Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Womby paused to watch the students pack up their notebooks from the class. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the desk, making himself available for anyone with questions.
He had stepped into this class when it started because the prior professor wanted a lighter load on his schedule. Womby now paused in his doctorate pursuits so that he could teach this undergraduate class on invertebrate zoology. It wasn’t one of his favorite subjects – his thesis was under the unwieldy title of “Ecological studies of economic red algae. v. growth and reproduction of natural and harvested populations of Chondrus crispus Stackhouse in New Hampshire.” Basically, he liked sea plants.
A woman came up to him and smiled. He adjusted his glasses, glasses that he didn’t need but wore to make him look older and more serious. Once he put on his glasses - just like when he put on his costume for heroing - he was a different person, a professor and student of marine biology. He was confident in his position, knowledgeable, professional. As soon as he crossed the quad and headed out to the real world, he would suddenly feel insignificant. Who in the real world cared about brown algae?
This was why he didn't say anything about his studies to anyone, even Brandon. Kalius discoursed on history, and history was far more interesting than the process of photosynthesis. Brandon talked about his work with the Army. Grim had magic. Womby had seaweed.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, his accent still apparent, but his diction clearer.
“Professor, I’m not understanding what Hanstrom means by the endocrine disruption among brine shrimp.”
Womby explained slowly, paraphrasing the paper the students had to read for the class. It was tough for an undergraduate course, but he wanted to expose them to the terms and ideas that marine biologists undertook. He wasn’t sure if he was challenging them or scaring them away.
After she left, Womby started gathering up his things. “Professor Ricketts,” came the voice of the dean at the back of the hall.
“Doctor Moore.” He finished shoving some books into his backpack. Moore was a jerk, at times condescending, and other times wanting to be your best friend. He had invited Womby out for a drink more than once, and Womby had always declined, not wanting to be near the bipolar gentleman after a few pints. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to wish you a good holiday,” he said.
Womby raised an eyebrow.
“What are your plans?”
“To be honest,” Womby said, “I was hoping to correct some papers over the weekend and work a little on the dissertation.”
Moore came down the hall. “You shouldn’t work so hard, Matt, you’ll burn yourself out.”
“I play, too,” he said with a smile. He didn’t blush – he was very professional here.
“What do you do for hobbies?”
I run around Paragon City possessed by spirits, slicing up gang members. Oh, and I sleep with a soldier at night, and we have wild, passionate sex constantly. “Watch Law and Order,” he said with a straight face.
“Hm. I paint.”
“Do you?” Womby put his hands in his pockets again, this time behind the desk, hoping his body language would tell Moore to go away. “What do you paint?”
“Mostly still life. I can’t seem to get the lighting right for landscapes.”
“Do you use oils?”
“Yes.” The two men regarded each other, Womby hoping the man would leave, and Moore trying to be friendly and hold up a conversation. “You doing anything tonight?”
Womby gave him a small smile. “I told you that I have panic attacks in bars.”
“We don’t have to go to a bar. I know this nice quiet restaurant…”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Womby’s eyes crinkled with a smile.
Moore was taken aback. “Uh, well, no…”
Womby knew the faculty knew he was gay, not that it made a difference in his teaching or his methods. He didn’t care what his students thought. Womby turned and picked up his backpack. “Besides, I have someone waiting for me.”
“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, then.”
“You have a good holiday, too, sir,” he said, and left the man there.
He walked across the quad, waving to students or faculty as they headed back to their cars or dorms. The Thanksgiving holiday was coming up, and many people were heading home to their families. They didn’t have this holiday at this time in Australia – it was the height of summer right now, the corallines in receding bloom due to the heat. He would probably spend the day with Brandon, depending on what he was planning to do. Of course, if Brandon was going to go home to his family, he could take the time to do some work.
In his office, which he shared with three other professors, he picked up the students’ papers. He glanced around the tight confines of the office, and smiled as a fantasy came to mind. He shook his head, still smiling – why would Brandon come to university? Especially in that hulking walking tank suit of armor. He had never realized how turned on he was, seeing Brandon in that machine. The machine on its own did nothing to him, it was knowing Brandon was inside it, driving the thing, controlling it...
He coughed quietly, the action that signaled a clearing of his mind as when he opened his mind to spirits. There were blessedly no spirits here, so it was quiet. He finished packing his things, and headed to the bus stop.
By the time the bus dropped him off at his hotel in Founders’ Falls, he had heard the life stories of five spirits. At least they didn’t tell him how many people he needed to murder, or try to get him to go to their families with messages.
Also, by the time he got to his room, he had returned to being the quiet, gentle, slightly distracted young man, bombarded by disembodied voices. Most of his attention was on the here-and-now, and when he was in Brandon’s arms, the voices were mere whispers. Only once did an angry voice break through, but Brandon was asleep and Womby lay in the dark in tears at the tirade of the homophobe ghost.
He looked over the things he had packed. He would be moving in with Brandon this holiday, and he really didn’t have much. He came to Paragon to start on his doctorate in August, and by September he had a job. He wasn’t going to start looking for an apartment until after Christmas. This arrangement, however, was better. He smiled and picked up his bags. Yes, much better.
He had stepped into this class when it started because the prior professor wanted a lighter load on his schedule. Womby now paused in his doctorate pursuits so that he could teach this undergraduate class on invertebrate zoology. It wasn’t one of his favorite subjects – his thesis was under the unwieldy title of “Ecological studies of economic red algae. v. growth and reproduction of natural and harvested populations of Chondrus crispus Stackhouse in New Hampshire.” Basically, he liked sea plants.
A woman came up to him and smiled. He adjusted his glasses, glasses that he didn’t need but wore to make him look older and more serious. Once he put on his glasses - just like when he put on his costume for heroing - he was a different person, a professor and student of marine biology. He was confident in his position, knowledgeable, professional. As soon as he crossed the quad and headed out to the real world, he would suddenly feel insignificant. Who in the real world cared about brown algae?
This was why he didn't say anything about his studies to anyone, even Brandon. Kalius discoursed on history, and history was far more interesting than the process of photosynthesis. Brandon talked about his work with the Army. Grim had magic. Womby had seaweed.
“Can I help you, miss?” he asked, his accent still apparent, but his diction clearer.
“Professor, I’m not understanding what Hanstrom means by the endocrine disruption among brine shrimp.”
Womby explained slowly, paraphrasing the paper the students had to read for the class. It was tough for an undergraduate course, but he wanted to expose them to the terms and ideas that marine biologists undertook. He wasn’t sure if he was challenging them or scaring them away.
After she left, Womby started gathering up his things. “Professor Ricketts,” came the voice of the dean at the back of the hall.
“Doctor Moore.” He finished shoving some books into his backpack. Moore was a jerk, at times condescending, and other times wanting to be your best friend. He had invited Womby out for a drink more than once, and Womby had always declined, not wanting to be near the bipolar gentleman after a few pints. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to wish you a good holiday,” he said.
Womby raised an eyebrow.
“What are your plans?”
“To be honest,” Womby said, “I was hoping to correct some papers over the weekend and work a little on the dissertation.”
