Dwindling Glory - Lament of the Fallen IC

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Malkuthe Highwind, Sep 20, 2012.

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  1. Armored boots made an audible squelch as they tread upon the wet earth in front of the grandiose church. An unearthly light illuminated the stalks of grass that were burdened by droplets of water. High above, the skies were roiling with brooding clouds, shook by peals of thunder and illuminated by searing flashes of lightning. The pouring rain was a curtain that refused to cease, blanketing the land with a melancholic haze that the howling wind did nothing to quell.

    The screaming gale was accompanied by the creaking limbs of the trees, now seemingly stripped of their leaves. Hundreds of little pieces of detritus flew every which way, leaving tracks of mud on whatever surface was unfortunate enough to be touched. There was a resounding clang of steel upon stone when the strange figure strode onto the marble pathway that led up to the Church's pallid front steps. The stone gave off a diffused milky glow as the stranger walked by, illuminated by his celestial light.

    Through the slats of the church's shutters, flickered the puny lights of candles. Their yellow-red flames danced, protected from the wind that would kill them. The power was out. Even the religious weren't protected from the wrath of nature. The stranger smirked at the thought. At least the Lord did not waste energy protecting the pathetic, inferior beings that were known as the humans.

    He strode up the stairs and threw open the heavy wooden doors of the church. They banged against the wall so hard that the gilded handles got dinged. One by one, the candles died as the raging, bitter wind blew through the doors that still stood ajar. Pretty soon, the only light left in the church was that of the robed, hooded stranger. He strode forward, past the empty pews, across the marble floor, through the fluted colonnades and under the crystal chandeliers, paying no heed to the symbols of the church's power and wealth.

    Apart from the streams of water that ran down the stranger's clothes, a steady dripping echoed in the sacred place.


    A dark crimson droplet rolled off of the stranger's hand, staining the pristine floor with its sanguine hue. By the time he stood in front of the blessed sacrament, there was a trail of blood all the way down the center aisle. He looked up and gazed at the sacrament, its gold coat and delicate engravings illuminated sinisterly by the occasional flashes of lightning. "Bless me, Father..." he whispered.

    He threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep, resounding laugh that echoed off the domed ceiling as the church bells began to toll to signify midnight. Their tolling was a sonorous clangor. Every note shook the foundations of the church and caused a fine rain of dust to fall upon the stranger's shoulders. Looking up, the stranger yelled "Bless me, Father, for I have s--"

    "Who are you?!" came a strangled yelp from nearby. The stranger did not pay any heed to it. "I'm going to call the police!"

    "Bless me, Father, for I have severed the life of your foe!" With a deafening clap of thunder and a blinding flash of light, two radiant wings, dripping blood from the tip of every feather unfurled behind the stranger and in an instant he was gone.
    Alex frowned. The recent murders had had him sitting on the edge of his seat in grim anticipation. His hackles were prickling at the back of his neck and he wanted nothing more than to destroy whoever killed those humans. For the first two, he had been pretty apathetic, but Dr. Moore's death was something that struck a little closer to home. Literally. He remembered the professor from his years at the university, though he had never had him as a professor himself. More recently, the pack's dealings with the Hand had brought him back into contact with the professor.

    Whoever had done the murder did not seem to show any interest in covering up his/her tracks. There was blood everywhere, and even the sigil burned into the floor had been pretty obvious. Of course, the current story, at least for the humans, was that Moore had been dabbling in the occult and had perhaps wronged someone who would do such a thing to him. Anyone who knew of the darker side of the world would know better.

    Even Alex, who had never really had any propensity for studying the Sigillum systems, knew that this was probably beyond the abilities of just some "occultist." In fact one of the druids that was wedded into the pack and happened to be on the police force had pointed out to Alex that there were some rather powerful wards surrounding the house. Unless someone was willing to expend the energy required to create sigils that would counter them, the crime could only have been committed by a really powerful creature of magic.

    He thought back to the gilded dagger that he kept safe in a place he knew none but his closest friends would ever bother to look. He buried his face in the palm of his hands and groaned into them. There was a sinking feeling in his gut that this was the beginning of the events that Jason had warned him about. This was one of those days that he wished his lover was still alive. Jason could've helped him decipher the sigil. Jason could've helped everyone.

    But alas, Jason was no more, probably being tortured in Hell. Alex shook his head as anger began to well in his chest. He would have vengeance for Jason, God will fall. He also had a sneaking suspicion that it was God who had killed Moore too. Perhaps further examination of his journal would bring to light more clues.

    Alex walked out of the break room and went back to work, flitting through the pages of the journal with tweezers and a magnifying glass. If Alex's suspicion was right, they would need the help of the True Feeder Covens and the Drakkan Holds. He both hoped for and against what would probably be the beginning of war.
  2. Adaline Taylor

    ...I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; When your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer...

