A Scripta

(Having taken place before the events depicted in "Shifting Characters Without a Clutch")

All mages carried wands or athames (pronounced ah-THE-may in some circles). These were used as a ritualistic tool for directing energy. However, Thornites used these things differently. Their athames were from the thorn tree in Nerva, used for cutting flesh as well as directing energy.

Grim was no different. Grim had gone through two thorn athames in his time with the Circle, and gave them up when he left them. He had two specially made, silver ones, and kept one for his use, the twin to the one he had used to bind his demoness. Grim destroyed after it was realized he didn't need it because of the white light he was able to direct.

Now he needed a new one. He could easily go into any magic shop and pick one up, but most of the time they were already consecrated or at the very least tainted by its maker. The other option was to find one, and quick. He went to Astoria. He could pilfer one off a Banished Pantheon shaman and cleanse it.

Grim took out his divining rod. Banished Pantheon were everywhere, but he needed something particular. He pictured what he wanted, the "essence" that would be in the blade, and he followed the rod's direction. It brought him deep into Astoria, to the actual cemetary there. He continued into the catacombs under the hill, and stopped at a wall.

"Well, that doesn't help," he said, scratching his head. "I didn't think I'd need C-4."

"You don't."

Grim whirled around in a crouch and faced a man dressed in a simple brown tunic, and wearing a winged helmet on his black curly hair. Grim noticed his winged sandals. His gaze went back up, and Grim noted he filled out that tunic pretty nicely. The man smiled, "Thank you."

"You heard that?"

"It's pretty obvious."

"Let me guess. You're Hermes."

"What gave it away?"

"The wings."

"Mmmhmm..." He then took out something from his tunic and tossed it on the ground. "You're going to need this."

It was a simple dagger, its plain sheath glittering silver in the dimness, but its handle was black and seemed to suck light into it.

"You're the trickster god," Grim said, leary.

"Why does everyone right away think that? I'm a messenger god, too. That's a message to you from Hades."

"So I am a reaper."

"You work for him, he might as well give you the tools of the trade."

Grim bent down and picked it up. It thrummed in his hand, and the sheath grew brighter. "Do I have to claim souls when I unsheath it, or does it demand blood, or..?"

"What do you think this is, some fantasy novel?"

Grim unsheathed the blade. It was silver, and finely edged.

"However, it does have some special properties."

"I knew it."

"Oh, you'll like them. Not only does it rend flesh, but it also rends souls. You can cut the soul away from the body instead of yanking it out like you used to do. More humane that way, don't you think?"

"A humane reaper. That's an oxymoron if I ever heard one."

"You're Hades' version of Dr. Kavorkian."

Grim looked up at Hermes and chuckled. "You're not what I expected from a god."

"They're all stuck up." He smiled. "You could serve me instead."

"Uh, no. I don't like stealing things. Life force, no problem, but not people's stuff." He examined the blade. "What else does it do?"

"You never have to sharpen it. It hurts anything with a soul."

"Provided I hit them."

"Yes, you need to have physical contact with them."

"Can I use it as a director of energy?"

"Once it's bloodied you can't."

Grim sheathed the blade. "Does it have a name?"

"Scythe."

"You're kidding. That's original."

"I'm not the one making this stuff up. Take it up with Hades."

"No, no, thank you."

"Thought so." He hovered in the air. "Michael. Like Marcus said about the Pius, don't let it consume you. Don't let this consume you, either." With that, he flew straight up in the air, and through the rock above them.