Moore came down the hall. “You shouldn’t work so hard, Matt, you’ll burn yourself out.”
“I play, too,” he said with a smile. He didn’t blush – he was very professional here.
“What do you do for hobbies?”
I run around Paragon City possessed by spirits, slicing up gang members. Oh, and I sleep with a soldier at night, and we have wild, passionate sex constantly. “Watch Law and Order,” he said with a straight face.
“Hm. I paint.”
“Do you?” Womby put his hands in his pockets again, this time behind the desk, hoping his body language would tell Moore to go away. “What do you paint?”
“Mostly still life. I can’t seem to get the lighting right for landscapes.”
“Do you use oils?”
“Yes.” The two men regarded each other, Womby hoping the man would leave, and Moore trying to be friendly and hold up a conversation. “You doing anything tonight?”
Womby gave him a small smile. “I told you that I have panic attacks in bars.”
“We don’t have to go to a bar. I know this nice quiet restaurant…”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Womby’s eyes crinkled with a smile.
Moore was taken aback. “Uh, well, no…”
Womby knew the faculty knew he was gay, not that it made a difference in his teaching or his methods. He didn’t care what his students thought. Womby turned and picked up his backpack. “Besides, I have someone waiting for me.”
“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, then.”
“You have a good holiday, too, sir,” he said, and left the man there.
He walked across the quad, waving to students or faculty as they headed back to their cars or dorms. The Thanksgiving holiday was coming up, and many people were heading home to their families. They didn’t have this holiday at this time in Australia – it was the height of summer right now, the corallines in receding bloom due to the heat. He would probably spend the day with Brandon, depending on what he was planning to do. Of course, if Brandon was going to go home to his family, he could take the time to do some work.
In his office, which he shared with three other professors, he picked up the students’ papers. He glanced around the tight confines of the office, and smiled as a fantasy came to mind. He shook his head, still smiling – why would Brandon come to university? Especially in that hulking walking tank suit of armor. He had never realized how turned on he was, seeing Brandon in that machine. The machine on its own did nothing to him, it was knowing Brandon was inside it, driving the thing, controlling it...
He coughed quietly, the action that signaled a clearing of his mind as when he opened his mind to spirits. There were blessedly no spirits here, so it was quiet. He finished packing his things, and headed to the bus stop.
By the time the bus dropped him off at his hotel in Founders’ Falls, he had heard the life stories of five spirits. At least they didn’t tell him how many people he needed to murder, or try to get him to go to their families with messages.
Also, by the time he got to his room, he had returned to being the quiet, gentle, slightly distracted young man, bombarded by disembodied voices. Most of his attention was on the here-and-now, and when he was in Brandon’s arms, the voices were mere whispers. Only once did an angry voice break through, but Brandon was asleep and Womby lay in the dark in tears at the tirade of the homophobe ghost.
He looked over the things he had packed. He would be moving in with Brandon this holiday, and he really didn’t have much. He came to Paragon to start on his doctorate in August, and by September he had a job. He wasn’t going to start looking for an apartment until after Christmas. This arrangement, however, was better. He smiled and picked up his bags. Yes, much better.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Grim wasn’t quite a bibliophile, but he did like the smell of books. The Midnighter Club was full of that, and more.
He stopped at the desk. A man in a fedora looked up at him. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for two spells.”
The man assessed him, and Grim knew that he was using some sort of Sight on him to gauge his ability with magic. Grim also knew Raina’s statement was true: even though he was human, he reeked of magic. The man blinked and said, “What exactly are you looking for?”
“I need a lost-lover location spell. The lover may be dead, so I need to find his soul.”
He nodded. “And the other?”
“Protection against the magic of Dark Astoria, but something…simple.”
“You usually work with High Magic, I guess?”
“Yeah. But the lost-lover spell will take me a week to do, at least the one I found. I’m looking for something simpler.”
The man smiled slightly. “You might want to talk to Lynne Visconti. She’s a Strega witch.”
“Where can I find her?”
“Around.” He looked down at the desk, dismissing Grim. Grim grumbled and went up the stairs. He went directly into the back of the Club and was assaulted by the smells of different incense burning somewhere. How can Raina deal with this, he thought, going deeper into the warrens of the Club.
He asked around, and was finally directed to one of the side rooms. Another Midnighter escorted him in, and said to a woman seated at a desk, “Streghe, a man to see you.”
The woman was in black and looked like a typical gypsy witch, with long black hair, large earrings, and white porcelain skin. Grim knew he was very under-dressed for a mage, in just a t-shirt, leather pants and boots. She smiled at the man, then at Grim. “Greetings, mage.”
“Hi,” Grim said. He looked around for a chair, but didn’t see one handy. He put his hands behind his back and began, “I’m looking for two simple spells. One to find a lost love, and one for protection against the magic in Astoria.”
She nodded and got up, her black skirts billowing around her. “What have you found so far?”
“Sigils and talismans. It’s what I’m used to. The protection against magic I need to be simpler, because the person it’s for is already magical.”
“Why don’t we start with the first spell? I have a few in mind.”
“I’ll need an object of that person, won’t I?”
“Yes…”
“I don’t have access to that.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you explain everything to me.”
He nodded. “It’s a lost lover’s soul I’m actually looking for. I don’t know if it’s been reborn, or even if it remembers. It’s been over 2,000 years since their death.”
“It’s not for you, then.”
“No, it’s not.”
She frowned. “It will be harder without an object. Have you tried to go back in time to retrieve something?”
“The Menders are of no help. They don’t allow time travel to different parts of the world, only Paragon’s history.”
“We do have a portal here…”
“It’ll still be 200 years later. There might not be anything left, especially if they were buried without any kind of preparation.”
“They?”
“His lover is the one looking for him. His lover’s been reborn.”
“Ah,” she said, and looked thoughtful. “Do you have a name?”
“Dimitrius. I assume of Thebes.”
“Ah, the Sacred Band,” said a voice behind them. Grim turned to see a very handsome white-haired man standing casually at the door. “Pardon me for overhearing,” he said, “but I heard time-travel and came over.”
The Streghe nodded to the man. “Meet Mender Ardin. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Grimaulkin,” Grim said.
“Grey cat,” said Mender Ardin, coming into the room. Grim looked closer at the man, and saw his eyes were grey like his hair. “So you’re looking for a spell to find a long-lost soul for a friend?”
“Pretty much.”
“You need an object?” He looked at the Streghe.
“The name is too common,” said the Streghe. “Besides, the soul may not know its name, especially if it’s been reborn over the years.”
Grim nodded. “That’s what I fear.” Or hope.
“Hm.” The Mender stroked his chin.
“Look, I’m already aware of the possibility that I’ll be working with bone dust, so I’m prepared for that. I just need a spell that doesn’t involve invoking gods and demons.”
“Candles and stones?”
He grimaced. “Low Magic.”
The Streghe again crossed her arms and glared at Grim. “It works.”
The Mender chuckled. “Of course it does. Do not insult a witch, Grimaulkin.”
“I wasn’t insulting her,” he said. “I don’t know how to use it very well.”