    Adaline shook in her nightmare upon hearing the verses in her head. A shiver of doubt and blood chilling fear curled inside her gut and she almost felt herself being sucked within it; like a dying star bursts within itself. These nightmares were constant for her. She would scream for escape inside them with her conscious mind, but she could never wake up. Always the same dream, always.

    Angels swirling around her. Majestic, graceful, cold. They would look upon her as a master does to its slave. Holding hands out with gentle, lulling words of peace and eternal life. So tempting. It often reminded her of a black widow luring in its mate. Promise of a seductive need only to be given a bitter end. She would be walking through a hallway, the walls streaked with blood. Every step made her ears ring and the oxygen around her fail to fill her lungs more and more.

    No. Please, God. No. She would pray... beg to God every time...only to be ignored. She stopped at the door at the end of the hallway and everything stopped. Her ragged breathing, the angels taunting promises, time. Only her heartbeat remained. Its beat reminding her of the fear within it. Her mind screamed as her hand pushed the door open, she knew what was in this room. Why?
    Inside lain her husband. His body twisted grotest on the floor and blood pouring around him. Burnt symbols on the floor where he laid. The retching smell of death. Her breath caught in her lungs and she could taste the bile.
    I can't. No! I can't... She sobbed to her Savior. But why? As always, he left her. There in the crib... a tiny hand laid through the wooden bars. Not moving.

    Fear not, I'm with you.... A new voice entered her dreams. God? But... it was that of a woman's. But the words brought a strange warmth and she could feel herself being pushed out of her mind. An almost sensation of sharing her body overtook her.

    Adaline still woke up screaming. Her body pouring sweat, bound in sheets from tossing and turning. Blinding light spilled in through her apartment window. She turned her head quickly and gave her eyes a chance to regain sight. It was almost 11:00 a.m. She fell back on the bed and caught her breath. Her mind numb. However, that one line kept playing in her head, "Fear not, I'm with you."

    God?" She asked the empty room. But the silent answer was no surprise to her. There was never an answer.
  3. Pavlana thrummed her fingers on the armrest of her seat. The airplane was nearly to Canada which was the next destination of her international book tour. Her book was one on psychology and criminology. She was actually a popular author despite her religious practices. It was good to know that the humans of Earth were still open to a change; it meant that there was still a chance to save them. Pavlana smiled and began tapping "Amazing Grace" on the armrest. Today was a good day filled with blessings, but Pavlana's face was a stoic one out of habit.

    "Will you stop it?!" the fat priest to her right asked as his face became a bright red. "That incessant tapping is driving me nuts, dammit!" he barked as he clenched a crucifix in his hand.

    It infuriated Pavlana that a "man of the Holy Spirit" would dare to swear while he held one of the emblems of the Most High in his fat, sweaty palm. Pavlana clenched her fist and her jaw, about to snap at him and give him a good talking to about morals. Humans were such a hypocritical breed, and it infuriated her to no end. She opened her mouth and nearly began her lecture when she was stopped.

    Love them...


    Love them as I love you.

    Sighing, Pavlana shut her eyes and touched every tooth with her tongue as counted a blessing for each one. When she was done and calm, she looked at the still upset priest and smiled at him in an apologetic manner. "I'm sorry, Father. I've been very excited to land in Vancouver since the next destination of my book tour is there. I hope you can forgive me," she said touching the pendant on her chest fad a reminder that she was commanded to love this idiot human even though she wanted to bash his brain in.

    The old man sighed apologized for his overreaction. For the rest of the plane ride, Pavlana thought about the recent news headlines concerning the various murders in Vancouver. From the details she found, Pavlana could tell that this was obviously the work of one of the few supernatural beings left with that amount of power. It was pathetic that a creature of that caliber would waste their abilities in such a way. This was only another sign of the end times that John prophesied. Smiling at the thought of finally going home to be with her father in heaven, Pavlana looked out the window of the airplane.

    Once they landed, Pavlana waited for her publisher in the lobby and began to play hymns on her violin. Most of the people scowled and moved on, but a few actually stopped to listen for a little while. When her publisher arrived, he took her to their limo and let her inside before shuffling in and telling the driver where to head. Her publisher was a man of large faith; he was a member of the Church of Christ denomination and he was one of the few that tolerated her beliefs and was a human. On the way, they spoke of new book ideas and the locations for her tours.

    When they finally made it to the hotel, Pavlana was left alone in the privacy of her own room. She sighed as she laid in her bed and stared at the ceiling. It was hard...being amongst humans and being able to almost feel all of their helplessness wafting through her. Such feelings gave Pavlana a reason to keep on reaching out to them. Standing, she pulled a package of chimp blood out of her suitcase. It was the closest thing to human blood and was almost as nutrient rich, but it was disgusting. She poured it into a coffee mug and added three packs of sugar before downing it all in one gulp.

