Animus Glimpses

**Animus** · Mar 20th, 2009 11:03 PM

Animus

It was Halloween of his junior year of high school. As on many other evenings, he was outside, running through the city to stay in shape. But this evening, something was wrong. As he passed through a back alley, he began to notice subtle differences in his surroundings. The air became oddly charged, and the buildings seemed to be caricatures, each reflecting a specific mood. He finally realized that something was terribly wrong, and attempted to retrace his steps, but the entire layout of the city was different. As it sank in that he was in an alien realm, a vaguely human-like form emerged from the shadows holding a wicked dagger, and leapt at him. He pushed the thing away, but the blade drew a long gash down the length of his forearm. He knew the next strike would be deadly.

But it never came. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a giant wolf lunge at the thing, fangs and claws flashing. He stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by terror and the shock of blood loss. His attacker was forced to the ground under the wolf's onslaught, and soon exploded into thousands of shards. Finally, shock and exhaustion overwhelmed his will, and he collapsed, his mind barely registering a snarl in an alien tongue as his consciousness faded.

He woke up in his own bed, assuming that he had just had a nightmare. But when he saw the scar running the entire length of his forearm, the memories came flooding back, and he knew that it had been no dream.

**Animus** · May 12th, 2009 11:23 AM

As the spirit finally withdrew, Animus stood shaking with reaction. At first, all he could think about was that it was finally over, but he soon realized how close he had come to breaking under the strain. Was it worth it, the risk, the agony? What did I actually accomplish? How much more might I have been able to contribute had I not made that deal? He gingerly touched the place where the spirit had stabbed into his back, and was mildly surprised to find the skin unbroken. It certainly hadn't felt ephemeral.

Animus' attention finally begins to turn to Ekko's message. Whatever had killed Calligan had drank his blood. Ekko's bloodsuckers had to be related, but what did that mean for the purpose of this meeting?

**Animus** · Jun 8th, 2009 10:22 PM

Animus

It was Halloween of his junior year of high school. As on many other evenings, he was outside, running through the city to stay in shape. But this evening, something was wrong. As he passed through a back alley, he began to notice subtle differences in his surroundings. The air became oddly charged, and the buildings seemed to be caricatures, each reflecting a specific mood. He finally realized that something was terribly wrong, and attempted to retrace his steps, but the entire layout of the city was different. As it sank in that he was in an alien realm, a vaguely human-like form emerged from the shadows holding a wicked dagger, and leapt at him. He pushed the thing away, but the blade drew a long gash down the length of his forearm. He knew the next strike would be deadly.

But it never came. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a giant wolf lunge at the thing, fangs and claws flashing. He stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed by terror and the shock of blood loss. His attacker was forced to the ground under the wolf's onslaught, and soon exploded into thousands of shards. Finally, shock and exhaustion overwhelmed his will, and he collapsed, his mind barely registering a snarl in an alien tongue as his consciousness faded.

He woke up in his own bed, assuming that he had just had a nightmare. But when he saw the scar running the entire length of his forearm, the memories came flooding back, and he knew that it had been no dream.

**Animus** · Jun 8th, 2009 10:37 PM

Recent events had driven home to Animus that no one in the city was safe. Even elders had little protection from the sniper's bullet. He couldn't help the dead, nor could he help anyone else if he joined them, but he could shift the odds, honing his body to a toughness sleepers could only imagine. Wild coincidence had saved his life once -- once too often. His life was in his own hands now.

Animus sits on the floor of his sanctum, chanting in the Atlantean tongue. The Imago in his mind slowly builds momentum, until finally, in a flash of white light, he releases it into his own pattern.

Hone the Form ritual

**Animus** · Jun 20th, 2009 11:38 PM

As Animus passes a news-stand, the front page headline catches his eye: State says wolves are loose, Killers. He quickly buys up a copy and continues on his way as if nothing has happened, but internally, he is seething. First all the howling, and now this? Are the local werewolves trying to draw enemies? Or can they not control their own? Either way, I need to make contact with them. But not now, and certainly not alone.

**Animus** · Aug 6th, 2009 02:49 PM

Animus' brief shapechanging in Robbins had reminded him of how much he missed being able to run as a wolf. In the city, there was simply too much risk of being seen, and it wasn't helped by the way the local werewolves seemed intent on calling attention to themselves. He simply hadn't had enough time to travel far enough from the city.

I'll make the time. "C'mon, Guardian, let's go for a run." The twilight wolf eagerly perks up his ears and follows his master out the door.