The Streghe continued, “You use High Magic, it’s not very much different. You’re using natural foci instead of complicated ritualistic drawings.”
Said the Mender, “How do you touch ley lines?”
“I have my own portable ley line,” he said. “He’s full of magic.”
Again, he chuckled. “You’re a lucky man.”
Grim turned to the Streghe, “So do you have anything that can help me?”
“I’m sure we have something. But you expect to have hardly anything of worth to use?”
The Mender said, “I think I can help there. I’ll have to ask permission, however.”
Grim snorted. “Silos? He’s a prick.”
“He is wrapped up in himself, but he’s not really a prick. He truly wants to help.”
“Paragon and his own ego.” He looked up at Mender Ardin. “I’d rather not get the Menders involved.”
“Suit yourself.” Mender Ardin bowed slightly. “If you do need us, though, I’m usually around here.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Ardin nodded to the Streghe and left. Grim turned back to the Streghe, who only shook her head.
“I have something in mind, Grimaulkin, but it will take me a couple of days to prepare it for you.”
“Okay,” Grim said.
“You said you want two spells?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I need something to protect against the magic in Astoria. The person who’s using it is magical.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
“Jewelry?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I could. But she already has a ring.”
“How about a bracelet?”
“That might work.”
“Selenium, Amethyst, or Tiger’s eye?”
Grim suddenly grinned. “Tiger’s eye.”
“We have something here. You’ll have to cleanse it in the normal manner. Low magic, though.”
“Salt water and incense and all that?”
“Yes,” she said, and led him into one of the other rooms. She rummaged through the shelves, and came out with a breadbox-sized box. Inside the box were large stones of all kinds, about the size of his fist. She pulled out a brown striped stone and gave it to him. “You can make a bracelet out of this, can’t you?”
He hefted it in his palm. “I made a ring, I suppose I can do that to this.”
“Do you need a spell?”
“No, I know a warping spell.”
“It needs to be natural, because you’re working with a force of nature.”
Grim put the stone in his pocket – it bulged out of his pocket obscenely. He changed his mind and decided to hold it. “I’ll figure it out.”
She looked dubious. “Do you have a cell? Or should I telepathically find you?”
“I’m usually not nice to people who telepathically come into my head suddenly,” Grim said. “A cell works just as well.” He gave her his number, and tossed the stone in the air. “Thanks for your help, Streghe.”
“It’s what we’re here for,” she said with a smile. “Merry meet.”
Grim smiled at her, and kissed her chastely on both cheeks. “Merry part.”
“And merry meet again, Grimaulkin.”
He stopped at the desk. A man in a fedora looked up at him. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for two spells.”
The man assessed him, and Grim knew that he was using some sort of Sight on him to gauge his ability with magic. Grim also knew Raina’s statement was true: even though he was human, he reeked of magic. The man blinked and said, “What exactly are you looking for?”
“I need a lost-lover location spell. The lover may be dead, so I need to find his soul.”
He nodded. “And the other?”
“Protection against the magic of Dark Astoria, but something…simple.”
“You usually work with High Magic, I guess?”
“Yeah. But the lost-lover spell will take me a week to do, at least the one I found. I’m looking for something simpler.”
The man smiled slightly. “You might want to talk to Lynne Visconti. She’s a Strega witch.”
“Where can I find her?”
“Around.” He looked down at the desk, dismissing Grim. Grim grumbled and went up the stairs. He went directly into the back of the Club and was assaulted by the smells of different incense burning somewhere. How can Raina deal with this, he thought, going deeper into the warrens of the Club.
He asked around, and was finally directed to one of the side rooms. Another Midnighter escorted him in, and said to a woman seated at a desk, “Streghe, a man to see you.”
The woman was in black and looked like a typical gypsy witch, with long black hair, large earrings, and white porcelain skin. Grim knew he was very under-dressed for a mage, in just a t-shirt, leather pants and boots. She smiled at the man, then at Grim. “Greetings, mage.”
“Hi,” Grim said. He looked around for a chair, but didn’t see one handy. He put his hands behind his back and began, “I’m looking for two simple spells. One to find a lost love, and one for protection against the magic in Astoria.”
She nodded and got up, her black skirts billowing around her. “What have you found so far?”
“Sigils and talismans. It’s what I’m used to. The protection against magic I need to be simpler, because the person it’s for is already magical.”
“Why don’t we start with the first spell? I have a few in mind.”
“I’ll need an object of that person, won’t I?”
“Yes…”
“I don’t have access to that.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Why don’t you explain everything to me.”
He nodded. “It’s a lost lover’s soul I’m actually looking for. I don’t know if it’s been reborn, or even if it remembers. It’s been over 2,000 years since their death.”
“It’s not for you, then.”
“No, it’s not.”
She frowned. “It will be harder without an object. Have you tried to go back in time to retrieve something?”
“The Menders are of no help. They don’t allow time travel to different parts of the world, only Paragon’s history.”
“We do have a portal here…”
“It’ll still be 200 years later. There might not be anything left, especially if they were buried without any kind of preparation.”
“They?”
“His lover is the one looking for him. His lover’s been reborn.”
“Ah,” she said, and looked thoughtful. “Do you have a name?”
“Dimitrius. I assume of Thebes.”
“Ah, the Sacred Band,” said a voice behind them. Grim turned to see a very handsome white-haired man standing casually at the door. “Pardon me for overhearing,” he said, “but I heard time-travel and came over.”
The Streghe nodded to the man. “Meet Mender Ardin. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Grimaulkin,” Grim said.
“Grey cat,” said Mender Ardin, coming into the room. Grim looked closer at the man, and saw his eyes were grey like his hair. “So you’re looking for a spell to find a long-lost soul for a friend?”
“Pretty much.”
“You need an object?” He looked at the Streghe.
“The name is too common,” said the Streghe. “Besides, the soul may not know its name, especially if it’s been reborn over the years.”
Grim nodded. “That’s what I fear.” Or hope.
“Hm.” The Mender stroked his chin.
“Look, I’m already aware of the possibility that I’ll be working with bone dust, so I’m prepared for that. I just need a spell that doesn’t involve invoking gods and demons.”
“Candles and stones?”
He grimaced. “Low Magic.”
The Streghe again crossed her arms and glared at Grim. “It works.”
The Mender chuckled. “Of course it does. Do not insult a witch, Grimaulkin.”
“I wasn’t insulting her,” he said. “I don’t know how to use it very well.”
The Streghe continued, “You use High Magic, it’s not very much different. You’re using natural foci instead of complicated ritualistic drawings.”
Said the Mender, “How do you touch ley lines?”
“I have my own portable ley line,” he said. “He’s full of magic.”
Again, he chuckled. “You’re a lucky man.”
Grim turned to the Streghe, “So do you have anything that can help me?”
“I’m sure we have something. But you expect to have hardly anything of worth to use?”
The Mender said, “I think I can help there. I’ll have to ask permission, however.”
Grim snorted. “Silos? He’s a prick.”
“He is wrapped up in himself, but he’s not really a prick. He truly wants to help.”