    "Elyon, lover of my soul, grant the humans peace in these times of great suffering. Let your love shine through me like a grand beacon and let me be an example to the multitudes," Pavlana said as she laid on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

    I have great things planned for you, my child...
  4. Jillian Aiya

    "Yeah. Yeah, it really is crazy mom. Mom, I'm fine. Really." Jillian shifted the phone from one ear to the other. It was going on a full hour that she had been on the phone with her mother, the last twenty of it spent repeating almost the same thing and trying to hang up. Finally giving in, she interrupted her mother's third go-round of disbelief at the religious environment of the world today. "Hey, mom? I've really got to be getting back to work. Deadlines and stuff. I'll call again next week; tell dad I love him. You too. Byebye."

    Letting out a slow breath as she laid the phone down on the coffee table, Jill flopped back against the cushions of her couch. What she had told her mother wasn't strictly true, but if she had to hear her disbelief and subsequent opinion on Vincent's death one more time she might just scream. Or say something nasty. Or just... brood quietly. That was the most likely option. She just wasn't much of a fighter. And it wasn't as if it were her mother's fault. She was just trying to help in the only way that distance would allow. Jill blew a stray piece of hair out of her face and rose to her feet.

    Her mother actually knew her better than anyone and could tell she was hurting. Dr. Moore had been a friend and colleague, even if she hadn't yet had the chance to actually work with him. His discoveries early in his career had been an inspiration when she was deciding on her own. After sitting in on a lecture at BCU she had introduced herself and asked if he would mind to start up a correspondence with her. He had been very polite, but she knew the spiel. She was very surprised when he actually followed through and through email had become professional friends.

    And now he was dead.

    They hadn't published photographs of the circle burned into the floor around his body- to avoid copycats or to withhold details only the killer would know, of course- but something about the description gnawed at her curiosity. She stepped into her bedroom and over to the closet, absentmindedly pulling out clothes for the day.

    He had recently gone to the UK and had mentioned discovering sigils where they hadn't been seen before at Stonehenge. After that, he had begun to get cagey and mentioned sleepless nights. She had a feeling they were connected, if only she could view the scene and perhaps the journal where his personal notes were recorded. It would take all that she could, but Jillian was willing to try. She might not have been aggressive, but she was nothing if not persistent.
  5. [​IMG]

    lone, a woman gently tucked her dress to the back of her thighs as she sat down. The coolness of the afternoon shade sheltered her from the pulsing rays of the August sun. She pulled a small book from her black leather purse. Her curly blonde hair cascaded down to her bosom; her eyes were a soft hue of blue. Carefully, long slender hands opened the book to its last marked page. Everything about her was captivating and beautiful. Obviously she was a woman of fine taste. She wore a silk dress by Versace with a carefully chosen pair of heels. The color upon her lips were a deep luscious red.

    On another bench several feet away, a man sat alone as well. He, too, was a being of attractive interest. Together they would be beautiful and flawless; however, they were by no means equals. The sun is high in the sky for the woman today, but time would go on eventually for her. In the many waxings and wanings of the moon to come, her beauty will quickly dissipate like the warmth of the sun after it sets. Her golden locks will turn gray and brittle, her eyes will become dull and the rest of her will be broken down to gnarled joints and a failing mind. Soon, she will be nothing more than dust buried beneath the soil.

    She is temporary. He is undying.

    "Your sins are what will kill you," the stranger thought. "But do not fear, for the lord shall save you from the shackles that chain you to your worldly desires."

    As if cued to do so, the woman looked up from her book. Slowly, and as inconspicuously as she could, she looked around her. Was someone speaking to her? No, couldn't be - must have been her imagination. Unaffected, she returned to her reading.

    This was a one-time meeting. Their paths to never cross again, but it mattered not. She was not within his territory of responsibility, for she was a visiting American. His area of interest was with the Canadians of Vancouver. God had given him a special mission. He was to gather information about any unholy beings or humans attempting to dig too far into the case of Vincent Moore. This is why he, an angel, was in mortal guise.

    Cassius vowed to do anything it would take to serve his lord.
  6. David Stark
    Detective, Chicago P.D. Mage of the Judaic Kabbal.

    I looked down at a puddle of water at my feet and a face looked back at me. Ten years ago you'd have called it handsome, if seen in the right kind of light and all that but now? Maybe in a rugged kind of way, if you stretch it a little. It was weathered and wrinkled, tired but not defeated. It had eyes that lit up with a cold fire, ever so vigilant. They dug deep into your soul and I quickly looked away from them after a while.

    I don't want to know what kind of man I am. What I truly am - Not what I always tell people, what I always tell myself.

    I was having a smoke outside the building. Fucking no-smoking rules - Hell, at least cordon off a smoking area for those who want to, will you? Looks like there's loads of yellow tape lying around, you could use that. Bloody bureaucrats and their "suck-up to public" policies. They aren't the ones getting the cases solved, the criminals plucked off the streets so everyone could sleep comfortably at night.