---

Finally, away from the city and away from the road, he undresses and focuses his will. Moments later, two wolves, one real, one ephemeral, tear off through the woods. But the feeling is different from Animus' memory. Even as he exults in the freedom of the run, the wolf's instincts simply aren't as overpowering as they once were. When a rabbit, spooked, bolts away from him, he chases it for a moment before veering off, letting it escape. This is true freedom.

After about an hour in wolf form, Animus returns to where he started. He quickly dresses, and as he walks back toward the city, with plenty of time to reflect on the meaning of his accomplishment.

**Animus** · Aug 6th, 2009 05:24 PM

Animus sits on the attic floor, contemplating his honing spell, seeing a way to improve it. Removing a copper mirror from his pocket, he stares into it, watching his own reflection, imagining it stronger and more resilient. Slowly, he builds the Imago, wrapping the Hallow's ambient mana into the growing pattern and weaving in some of his own to ease the transition.

Satisfied with the results, he lets the spell's prior incarnation slip away before spending the next two hours in oblation, replenishing his mana stores.

Supreme Honing + Oblation

**Animus** · Aug 29th, 2009 04:56 PM

Animus sits on his bed, briefly contemplating the box in front of him. The bow had squished a bit getting here, but that was only to be expected. He gingerly opens the top, discovering on the inside a copper ring engraved with the Atlantian symbol for Life. He looks the ring over for a few seconds, and, after a moments thought, removes a copper mirror from his pocket, setting the two objects side by side.

Which will it be? The old standby, which has served for years? Or the new gift, symbol of how far I've come? He finds himself spending more and more of his attention on the ring, rather than the mirror. A little pretentious? Maybe. But after being required to announce my own Mastery to the entire Consilium, I have litte to lose on that score. At the same time, I cannot afford to appear to spurn the Curator's gift. Animus lets his mind continue to wander, and the mirror appears to grow more distant, even to dull somewhat, while the ring seems to be drawn in toward him. Finally, when he slips the ring on, it fits perfectly, almost as if it were a part of himself.

Animus scribes a brief letter to Dr. Primoria, thanking her for the gift. As he signs it, his thoughts momentarily flash back, with a twinge of irony, to how Dr. Primoria had chewed him out the first time they had met.

dedication

**Animus** · Dec 5th, 2009 08:11 PM

[Context]

Images run together. He huddles on the top of the Cruiser, shielding a hawk from attack. A hawk that he knows to be a fellow mage that he has fought beside, shared cramped quarters with for these last three months, both of them just trying to survive the apocalypse. Pain wracks his body, the result of the abyssal fire that he pulled into himself, not daring to let it escape to further taint this world. And so he curls, waiting, wondering when a fleshie's blow will land, ending everything ...

At the same time, he is lying on his back, desperately scampering backwards, away from the murderous thing and its wicked, gleaming knife. Pain shoots through his arm, and a trail of blood mars the alley street, the results of his feeble attempt to fend off its last attack. He knows he isn't fast enough. Soon it will be upon him and finish the job ...

The two images waver before his consciousness. Which is the true state? The alley, where everything is warped, somehow unreal? The park, filled with creatures that should not exist? Both? ... Neither?

But none of the anticipated strikes ever reaches him. A blur enters his field of vision, barreling into his attacker, driving it back. Soon, only the wolf remains, scrutinizing, growling in an ancient tongue ...

The alleyway fades, back to the realm of memory, where it belongs. Only the cruiser is left, barreling down the road, away from the Abyssal deathtrap. Tears stream down Animus' face as he thinks about those they had left behind.

**Animus** · Dec 20th, 2009 03:31 PM

Animus enters the attic, pausing a moment to just take in the resonance of the area. Setting aside his clothing, he sits in the center of the hallow and focuses inward.

Breathe in, breathe out, feel life's constant rhythms. The ambient mana begins to condense, drawing closer in reaction to his activities. After several minutes, he goes a step farther, reaching to the Primal Wilds, wrapping it in the Hallow's ambiance. He takes on the form of the wolf, even taking its consciousness as its own. For some things, human intelligence just got in the way. Still he sits, taking in his surroundings with new eyes, feeling his own natural rhythms and processes as a human never could, understanding who and what he is, not intellectually, but through raw sensation. And the mana responds, drawing ever inward and merging into his pattern.

Eventually, his spell fades and he turns to human form and human thought. He takes one last look at the attic, reflecting on the differences in perception. This is what it means to walk the Path of Ecstasy.

Animus Glimpses

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