“Paragon and his own ego.” He looked up at Mender Ardin. “I’d rather not get the Menders involved.”
“Suit yourself.” Mender Ardin bowed slightly. “If you do need us, though, I’m usually around here.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Ardin nodded to the Streghe and left. Grim turned back to the Streghe, who only shook her head.
“I have something in mind, Grimaulkin, but it will take me a couple of days to prepare it for you.”
“Okay,” Grim said.
“You said you want two spells?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I need something to protect against the magic in Astoria. The person who’s using it is magical.”
“Male or female?”
“Female.”
“Jewelry?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I could. But she already has a ring.”
“How about a bracelet?”
“That might work.”
“Selenium, Amethyst, or Tiger’s eye?”
Grim suddenly grinned. “Tiger’s eye.”
“We have something here. You’ll have to cleanse it in the normal manner. Low magic, though.”
“Salt water and incense and all that?”
“Yes,” she said, and led him into one of the other rooms. She rummaged through the shelves, and came out with a breadbox-sized box. Inside the box were large stones of all kinds, about the size of his fist. She pulled out a brown striped stone and gave it to him. “You can make a bracelet out of this, can’t you?”
He hefted it in his palm. “I made a ring, I suppose I can do that to this.”
“Do you need a spell?”
“No, I know a warping spell.”
“It needs to be natural, because you’re working with a force of nature.”
Grim put the stone in his pocket – it bulged out of his pocket obscenely. He changed his mind and decided to hold it. “I’ll figure it out.”
She looked dubious. “Do you have a cell? Or should I telepathically find you?”
“I’m usually not nice to people who telepathically come into my head suddenly,” Grim said. “A cell works just as well.” He gave her his number, and tossed the stone in the air. “Thanks for your help, Streghe.”
“It’s what we’re here for,” she said with a smile. “Merry meet.”
Grim smiled at her, and kissed her chastely on both cheeks. “Merry part.”
“And merry meet again, Grimaulkin.”
Sunday, November 22, 2009
When I (the player) first got interested in magic, the first books I found were on ceremonial and Gardnerian magic. Immediately I thought, "These people are crazy." The most well-known book on ceremonial magic is The Key of Solomon, also called The Lesser Key of Solomon (because it's believed there's a "Greater" key out there). It was written in the 1800's, when magic and the supernatural were at its height in the Victorian Era.
Grim hates Ceremonial and Enochian magic, for good reason. With Ceremonial magic, you need to prepare yourself extensively before any "work" or magic is performed. You need to be pure in heart and deed at least 9 days before, and you need to take a bath in a certain way, and dress in certain clothes (even certain shoes), and do certain things. For example:
But before the commencement of the work, it is absolutely necessary that the Master with his Disciples repeat the following Conjuration once in the morning, and twice in the evening:--
O Lord God the Father Eternal, Who art seated upon the Kerubim and the Seraphim, Who lookest upon Earth and upon Sea; unto Thee do I raise my hands and implore Thine aid alone, Thou Who alone art the accomplishment of good works, Thou Who givest rest unto those who labour, Who humblest the proud, Who art the Author of Life and the Destroyer of Death; Thou art our rest, Thou art the Protector of those who invoke Thee; protect, guard, and defend me in this matter, and in this enterprise which I propose to carry out, O Thou Who livest, reignest, and abidest unto the Eternal Ages. Amen.
During the three last days before the commencement of this action, thou shalt content thyself with only eating fasting diet, and that only once in the day; and it will be better still if thou only partakest of bread and water. Thou shalt also abstain from every impure thing; reciting the prayer above written. And on the last day, when thou shalt wish to commence the Operation, thou shalt remain all day without eating, and later on thou shalt go into a secret place, where thou shalt confess all thy sins unto God with a contrite heart. The Disciples also, together with the Master, shall recite the same confession with a low but distinct voice, as hath been already said in the First Book.
This having been done thrice with a devout, pure, and contrite heart, in a place withdrawn from men, cleansed, and pure, where thou canst not be seen, taking the water and the hyssop, thou shalt say:--
Purify me, O Lord, with hyssop, and I shall be pure; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
After this, bathe thyself with the exorcised water, and clothe thyself again with the consecrated garment which thou hast taken off; cerise thyself, and surround thyself with odours, as will be told farther on, when we speak of perfumes and suffumigations.
The which being done, thou shalt go unto the ordained place with thy Companions, and all things being prepared, thou shalt make the Circle, as hath been already said, with all other necessary ceremonies; then shalt thou commence to invoke the Spirits by the Exorcisms; thou shalt also repeat anew the foregoing Confession as hath been already said in the First Book. After which, in sign of amendment and of repentance, each shall mutually kiss the other.
Mark well, that up to this point, the Disciples should do the same things as the Master.
Let the Master now give his commands unto his Disciples, and pursue the course of the Experiment, and work with all diligence to bring it unto perfection.
--Lesser Key of Solomon, pages 88-89.
You're supposed to do this for nine days. Grim's going to cut it to one. But you get the idea.
Concecrating the circle is a lot simpler, though. Wordy, but simple.
I don't think the other characters really want to see a full ceremonial ritual. It could take hours. I could probably do a shortened one, but that would take a while, too. Jack seems interested, and Rusty wants to watch. Yeah, it could be complicated.
Grim hates Ceremonial and Enochian magic, for good reason. With Ceremonial magic, you need to prepare yourself extensively before any "work" or magic is performed. You need to be pure in heart and deed at least 9 days before, and you need to take a bath in a certain way, and dress in certain clothes (even certain shoes), and do certain things. For example:
CONCERNING THE FASTING, CARE, AND THINGS TO BE OBSERVED
WHEN the Master of the Art shall wish to perform his operations, having previously arranged all things which it is necessary to observe and practise; from the first day of the Experiment, it is absolutely necessary to ordain and to prescribe care and observation, to abstain from all things unlawful, and from every kind of impiety, impurity, wickedness, or immodesty, as well of body as of soul; as, for example, eating and drinking superabundantly, and all sorts of vain words, buffooneries, slanders, calumnies, and other useless discourse; but instead to do good deeds, speak honestly, keep a strict decency in all things, never lose sight of modesty in walking, in conversation, in eating and drinking, and in all things; the which should be principally done and observed for nine days, before the commencement of the Operation. The Disciples should do the same, and should equally put in practice all things necessary to be observed, if they wish to make use of all these operations and experiments.But before the commencement of the work, it is absolutely necessary that the Master with his Disciples repeat the following Conjuration once in the morning, and twice in the evening:--
THE CONJURATION.