    Now I was in this dingy alley surrounded by black bags of garbage. Rubbish from inside the bureau, equipment that wasn't working any more, spent bullet shells from the firing range. Shit like that. It smelt like things had died in here and no one's cleared it out and more things died and it's become some sort of graveyard, 'cept without the burials. For a moment there I had been tempted to head out to the front to smoke but I got a feeling the carbon monoxide and crap from car exhaust will kill me even faster, combined with the cigarette I had clamped between my lips.

    Took another drag from the cigarette before I stamped it out. It was almost done any way, three quarters down already and my break was ending. Not that I cared, of course but they just keep bitching. It's not like there's any work that I needed to do - aside from organising my file cabinet.

    Yep. No work to do.

    I headed back in, the faint whiff of cigarette smoke permanently woven into every fibre of my clothes; the leather of my trenchcoat, the cotton of my shirt inside. I was used to it, but the smell made some of the pussies in the office wrinkle their noses. I like to laugh in their face when that happens.

    I knew where I was headed - towards Alex Moore. We were partnered in this investigation. He was the diligent, suit and tie sort and I guess someone had to be prim and proper around here. He was probably poring through all the evidence and stuff, with those white rubber gloves and tweezers. Hard as work, as per usual. They had been investigating the recent spate of deaths, the latest of which being one Professor Moore.

    Flipping off the security guy who tended to those metal detector gates, I strode past him without even going through them. It wasn't as if I needed to go through them - all I had to do was flash my badge but it was the principle of the thing.

    I took a small detour to the break room to grab the usual styrofoam cup of coffee. Decaf. Doctor said that it was better for my heart that way.

    Heh, guess we all have to look after our health sometimes. My hand twitched, the cup of coffee shaking and I swore underneath my breath. The fucking disease that was wrecking havoc in his system now. He had approached a couple of druids he knew, inside and outside the force and all they said was that they could help slow it down but not stop it entirely. With the way events were going at the moment, I don't need to slow it down. Something else will get me before I fall to the disease.

    Probably something with fangs and claws.

    "Looks like someone's hard at work here," I said in my usual growl to the back of Alex. I sipped from the cup of coffee, walking forward to stand beside him. "Any new discoveries?" I glanced at the journal he was perusing, reading a few lines of text.

    "Things look pretty bad."

  7. Leon the Spiteful

    Leon Profile Pic 2.jpg
    Leon took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasantly crisp air and reveling in the icy tickle it brought his throat. It was cooler than usual for Vancouver this time of the year, and he couldn't be happier about it. He switched his crossed legs, glancing at a large clock mounted on the wall across the tracks. He's late...

    Sprawled languidly across a bench, he resumed his people-watching. His loose-fitting crimson tank top and frayed black shorts did very little to protect his body from the weather; however, that was precisely his intention. He watched as the meager amount of passers-by scurried into the train. It usually wasn't too busy this time of night.

    His eyes fell back down to his lap, where he had a finger holding his place in the Divina Commedia. Eyes quickly scanned the pages, flipping through them at an impressive pace, a smirk crossing his lips as he read on.

    "Read something familiar?" A deep voice grunted above him.

    Leon slowly looked up, his smirk widening. "I thought you'd never show!" He closed the book and stood, but the man before him easily towered over him.

    "Do you have it?" The man glowered.

    "Have what, now?" Leon cocked his head to the side, looking perplexed.

    The taller man grabbed him by his shirt, lifting him up to meet his intense silver gaze. "Don't play games with me, you little shit."

    Leon tossed his head back to laugh, dark brown eyes shining with amusement. "Temper, temper! Don't fret, I've it right here." He slid a small envelope from his back pocket, presenting it with the cluck of his tongue. "What's the magic word?"

    The man dropped him and swiped the envelope from Leon's grasp, tucking it quickly inside his long trench coat, hissing angrily. "If you want to stick out like a sore thumb around here and risk getting staked, by all means; in fact, I encourage it. But don't endanger those of us that wish to remain hidden.” The man turned and stalked away, his gate rigid with anger.

    Leon shook his head after the man, plopping back onto the bench, muttering under his breath, “Drakkan, always such a pleasure.” The words dripped with sarcasm.

    He turned his eyes back to his book, waiting out the rest of the night with a smirk.
    Alex was poring over the journal which had consistently, over the past half an hour, refused to give up any information without a fight. Dr. Moore had written in such a way that was typical of someone who was trying to hide something. Despite it being a journal, the more Alex looked at it, the more it seemed to be more a chronicle and a grimoire than anything else. He was just about to give up and take a break when he heard a familiar tinkle. It was David's shield-link bracelet, pretty clever, Alex had to admit, but more of a last-resort than anything from his perspective.

    He looked up into the other man's gruff face. He inwardly cringed when David spoke. The guy really needed to stop smoking. Its toll on his body was very evident in his voice. Alex just wished David listened more. He had tried to talk to David, predictably, it did not work and had ended up with the older man laughing in that same scratched voice. Alex smiled a small, tight smile at David. "In the journal? No. But I'm starting to suspect that it's more a grimoire than a journal, flipping through these pages."

