned out from the EDM music coming from inside, along with Wayland's complete lack of care and attention.

The music is thumping and the place is packed, with bodies everywhere. Last time he was here, he was chasing a lead from a local ghost who had died here from an overdose, and blamed the dealer for dodgy drugs. Wayland had come, hoping to find some answers to help put the ghost to rest. He'd found the dealer and sampled the drugs with his magic, and found that they had been cut down, but nothing to cause injury. Only idiot dealers cut their product to make them lethal, cause its a bit hard to get repeat business when your customers are dead. In this ghost's case though, it simply appeared she had OD'd from taking too many drugs with her booze.

Lately though, Wayland had been feeling empty, or more correctly, hadnt been feeling anything at all. He'd had such high ideals before coming to Sacramento as a new Powersmith. But in six months, he'd achieved nothing of worth, Varxy had left for better company, Faust had vanished, and he had been convinced their Hearthmaster Miach would most likely abandon them when things got dangerous. Steel Phoenix were crumbling. He had come to Sacramento to fix things, to forge something new and lasting, and all around him is cabal, his safety net, was crumbling.

So tonight he had some to feel..... something. Anything. As he walked through the crowd towards the party booths, he spotted the man he was looking for. Even if he didnt already know the man Wayland would have been able to pick the dealer out in this place, even without his Magic to find the substances he knew would be here. In the booth was a tall black man by the name of 'Sugar Dave', with a vast array of drinks on the table in front of him and each arm around a girl beside him.

One of his muscle steps in front of Wayland. He had expected it, not that it mattered. "Yo, im lookin' for some Molly. Was hoping Sugar Dave could hook me up bro." Sugar Dave's bouncer looked Wayland up and down, with disgust clearly written all over his face, "Man, I ain't your 'bro' cracker! Its a hundred a gram you skinny-ass white motherfucker." A hundred was a little steep considering Sugar Dave's product wasn't that high quality, and he suspected the 'bro' comment probably cost him. Screw it. I dont care.

Wayland fishes out the Benji and slaps it in the man's hand, who turns to look at Sugar Dave. The dealer nods and goes back to fooling around with his two girls and the rest of their party. Sugar Dave's muscle hands over a small clear baggie with five capsules in it, and Wayland walks away in search of the bathrooms.

Finding a free cubicle, he sits down and stares at the pills. Should he do it? Hell's no! But he was a Smith who had come to repair this city and its Concillium against their enemies. If he couldnt even keep his own Cabal from crumbling around him, then what was he?

Using his magic he checked the pills were what he had asked for, then down the pills went. Leaving the bathrooms he walked out onto the dancefloor, and waited, hoping to feel something again.

[Wayland]

He was having the best day, but then, it had been a while since he'd had a really bad day, so the differences were small. Troy was on his way to see an old friend of his Robert. No, old friend didnt cut it, Robert had been more a Father than anything else. He could still remember living in his crappy apartment with his mother when he was young, and Robert, a city building inspector came came to the building following a report about possible issues with the foundations and found him fixing the building's central heating.

Troy was young then, but Robert had connections and got him put into school and trade classes. Now he was a mechanical engineer building custom parts for hot rods in Los Angeles. He loved his work, and over time he'd been able to get his mom out of the slums and into rehab. She was clean now and working in a hotel, but she was happy, and that meant the world to him.

For the last year he'd been delving into using his machining to create art, and he'd produced some wonderful pieces, but this was special.

It was, in his opinion, his crowning achievement so far. The piece he was most proud of. As Troy walked upto the door he knocked, and considered for the moment that maybe he should keep it for himself. The door opened and Robert stood there smiling.

No, this piece was special, and this is for Robert.

[Wayland]

Numbness. He was only one step away from oblivion, one he would gladly take if he weren't compelled not to. Wayland could feel it, the Geas clinging to him with a might he cannot overcome, much like the steel wire he was leashed to so he could continue his work.

The war had not gone well for the Free Awakened, but he was a Master of his craft. Over the course of the war he had fashioned many items of Power to aid his fellow Mages in the war for survival, and more than once those weapons he'd created had been the defining difference in the conflict.

A new Mage had entered town by the name of The Walking Man, and began to consistantly defeat the Seers on their door step. Wayland had been working on a new weapon to use against their enemy, something no sane man would make, but desperate times called for desperate measures. So he created a weapon to bind a dead enemy as a ghost and to serve the weapon's owner.

He decided to help The Walking Man and, with assurances from people he knew, presented him with this weapon. But it was a trap. The Walking Man was a Seer agent, 'winning' easy conflicts to gain our trust. Wayland could still see the horror in his friends' eyes as they died, knowing they would be raised up to serve their enemy. As for himself, Wayland was chained to this room with steel and Fate, to churn out more weapons of war to destroy those he was meant to protect.

Oblivion. If only they would let him die, but then, they would probably raise him back to continue his work. I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

[Wayland]

Sitting in the Yellow Cab Wayland watched the passing buildings through the dirty rear side window scream into view only to pass on by into oblivion. Sitting there, he could only reflect on the sour mood he was currently in. He had no real issue with Tuesday going with Star to the Veiled Threats sanctum, 'cause Star is a well known and respected mage in the city, bu if he had to pinpoint what was annoying him, he'd have to pin it on the fact that he had to leg the way there by himself. That or the gods awful Indian or Sri Lankan or Pakistani shrieking music blasting from the front seat that was about as enjoyable as the Black Death. Yeah, it'd be the music fo sho.

The cab had been driving for a while now and he checked his phone again to view the address Star had given him, 1689 Arden Way, Sac. The music was really starting to get to him and for a while Wayland seriously considered exerting his Will to destroy the car sound system to give him some peace and queit, but such actions lead down the path of hubris, and instead he failed to tried to use the experience as a lesson in maintaining calm. The minutes pass by and the cab finally pulls into the car park for the Arden Fair Shopping Mall.

Flinging some notes at the driver with possibly more enthusiasm than he intended, the young Moros escaped the steal torture chamber and headed for the Mall. Obviously he'd never been to VT's sanctum before, but he'd heard that it was in an old movie theatre. Stepping into the bustling shopping mall, he was wary from the get go, but checking the address on his phone again, he decides to soldier on.

Inside the Mall entrance he sees a security and info station and gets directions for the movie theatre. On the hunt for the theatre he can't but help think that this is an odd place for a sanctum of mages. Like, its waaay to public a place for a start, and its totally a million miles away from the heart of Sacramento, but hey, its not his sanctum. No judging, well maybe a little.

Seeing the theatre come into view, he sees at its an active movie theatre, with candy bar in full swing, people left and right. Starting to feel a little confused, Wayland walks up to the ticket booth and asks the vacant looking sixteen year old attendant, "Yo. Im lookin' for Jack. You know him? I think he like, works here or somethin'." Pulling his hand out of his pocket he lifts it up to a level around his head, "About this high, got a floppy mop of a hair style, talks a lot..."

"Ahh no sir, that doesnt sound like anyone working here." The attendant replies with an expression of equal parts annoyed and bored. Abandoning the booth, Wayland stands in the middle of the busy movie theatre lobby. Looking down at the address Star had given him, the obvious truth dawns on him. He'd been had. Star.

"What a dick."