O Lord God Almighty, be propitious unto me a miserable sinner, for I am not worthy to raise mine eyes unto heaven, because of the iniquity of my sins and the multitude of my faults. O pitying and merciful Father, who wouldest not the death of a sinner but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live, O God have mercy upon me and pardon all my sins; for I unworthy entreat Thee, O Father of all Creatures, Thou Who art full of mercy and of compassion, by Thy great goodness, that Thou deign to grant unto me power to see and know these Spirits which I desire to behold and to invoke to appear before me and to accomplish my will. Through Thee Who art Conqueror, and Who art Blessed unto the Ages of the Ages. Amen.O Lord God the Father Eternal, Who art seated upon the Kerubim and the Seraphim, Who lookest upon Earth and upon Sea; unto Thee do I raise my hands and implore Thine aid alone, Thou Who alone art the accomplishment of good works, Thou Who givest rest unto those who labour, Who humblest the proud, Who art the Author of Life and the Destroyer of Death; Thou art our rest, Thou art the Protector of those who invoke Thee; protect, guard, and defend me in this matter, and in this enterprise which I propose to carry out, O Thou Who livest, reignest, and abidest unto the Eternal Ages. Amen.
During the three last days before the commencement of this action, thou shalt content thyself with only eating fasting diet, and that only once in the day; and it will be better still if thou only partakest of bread and water. Thou shalt also abstain from every impure thing; reciting the prayer above written. And on the last day, when thou shalt wish to commence the Operation, thou shalt remain all day without eating, and later on thou shalt go into a secret place, where thou shalt confess all thy sins unto God with a contrite heart. The Disciples also, together with the Master, shall recite the same confession with a low but distinct voice, as hath been already said in the First Book.
This having been done thrice with a devout, pure, and contrite heart, in a place withdrawn from men, cleansed, and pure, where thou canst not be seen, taking the water and the hyssop, thou shalt say:--
Purify me, O Lord, with hyssop, and I shall be pure; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
After this, bathe thyself with the exorcised water, and clothe thyself again with the consecrated garment which thou hast taken off; cerise thyself, and surround thyself with odours, as will be told farther on, when we speak of perfumes and suffumigations.
The which being done, thou shalt go unto the ordained place with thy Companions, and all things being prepared, thou shalt make the Circle, as hath been already said, with all other necessary ceremonies; then shalt thou commence to invoke the Spirits by the Exorcisms; thou shalt also repeat anew the foregoing Confession as hath been already said in the First Book. After which, in sign of amendment and of repentance, each shall mutually kiss the other.
Mark well, that up to this point, the Disciples should do the same things as the Master.
Let the Master now give his commands unto his Disciples, and pursue the course of the Experiment, and work with all diligence to bring it unto perfection.
--Lesser Key of Solomon, pages 88-89.
You're supposed to do this for nine days. Grim's going to cut it to one. But you get the idea.
Concecrating the circle is a lot simpler, though. Wordy, but simple.
I don't think the other characters really want to see a full ceremonial ritual. It could take hours. I could probably do a shortened one, but that would take a while, too. Jack seems interested, and Rusty wants to watch. Yeah, it could be complicated.
Friday, November 20, 2009
King’s Row, compared to Talos Island, was easier to find people. It was especially easy when the person hadn’t moved from his apartment in 30 years.
Morgan Thomas, in the guise of Sable’s nova form, lit on the roof of 146 Oak Street in the Gish neighborhood. He changed forms, and took a place near the door to the roof that would lead down to the fourth floor.
He searched the minds of the people in the building, gently touching upon their surface thoughts, getting a sense of them. He found the one he was looking for, George Whitney.
Morgan went a little deeper, and not only saw the cancer from George’s point of view, but also from within his body. George had a strong will, just like his son, and with the chemo was battling the cancer as best he could.
Morgan debated within himself again. Killing what he could consider an innocent went against his principles. George Sweeney had done nothing to him, except bring Jack into the world and raise him with his values. But the death of Jack’s father would cause a hurtful blow to Jack. And that was the whole purpose.
He nodded, and began: What do you have to live for, George?
He received images of Jack, and Raina, and other members of Jack’s family. Morgan commanded, You have nothing to live for. The images vanished. Immediately he was washed over with a deep depression. Morgan pressed the emotion with his empathic powers. You will die a horrible, painful death and no one will care. You will be racked with cancer everywhere, and there is nothing you can do. Nothing. Give up now, old man.
Morgan retreated, before he got swallowed up by the depression George was creating. The cancer was held back almost by the force of his will. Now it had free reign.
Morgan bent his head and shifted back to nova, letting Sable take control.
Morgan Thomas, in the guise of Sable’s nova form, lit on the roof of 146 Oak Street in the Gish neighborhood. He changed forms, and took a place near the door to the roof that would lead down to the fourth floor.
He searched the minds of the people in the building, gently touching upon their surface thoughts, getting a sense of them. He found the one he was looking for, George Whitney.
Morgan went a little deeper, and not only saw the cancer from George’s point of view, but also from within his body. George had a strong will, just like his son, and with the chemo was battling the cancer as best he could.
Morgan debated within himself again. Killing what he could consider an innocent went against his principles. George Sweeney had done nothing to him, except bring Jack into the world and raise him with his values. But the death of Jack’s father would cause a hurtful blow to Jack. And that was the whole purpose.
He nodded, and began: What do you have to live for, George?
He received images of Jack, and Raina, and other members of Jack’s family. Morgan commanded, You have nothing to live for. The images vanished. Immediately he was washed over with a deep depression. Morgan pressed the emotion with his empathic powers. You will die a horrible, painful death and no one will care. You will be racked with cancer everywhere, and there is nothing you can do. Nothing. Give up now, old man.
Morgan retreated, before he got swallowed up by the depression George was creating. The cancer was held back almost by the force of his will. Now it had free reign.
Morgan bent his head and shifted back to nova, letting Sable take control.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Grim finished the last of the wards on the doorway to the magic room. These were his strongest wards, so that even the most magically dense person would at least feel uncomfortable, and the more magically sensitive would be certainly repelled. He stripped down naked and entered the circle with his items, the magic book, the anatomy book with other pictures, and a piece of a shirt.
He set up everything on the floor, then looked to the quarters. The sentries were already in place. He turned to the items in the center and knelt on the floor.
Turning to a page in the book, he pressed his hand on it. Words flowed up, words in modern language, because what needed to be done needed concepts from the modern era. His other hand took up the shirt. He took his hand from the book and pulled open the marked page in the anatomy book. He studied the pictures again.
He had brought with him two chess pieces, a black king and a white bishop. He chose those for what they symbolized - a queen could do anything. A rook advanced straight on. A knight went around things, harassing the target but doing no real damage. The bishop, however, could seemingly come from out of nowhere and take the target - however, he usually needed support. That would come later.
He set the king down, and the bishop next to it. He touched the king. "You, are the cancer," he said, and the king glowed. He touched the bishop with the same hand. "You are the chemotherapy, and the will." It glowed green. He scooped them both up with one hand, and wrapped them in the shirt.
He turned to the pictures in the book, and held the shirt and the chess pieces in his left hand. He began to recite the words of the spell, simple commands and desires that included medical terminology that seemed to come naturally to him. By the time he finished the spell, he looked at the bundle in his hand. He opened the bundle. A blob of black plastic lay in the palm of his hand, the white plastic of the king absorbed. He wrapped the plastic back up in the shirt, and wrapped a blue ribbon five times around it.