    David put down the tweezers and the magnifying glass, careful to not touch the journal. "However, we might have something else to work with. This came in a few minutes ago. It seems as though Moore had a 'pen pal.' There is something in here that I think you have to see." Alex walked over to a nearby table and pointed at a folder. He looked David in the eye before turning to the others in the room.

    "May we have a moment?" When the door closed behind the last person, Alex drew the blinds closed. This was a matter for the eyes of people that knew of the hidden world, the world beyond what the eye could see. If anything, the emails contained in the folder strengthened his suspicions of what was actually happening, and it disturbed him greatly. "David, I'm afraid. I feel like war is on the horizon" Alex whispered.

    The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a few degrees. Alex slid the folder nearer and opened it, revealing the contents. The rest of the email was shallow, and of no importance to even the investigators. It was dated a few months ago and apparently, the professor had just gotten back from Stonehenge. Alex pointed out the line that had captured his attention.

    It was extremely strange, dear friend. I have been to the henge before, but I don't remember seeing these... sigils. I'm attaching a photo for you, maybe you'll have better luck deciphering them. The angular geometry of the sigils and the perfection of the circles really stand out as you might see. And, goodness, I don't believe I'm saying this, but the characters in the sigils are without a doubt Hebrew!

    Alex turned the page to reveal the photo that had been attached. He knew next to nothing about the Sigillum, but he was certain that David would have more luck determining the origin of the sigils than he. One thing Moore had forgotten to mention in his email was that the sigils seemed to have been burned into the rocks. "We might also have to track one Jillian Aiya and ask her a few questions."
  9. Skye Renzia​

    Skye stepped forward, the rain soaking him to the bone. His hair was plastered to his skull, and his eyes were shining in the moonlight. The rain energized him, and he ran. He ran as fast as he could through the rain, a howl ripping out of his throat. He grinned an evil grin, and he stopped. Then he sniffed, the smell of fear following him. Someone was afraid, and they were following him. 'This should be fun' he thought to himself, as he felt his power surge. The wolf broke free, a huge wolf standing in the place the not much smaller human was just in. He pounced forward, and tried to grab the following figure, but his side was slammed into by a mass about his size.

    Skye woke up in a cold sweat, not realized what time it was. He was paranoid, and his knife was already in his hands. Skye flipped around, not know what was going on, and he saw a figure standing in front of him. He lunged at the figure, his hand finding it's neck. They were against the wall in seconds, Skye breathing heavily, his breath smelling of the alcohol he had consumed the night before.

    The lights were turned on by a frantic move by the figure, and Skye backed away, and then dropped to one knee. A figure stood in front of him, dressed in a regal uniform. The man was about 6'4" tall, and he weight approximately 190 pounds. He was thin, had hair cut close to his skull. His eyes were blue, his hair was a black. He had a stern, but scared look on his face.

    "M'lord, I'm sorry. You startled me"

    Commander Ta'isha shook his head and smiled at Skye. "This is how a true Native should act. On their knees for those higher than them"

    Skye's eyes twinkled and he held back a retort, and a knife to the chest of his Commander. He wanted to hurt him so badly, but he couldn't. The commander took him and his people in, the refugees from a dying country.

    Skye shook his head and then pointed at the door.
    "Get the fuck out of this room now. You may be my commander, but I ain't on duty right now. So you get the fuck out, or I will throw you out. This is my room, and I'm not yours until 0800 hours. You filthy prick."

    Ta'isha gave Skye a dirty look, but he walked out slowly.

  10. Jillian Aiya

    The clock in the waiting area was three minutes slow.

    Jillian knew this because after being stuck in the waiting area of the police station for forty minutes and trying to avoid making eye contact with some of the less savory characters seated along with her in the tiny room she had checked her phone quite often if for no other reason than to be certain that time was in fact continuing to move forward. The entire experience was like a Twilight Zone episode, and she was more than ready for Rod Serling to deliver the moral in voiceover.

    She risked a glance over at the plexiglass-encased front desk, the middle aged woman behind it looking bored as she shuffled papers. The lack of urgency or care irritated Jill and she pressed her lips into a thin line, drumming her fingertips on her denim-clad leg. The woman stood slowly and grabbed her mug, waddling off on yet another coffee run and leaving the desk unattended and Jillian without a target for her silent ire. Maybe it would have been better if she had just tried to find her way to Vincent's home. If there were police there, she might be able to somehow still slip inside to view the scene as some sort of forensic expert or something. That's how it worked on the TV crime dramas, anyway.

    Maybe she had been watching too much TV lately. She really did need to get out more.

    And as much as she did want to examine the mysterious circle reportedly burned into the floor where her friend had lost his life, the thought of being able to see the bloodstains on the floor made her stomach lurch. There was no way she would be able to concentrate; not with that.

    So Jillian had decided to come to the station and ask for the officers investigating the case. They must have Vincent's journal as evidence, it just made sense. She had been told simply to wait. And so she had. For much too long in her opinion.

    Without the front desk woman to hold her attention, Jill turned her attention to the door from outside and watched a young officer awkwardly shoulder his way through, his arms laden with paper bags, a box of doughnuts, and a cardboard drink caddy of coffees balanced on top. With a quick look around, Jillian stood and quickly moved to help the rookie officer, taking a few of the paper lunch bags that were about to topple from his grasp. She flashed him a shy smile. "You looked like you could use some help, I hope you don't mind...?"

    The young officer grinned back, nearly losing the coffees in his distraction. "No, not at all. Thanks by the way. You know how it is, mention you're going to Tim's and suddenly everyone needs just one little thing. Heh." Re-balancing his load, the officer swiped a plastic I.D. badge over a sensor and the door to the station buzzed open automatically. He held the door for Jillian and she hurried through after him, smiling widely. Maybe things did work out like they do on TV sometimes.

    She helped the man to his desk, making a little conversation as she settled the bags upon it and adjusted her purse on her shoulder. Politely dodging his attempt to get her number, and excusing herself to find the friend she was meeting, Jill offered a cheerful wave as she walked away. She couldn't believe her luck! Almost giddy with her success, the full weight of her next task came crashing around Jillian's shoulders. How on earth was she could to find Vincent's journal when she didn't even know the names of the detectives on the case? Cursing her lack of forethought, Jill began looking for a directory or something and hoping that she wouldn't get caught.

    • Love Love x 1
  11. David Stark
    Detective, Chicago P.D. Mage of the Judaic Kabbal.

    "A grimoire, huh?" I left the question hanging in the air. It was barely audible, especially with my gravelly voice distorting some of the words. When Alex put down the pair of tweezers I picked it up and flipped a few pages. I didn't treat it as preciously as Alex had, with the slowness in which he flipped the pages but I made sure I didn't treat it too roughly either. Didn't want to listen to him and the people working evidence whine about the delicacy of things and shit. After skimming through a page or two, I could see what he meant. The way Alex wrote his diary ... It wasn't too personal. Not as personal as someone would write in his own diary, of course. There were things that could be questioned, gaps that could be found, even in those short one-two pages.

    I quietly considered Alex's words, especially after he looked me in the eye. Something was up, and it wasn't of any normal nature. I nodded my head and said, "Sure." I helped speed up the process of having people leave the room with some well-placed glares and words, especially on that newcomer that was rather keen on impressing and wanted to finish one more sentence - Greene, that was his name. "Oi, oi, adults wanna talk. Get out," I told him, and he almost tripped over himself on the way out. I played with the lighting on the desk, so that half of my face was shadowed and I guess I did look rather scary, intimidating. An old warhorse whose seen more than what he should have seen, done more than what he should have done. Wasn't wrong, though.

    "War." There wasn't any inflection in my tone, and I looked impassively at the unopened file that Alex had gestured to previously. War. That definitely did not sound very good. Not good at all, in fact. I couldn't help but crossed my arms and hunched my shoulders together, huddling in the confines of my own coat for some warmth that felt scarce all of a sudden. I wasn't too keen on the idea of war. Not when the forces of Above and Below were going to be involved. It was going to be pandemonium ... Hell on Earth, literally. Hell and Heaven.

    I shook my head when I saw the sigils that were photographed in the attached picture.

    "I can't make out most of it. Not at first glance, any way. I started my 'education' so much later and Saul saw the need to make me learn more practical magic than study sigils and circles all day. If you give me some time with it, a few minutes, I might be able to decipher some of it because I'm sure I've used one or two before on my items but, not right away."

    Reaching for the door, I opened it just enough for me to poke my head out and I spotted Greene drifting near one of the cubicles, probably bitching about how much of a bastard I was. Like I cared. I snapped my fingers in his general direction loudly, and barked out, "Oi. You. Yes, you. Fresh meat. C'mere." I beckoned him over with a finger and he snapped to attention like a loyal dog at the prospect of a bone. "I need you to make yourself useful. Go search up one Jillian Aiya and print me a photo of her. Chop chop, go!"

    Going back inside I ran a hand through my hair, half-tempted to reach for the packet of cigarettes that was in the top right pocket of my coat but decided against it. They probably had a smoke alarm somewhere here. "Below's trying to do something about Above again, huh?" I asked gruffly, even though I knew the answer already. The battle that had been going on through time, though having been rather tame due to the agents of Hell being trapped in their grisly prison with only the occasional one coming up to do something, was about to start again.

    I sighed and shook my head again. The thought of dying to something other than Parkinson's or lung cancer was not as relieving as I thought it would be. The knock on the door saved me from my own psyche and I opened it to see Greene with the picture ready, coupled with some other particulars. I took it and only looked him once over darkly before I closed the door in his face. Never let the new blood know that they did a good job, otherwise they get sloppy. Keep them on their toes.