Grim rose and dismissed the circle, then turned to the door. The sentries were patrolling the quarters calmly. Nothing had come in. He took the items with him out of the room. They would be used for the final third of the spell, so he had to put them away somewhere safe.
He set up everything on the floor, then looked to the quarters. The sentries were already in place. He turned to the items in the center and knelt on the floor.
Turning to a page in the book, he pressed his hand on it. Words flowed up, words in modern language, because what needed to be done needed concepts from the modern era. His other hand took up the shirt. He took his hand from the book and pulled open the marked page in the anatomy book. He studied the pictures again.
He had brought with him two chess pieces, a black king and a white bishop. He chose those for what they symbolized - a queen could do anything. A rook advanced straight on. A knight went around things, harassing the target but doing no real damage. The bishop, however, could seemingly come from out of nowhere and take the target - however, he usually needed support. That would come later.
He set the king down, and the bishop next to it. He touched the king. "You, are the cancer," he said, and the king glowed. He touched the bishop with the same hand. "You are the chemotherapy, and the will." It glowed green. He scooped them both up with one hand, and wrapped them in the shirt.
He turned to the pictures in the book, and held the shirt and the chess pieces in his left hand. He began to recite the words of the spell, simple commands and desires that included medical terminology that seemed to come naturally to him. By the time he finished the spell, he looked at the bundle in his hand. He opened the bundle. A blob of black plastic lay in the palm of his hand, the white plastic of the king absorbed. He wrapped the plastic back up in the shirt, and wrapped a blue ribbon five times around it.
Grim rose and dismissed the circle, then turned to the door. The sentries were patrolling the quarters calmly. Nothing had come in. He took the items with him out of the room. They would be used for the final third of the spell, so he had to put them away somewhere safe.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Aceon lit down in Kings Row, her heightened senses picking up the sounds of gunshots. That wasn’t unusual in the Row, but here, in the farthest north of the area, it was. She scanned the area with her super-sight, her vision picking out the rats in the crates before lighting on something beyond. Then she smelled it – blood.
She dashed around the corner of the abandoned warehouse and saw a man there, lying in a pool of blood. Suddenly, she saw that purple aura around her, the aura that preceded her seizures. No, she thought, not now, I need to help this man—
She collapsed, as if a puppetmaster had cut her strings. Usually she would come out of these seizures feeling drained and disoriented, but she would be able to function and continue on with her duties. This time, she didn’t wake up.
If anyone had been in the area around them, one would have seen a glowing purple orb suspended in the air above her. It hovered along and stopped over the man’s stomach. It landed on it.
The human was alive, but barely. Its heart beat once…once…the purple ball went to the man’s heart and touched his chest, seeping into a wound that was there. Once…once…once-once.
Who are you? Came a telepathic voice that surprised the orb.
The purple orb pressed deeper into the man’s chest. I am Nictus. You are injured.
Why are you helping me?
The orb did not answer, and fully seeped into the wound. The wound sealed behind it, and immediately the orb understood who the man was, and why he was lying here in his own blood. The orb, now spread throughout the human’s body, superimposed upon his flesh, healed the wounds, spit out the bullets, and made the man breathe again.
Morgan Thomas opened his eyes, now tinged indigo from their former blue. He took deep breaths, smelling the blood on the ground. He looked over to see a girl lying limp on the ground nearby.
Who are you? He asked the question telepathically again, to whatever it was that was in his body now.
I am called Sable. I am here to heal you.
Why?
Dare he give his host the true reason?
But his host seemed to read his intentions – She was useless to you?
Sable waited. We have time to discuss it, he said, and pulled a blanket of death over their eyes. For all intents and purposes, Morgan Thomas was dead.
Two months later…
Stan had just finished his rounds, checking on the gravesites, when he heard a rumbling come from a few yards behind him. He turned to see a headstone moving, and the plot of land below it growing bigger, and bigger – then a concrete slab flew off through the dirt, landing just a few feet away from him.
He was too frightened to scream, when he saw the huge dwarf form of the Kheldian come crawling out of the vault. His mind registered “Goth Kheldian,” and he almost burst out laughing, he was so terrified. The Kheldian cleared the vault and lit its purple eyes on Stan. After wetting his pants, there wasn’t much else he could do but run. He couldn’t even do that.
It roared at him, slashed the air in front of him, threateningly. Then it approached, and Stan finally had the sense to turn and run. He tripped over a headstone and went sprawling onto another grave. The Kheldian advanced. Then it reached down and touched him – making him suddenly cold and pass out.
The Kheldian shifted forms, turning into a man in a police uniform, sans hat. Didn’t realize they bury you with all your clothes, he said to Sable.
We know what we want, Sable said, returning to the task at hand. I have my vengeance, and you have yours.
Let’s work on yours first, Sable. He cracked his knuckles. I’m going to need the practice.
She dashed around the corner of the abandoned warehouse and saw a man there, lying in a pool of blood. Suddenly, she saw that purple aura around her, the aura that preceded her seizures. No, she thought, not now, I need to help this man—
She collapsed, as if a puppetmaster had cut her strings. Usually she would come out of these seizures feeling drained and disoriented, but she would be able to function and continue on with her duties. This time, she didn’t wake up.
If anyone had been in the area around them, one would have seen a glowing purple orb suspended in the air above her. It hovered along and stopped over the man’s stomach. It landed on it.
The human was alive, but barely. Its heart beat once…once…the purple ball went to the man’s heart and touched his chest, seeping into a wound that was there. Once…once…once-once.
Who are you? Came a telepathic voice that surprised the orb.
The purple orb pressed deeper into the man’s chest. I am Nictus. You are injured.
Why are you helping me?
The orb did not answer, and fully seeped into the wound. The wound sealed behind it, and immediately the orb understood who the man was, and why he was lying here in his own blood. The orb, now spread throughout the human’s body, superimposed upon his flesh, healed the wounds, spit out the bullets, and made the man breathe again.
Morgan Thomas opened his eyes, now tinged indigo from their former blue. He took deep breaths, smelling the blood on the ground. He looked over to see a girl lying limp on the ground nearby.
Who are you? He asked the question telepathically again, to whatever it was that was in his body now.
I am called Sable. I am here to heal you.
Why?
Dare he give his host the true reason?
But his host seemed to read his intentions – She was useless to you?
Sable waited. We have time to discuss it, he said, and pulled a blanket of death over their eyes. For all intents and purposes, Morgan Thomas was dead.
Two months later…
Stan had just finished his rounds, checking on the gravesites, when he heard a rumbling come from a few yards behind him. He turned to see a headstone moving, and the plot of land below it growing bigger, and bigger – then a concrete slab flew off through the dirt, landing just a few feet away from him.
He was too frightened to scream, when he saw the huge dwarf form of the Kheldian come crawling out of the vault. His mind registered “Goth Kheldian,” and he almost burst out laughing, he was so terrified. The Kheldian cleared the vault and lit its purple eyes on Stan. After wetting his pants, there wasn’t much else he could do but run. He couldn’t even do that.
It roared at him, slashed the air in front of him, threateningly. Then it approached, and Stan finally had the sense to turn and run. He tripped over a headstone and went sprawling onto another grave. The Kheldian advanced. Then it reached down and touched him – making him suddenly cold and pass out.
The Kheldian shifted forms, turning into a man in a police uniform, sans hat. Didn’t realize they bury you with all your clothes, he said to Sable.
We know what we want, Sable said, returning to the task at hand. I have my vengeance, and you have yours.
Let’s work on yours first, Sable. He cracked his knuckles. I’m going to need the practice.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Grim stripped down to nothing and headed to his circle, carrying the magic book, a book on anatomy, a picture of cancer cells, and a couple of pieces of a brown t-shirt. It was cold in the room, and he started getting goose pimples.
He set down the books, and raised his arms. Immediately, he felt the guardians of the quarters take their places, and the circle warmed up considerably. As a precaution, he generated layers upon layers of circles, with guardians and spirits of all forms. They were all protectors, facing outward from their places or pacing the line. He reached down and picked up the piece of shirt, and held it in his left hand.
Grim opened the book on anatomy and turned to the page that showed the chest cavity. He took the picture of cancer cells – green puffs with elongated tentacles – and put it on the opposite page. He studied the pictures, adding them together in his mind, imagining the green cells all over the lungs in the anatomy book. He could almost see it on the page.
He closed his eyes, holding it in his mind’s eye, looking at it from all sides. The green cells moved, tentacles digging into flesh, and multiplying, always multiplying. More tentacles invaded more flesh, turning it into grey, dead cells. Ball-like white cells attempted to fight back the onslaught, but were outnumbered. Other cells of other colors, probably the drugs, also attempted to wrap around the cells. They succeeded in some, but there were too many to attack.
He opened his eyes, still picturing the cellular battle. He opened the magic book and put his hand on the blank page. Words flowed up immediately, and the picture in his mind was there as well. It all seemed three-dimensional to him, watching warring armies. Grim read the words aloud, always keeping that picture before him.
He felt something at the edges of the outer circles, but he ignored it.
The drug-cells did not increase, but became stronger. They did not become more aggressive, but once attached to a green cell, they were able to quickly suffocate it and turn it grey. Then the white cells joined the fray, and they multiplied. This would slow the cancer down, which was the purpose of this spell.
He looked at the piece of shirt in his hand. He nodded once, and threw it up in the air. It burst into white flame, its ashes falling gently around him. The spell was released, and would wing its way to the essence on the shirt.
Now he turned his attention to what was nagging at his outer circles. Spirits had congregated at that point led by a white lion at the southern quarter, the doorway to the room.
Bladeless stood there, staring at him. Grim turned away from him, and began taking down the circles. He raised his arms up again, and felt the energy collapse inward, concentrating itself in the circle that he was in. The guardians departed at their leisure, the lion remaining behind, pacing, warily watching Bladeless.
Grim pointed at the circle, taking in the remaining concentrated energy in himself. He felt tingly all over, and the began to feel the cold air of the room again.
“Can I help you with anything?” Grim snapped. As soon as he spoke, the lion disappeared.
“What were you doing?”
“None of your business.” He bent and gathered the books and items. He would need them again soon.
“Why are you naked?”
“That’s also none of your business.” He stepped out of the circle and went to his clothes at the doorway.
“What’s your name?”
“Grimaulkin,” he replied, pulling on his pants. “They call me Grim.”
“What did I do to you?”
“You want to know?" He got in close. "You raped me. You abandoned my best friend in Grandville, leaving her to get gutted by Captain Mako. You beat the shit out of my other friend, Idaho – a few times. And you got Frost, who you don’t deserve.”
“I ‘got’ Frost?”
“He was your boyfriend, Mase.”
He blinked. “That was why…”
Grim leaned back, got his shirt. “Why what?”
“I wanted to hold him.”
“And what did he do?”
“Nothing. Like he was forcing himself to be nice but was really sad.”
Grim put the shirt on, and when his head cleared the neck, he said, “Maybe he realizes now what you are.”
“But I don’t remember what I did!”
Grim said, “Your memories may be gone, but your nature remains. You’re a murderer, a rapist and a betrayer. Embrace it and get the hell out of here.” Grim forced his way past Bladeless, carrying his items.
Bladeless left the base, looking for peace.
He set down the books, and raised his arms. Immediately, he felt the guardians of the quarters take their places, and the circle warmed up considerably. As a precaution, he generated layers upon layers of circles, with guardians and spirits of all forms. They were all protectors, facing outward from their places or pacing the line. He reached down and picked up the piece of shirt, and held it in his left hand.
Grim opened the book on anatomy and turned to the page that showed the chest cavity. He took the picture of cancer cells – green puffs with elongated tentacles – and put it on the opposite page. He studied the pictures, adding them together in his mind, imagining the green cells all over the lungs in the anatomy book. He could almost see it on the page.
He closed his eyes, holding it in his mind’s eye, looking at it from all sides. The green cells moved, tentacles digging into flesh, and multiplying, always multiplying. More tentacles invaded more flesh, turning it into grey, dead cells. Ball-like white cells attempted to fight back the onslaught, but were outnumbered. Other cells of other colors, probably the drugs, also attempted to wrap around the cells. They succeeded in some, but there were too many to attack.
He opened his eyes, still picturing the cellular battle. He opened the magic book and put his hand on the blank page. Words flowed up immediately, and the picture in his mind was there as well. It all seemed three-dimensional to him, watching warring armies. Grim read the words aloud, always keeping that picture before him.
He felt something at the edges of the outer circles, but he ignored it.
The drug-cells did not increase, but became stronger. They did not become more aggressive, but once attached to a green cell, they were able to quickly suffocate it and turn it grey. Then the white cells joined the fray, and they multiplied. This would slow the cancer down, which was the purpose of this spell.
He looked at the piece of shirt in his hand. He nodded once, and threw it up in the air. It burst into white flame, its ashes falling gently around him. The spell was released, and would wing its way to the essence on the shirt.
Now he turned his attention to what was nagging at his outer circles. Spirits had congregated at that point led by a white lion at the southern quarter, the doorway to the room.
Bladeless stood there, staring at him. Grim turned away from him, and began taking down the circles. He raised his arms up again, and felt the energy collapse inward, concentrating itself in the circle that he was in. The guardians departed at their leisure, the lion remaining behind, pacing, warily watching Bladeless.
Grim pointed at the circle, taking in the remaining concentrated energy in himself. He felt tingly all over, and the began to feel the cold air of the room again.
“Can I help you with anything?” Grim snapped. As soon as he spoke, the lion disappeared.
“What were you doing?”
“None of your business.” He bent and gathered the books and items. He would need them again soon.
“Why are you naked?”
“That’s also none of your business.” He stepped out of the circle and went to his clothes at the doorway.
“What’s your name?”
“Grimaulkin,” he replied, pulling on his pants. “They call me Grim.”
“What did I do to you?”
“You want to know?" He got in close. "You raped me. You abandoned my best friend in Grandville, leaving her to get gutted by Captain Mako. You beat the shit out of my other friend, Idaho – a few times. And you got Frost, who you don’t deserve.”