    Turning back to Alex, I showed him the paper with Jillian's face and some basic particulars on it. "If a war is coming we better get as many allies as we can on our side. Even if it's a battle for our freedom, according to those cunts Below it's still our people getting hurt. Do you have any contacts to call? Does your pack have any ancient pacts that others have to honour? Some sort of mutual defense treaty?"

    My thoughts had brought me over to the window and with a finger I pushed aside one of the many flaps that made up the blinds, looking out at the office and then a familiar face caught my eye. Jillian Aiya was right here, in the precinct.

    "Looks like we don't have to go too far."

    Alex saw on David's face what was probably a reflection of his own emotions. The discomfort with the idea of war breaking out between Heaven and Hell now was palpable on the other man's gruff face. Despite his stance and bravado, he seemed to shrink into himself. Alex wished he could do the same, but it was probably not going to be much good anyway, so he stayed his body. The implications of it were chilling to say the least, and should the arcane sigils on the floor of Vincent Moore's study turn out to be Angelic in nature, all doubt would be cast aside. He could almost sense the thundering of the Four Horsemen's hooves.

    "Alright, David. Keep the picture. The more you can find out about what it says, the better. All I know is, the Henge is a sacrificial circle. Jason told me as much. Whatever it is, it can't be good." Alex sighed. If anything, he knew how quickly things could get out of hand especially if it concerned Heaven and Hell.

    "Please, try to milk it for whatever you can. You're one of the few that can actually tell even a little what this thing probably does. You know which side most of the Kabbal is on. Rabbi Chayim, one of the pack's only Kabbalist allies is in Jerusalem. That leaves only you. I know it's a lot, David, but if we are right, then we have no time to spare."

    Alex smiled a little when David pushed the boy Greene around. He shook his head, knowing that even if he told the man off, he probably wouldn't listen. Regardless, at least he was making use of Greene's time well. When the door closed behind the younger man, Alex shuffled his feet, let out a breath and looked David straight in the eye. He couldn't believe the other man would ask a question with such an obvious answer. If anything it just let on how uncomfortable he was with the whole situation too.

    With a quaver in his voice, Alex said, "You do know what happened the last time there was a great conflict, right? I'm pretty sure even the Kabbal knows of it. The Celestial sphere was shaken to its foundations. They destroyed purgatory. For fuck's sake, David. I can't imagine what would happen if they did it here!" Simply imagining what would happen when open war broke out made him shudder. It was an image no one should ever witness.

    Alex took a look at Jillian's picture. "A bit young isn't she? And aren't you being a bit too harsh with Greene?" he said with a smirk, knowing that the question had only one answer to it. Alex pondered that question that was posed for a moment, he wasn't sure of the answer, but if anything, getting the Shadows in line would be a difficult, if nigh impossible task at all. Especially when it came to the First People.

    "I'm not sure. I'll make sure to ask the Alpha. Even so--" he said, still looking at David in the eye. "The Drakkan Septs are all but hostile to each other, the True Feeder Covens want nothing to do with the outside world and the packs are each busy trying to rally resistance in their own countries. The First People Crowns, well, no one has seen a First Person in over five hundred years. The Shadows are scattered, David. Even if there were pacts to be upheld and debts to be collected, who knows how long rallying the Shadows will take?"

    "Surely the Magi Societies are more organized than we?" he asked as David strode over to the windows. "Well, I'll be. This surely cannot be coincidence." There was wonder apparent in Alex's voice as he spoke. He could not believe their luck. Still, an implication struck him.

    "David, if she knows anything about our worlds, she's going to have to be protected. From what Moore has told her, she probably knows far too much already."
  13. David Stark

    Detective, Chicago P.D. Mage of the Judaic Kabbal.

    Fucking retarded question. Probably should smack myself around for that a lil' bit. I've read my books and I remember some of it, at the very least. Forces of such power that the clash itself could probably rend apart space and time. These weren't a pack of powerful mages squaring off another. They were far from mortal and a thousand times more powerful. Primordial forces, Beings and Powers that had been around even before the dawn of Man on this Earth. Man was a relatively young species - still in its infant stages to these timeless eyes. I shuddered to even imagine the barest of what would happen, how things would be like.

    If Purgatory could be destroyed ... What was Earth?

    "Heh. Should always keep the young'uns on their feet. Give them a compliment and they'll get cocky, trust me," I growled and grinned at Alex, quite glad to have the situation lighten up even a little bit. Alex was expecting the answer, of course. It was something that I had told him a few times already, a bit of gag work ethic I have. When you bare everything down to its basics, truth was that I was just a bully. It's the small victories in life that counts, right?