“I ‘got’ Frost?”
“He was your boyfriend, Mase.”
He blinked. “That was why…”
Grim leaned back, got his shirt. “Why what?”
“I wanted to hold him.”
“And what did he do?”
“Nothing. Like he was forcing himself to be nice but was really sad.”
Grim put the shirt on, and when his head cleared the neck, he said, “Maybe he realizes now what you are.”
“But I don’t remember what I did!”
Grim said, “Your memories may be gone, but your nature remains. You’re a murderer, a rapist and a betrayer. Embrace it and get the hell out of here.” Grim forced his way past Bladeless, carrying his items.
Bladeless left the base, looking for peace.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Timetripper, in more casual clothes for once, looked over at Grimaulkin. Grim was sitting quietly in the library, his legs folded under him on the couch, reading a book. She quietly walked over to him. “Hiya, Grim.”
He looked up, closed the book. “Hey. You got my message.”
“Yeah.” She sat down on the couch next to him. “Grim, we’ve never kicked anyone out.”
“Things are different now, Trip. We’re hunted.”
“People need to know they’re safe. That’s what we’re here for.”
“We’re not the goddamn Salvation Army! We’re not a soup kitchen, either!”
“What about the homeless man you brought in, the painter?”
“He’s got magic. I don’t know why, but I think I need to watch him.”
“Luther was lost when he came here, Grim.”
“And he’s fine now. He doesn’t need us!”
“So you want me to kick him out because of his past? We’ve accepted everyone, regardless of their past.”
“That has to change, Trip. It’s a dangerous world out there. People are out to get us.”
“You’re sounding paranoid.”
“You didn’t get your dick cut in half!”
Trip bit her lip. “All right, I’ll ask him.”
“No need,” came a deeply accented voice from below them. Trip and Grim looked over the railing to see a man in black and grey standing there, a knapsack over his shoulder. He looked up at them. “I have cleaned out my locker.” He set down the keycard – and something else - on the table.
“Luther,” Trip called, and swung off the couch and ran down the stairs. He waited for her to go to him. “Wait, let me give you a letter of recommendation, something…”
“Nein,” he responded. “It is better to go where they do not wish to know of my past.”
“Where are you going to go?”
He shrugged. “I do not know.” He nodded to Trip. “Danke, mien fraulein, for all you have done for me.”
Trip wiped her eyes. Grim rolled his eyes and went back to his book. Luther left without a backwards glance.
Trip went over to the table and picked up the keycard. She looked down at the other thing he had left.
His hero ID.
He looked up, closed the book. “Hey. You got my message.”
“Yeah.” She sat down on the couch next to him. “Grim, we’ve never kicked anyone out.”
“Things are different now, Trip. We’re hunted.”
“People need to know they’re safe. That’s what we’re here for.”
“We’re not the goddamn Salvation Army! We’re not a soup kitchen, either!”
“What about the homeless man you brought in, the painter?”
“He’s got magic. I don’t know why, but I think I need to watch him.”
“Luther was lost when he came here, Grim.”
“And he’s fine now. He doesn’t need us!”
“So you want me to kick him out because of his past? We’ve accepted everyone, regardless of their past.”
“That has to change, Trip. It’s a dangerous world out there. People are out to get us.”
“You’re sounding paranoid.”
“You didn’t get your dick cut in half!”
Trip bit her lip. “All right, I’ll ask him.”
“No need,” came a deeply accented voice from below them. Trip and Grim looked over the railing to see a man in black and grey standing there, a knapsack over his shoulder. He looked up at them. “I have cleaned out my locker.” He set down the keycard – and something else - on the table.
“Luther,” Trip called, and swung off the couch and ran down the stairs. He waited for her to go to him. “Wait, let me give you a letter of recommendation, something…”
“Nein,” he responded. “It is better to go where they do not wish to know of my past.”
“Where are you going to go?”
He shrugged. “I do not know.” He nodded to Trip. “Danke, mien fraulein, for all you have done for me.”
Trip wiped her eyes. Grim rolled his eyes and went back to his book. Luther left without a backwards glance.
Trip went over to the table and picked up the keycard. She looked down at the other thing he had left.
His hero ID.
Magic and advanced tech could work, and Grim is open-minded enough to do it. With his new spell books, he can perform rituals that may be able to do what he wants.
Jack’s father has lung cancer. There are two kinds, small-cell lung carcinoma and non-small cell lung carcinoma. Since his father is on chemotherapy, he would have small cell lung carcinoma.
Chemo is the use of drugs to treat cancer. Wiki: “Palliative chemotherapy is given without curative intent, but simply to decrease tumor load and increase life expectancy. For these regimens, a better toxicity profile is generally expected.” Grim would have to have an idea of what drugs are being used, so as to not counteract or stimulate them. Again, Wiki: “In small cell lung carcinoma, cisplatin and etoposide are most commonly used.”
How these drugs act with the cancer is that they cause “programmed cell death”, this is a cell death which has intracellular (within cells) causes. The drugs attempt to stop the cancer cells from multiplying.
Grim can do a few things here. First, he doesn’t want a cure, so he can’t just exorcise the cancer. He can get some of the drug, make it more potent. If he does that, he will worsen the side effects. He did ask Jack for something of his father’s – his father’s essence. He can use sympathetic magic with that.
Now, the spell. It should address that he wants the cancer to slow, to go backwards, and eventually go away. This is working with time, and Grim’s not very good at that. However, we can use the spell book so that he learns. The spell should be in parts, such as for now, the cancer stagnates, then maybe a month later it will lessen, and a month later it will go away. This gives Jack’s character plenty of room to move, in case the cancer is more aggressive than they thought and they want more tragedy.
Jack’s father has lung cancer. There are two kinds, small-cell lung carcinoma and non-small cell lung carcinoma. Since his father is on chemotherapy, he would have small cell lung carcinoma.
Chemo is the use of drugs to treat cancer. Wiki: “Palliative chemotherapy is given without curative intent, but simply to decrease tumor load and increase life expectancy. For these regimens, a better toxicity profile is generally expected.” Grim would have to have an idea of what drugs are being used, so as to not counteract or stimulate them. Again, Wiki: “In small cell lung carcinoma, cisplatin and etoposide are most commonly used.”
How these drugs act with the cancer is that they cause “programmed cell death”, this is a cell death which has intracellular (within cells) causes. The drugs attempt to stop the cancer cells from multiplying.
Grim can do a few things here. First, he doesn’t want a cure, so he can’t just exorcise the cancer. He can get some of the drug, make it more potent. If he does that, he will worsen the side effects. He did ask Jack for something of his father’s – his father’s essence. He can use sympathetic magic with that.
Now, the spell. It should address that he wants the cancer to slow, to go backwards, and eventually go away. This is working with time, and Grim’s not very good at that. However, we can use the spell book so that he learns. The spell should be in parts, such as for now, the cancer stagnates, then maybe a month later it will lessen, and a month later it will go away. This gives Jack’s character plenty of room to move, in case the cancer is more aggressive than they thought and they want more tragedy.