    When Alex mentioned the various groups that were out there that could have been of help to us, I shook my head. Currently they were of little help, if at all. I let out an exasperated sigh and leaned my head against the partitioned wall. "The Drakkan won't be a problem. When the Angels come they'll fight alongside us. You know their nature, and formidable fighters as they are I'm sure they know that they cannot stand up to the Angelic individually. I'm sure the True Feeders will do that, too. Blood is a luxury to them and if everyone's dead, no luxuries for them, no? Not even they would wish to dwell in a broken world, detached as they are. The packs will get themselves organised soon enough, they've always worked better under pressure."

    Taking a deep breath, I crossed over to the other side of the room where the diary was. "The First People ... They creep the fuck out of me but they will fight the Angels. Like the Drakkans. The Shadows might be slow but you know full well they live up to their name."

    I turned around to look Alex right in the eye.

    "We'll fight them long and hard. Forever if need be. We're the Shadow and we'll always be around when there is Light, even if it is the foul lie that Heaven feeds us."

    Asked about the Magi societies, I shrugged. "Not too sure about that. I don't get along too well with them. The Druids think I'm barbaric and a brute. The Pagans find me disrespectful and uneducated. The other Kabbals think I'm a heretic and godless heathen. I say fuck them all, because they're all a bunch of useless pansies." I was being entirely honest with Alex. That was what I thought about the most of them, and I was already being polite and censoring to a degree most of the terms I would use to insult them with.

    "Probably looking for something," I murmured and I nodded in the direction of Vincent's diary on the table. "Protection isn't something we can spare at the moment. The manpower we would need, if we were to want to let her keep to her everyday life and what not. We need every fighter we can muster to protect Humanity against these Immortals already."

    I sighed long and hard, once again. This was turning out to be a very big headache. I could feel my hair graying by the second. "You should go and talk to her. I'm probably not suited for it. You've got a pretty-looking face and all that, ladies'll dig it."
  14. Pavlana was walking quietly down the sunny streets of downtown Vancouver with an umbrella shielding her from the sun. Being a True Feeder, her allergic reaction to the sun was minimal, but it was still annoying. As she walked, she noticed a bookstore with her newest book in the window. She figured that this bookstore would be on her list of signings. It was a quaint little store that reminded Pavlana of her home as she walked past it. She walked by a police station and heard an M.E. talking about a church killing with someone. Her interest was piqued and she followed them as she quietly listened in. She recognized the case from the news and the paper, and she was convinced this was the work of a supernatural being. When the two started talking about things like men, Pavlana headed to the park.

    Is this why I'm in Canada? To help a few cops find this creature?

    Sighing, Pavlana walked through a park and tried to think on what she learned from the M.E.'s information. If it was in a Catholic Church, it was probably a demonic creature. Since it was a "holy man" killed, that usually meant it was meant to draw attention. If there were multiple killings...the end was closer than Pavlana thought. Pavlana stood still in front of a water fountain; she forgot to walk as she imagined what the end would hold. There would be much suffering for those who blasphemed the name of God. Pavlana shuddered and began walking again.

    After an hour or so of walking, Pavlana sat on a bench under a large tree and pulled out her violin. She tuned it before she began playing "Nearer my God to Thee" softly. Those who passed her would slow down as she played, and it made her smile to see that some of them even began to hum along or even sing. Most of them only knew it because of the Titanic, a ship that sank because a man challenged the power of God. After that song was finished, Pavlana began to play "Come Thou Fount". This song was more or less forgotten by the public.

    Elyon, what is your desire for me? Give me some sort of sign.

    Pavlana put away her violin and just stared at her surroundings. This was a pagan world of false religion and mixed philosophy. It was amazing that God's creation could still be so beautiful and so pure. A small smile broke free of Pavlana's face as she watched a small flower. The flower was beautiful just before a bike crushed it. Pavlana clenched her jaw in an attempt to keep her cool. Humans were such an uncaring and unappreciative breed, and Pavlana hated them.

    Love them as I loved you.

    But they're such a vile breed.

    They know not the sin they commit, and that is why you must show them my love.
  15. GM POST
    The Fallen looked on with an amused grin at the Spiteful and the Drakkan's little spat. It always amused him how the humans, yes, the Shadows were enhanced, but they were still every bit as human as the others, could get on each others' nerves so quickly. Then again, he would not have put it past them. They had been made in YHWH's image, and if anything, irritability and aggression were a part of his personality.

    This was not the time or the place to think about that bastard, he chided himself. He had come with a purpose. The Shadows had to gather and even if the Spiteful were not considered a part of it, they were needed to fight back against Heaven. He waited impatiently, tapping his leather shoes against the floor in front of the bench he was sitting on. He was dressed in corporate attire, to try to fit in with countless other commuters. Unfortunately, he had not thought about it enough and ended up in the station well after rush hour. Regardless, none but the most powerful of mortal magi would be able to see through his glamour. He appeared as much human as any that passed by.

    With an exasperated sigh, he got up once the two ended their interaction. As much as he loved the humans, they were very much capable of vexing him. Patience had never been a virtue he excelled in. He strode over to where Leon was sitting and plopped down beside him without casting him a single glance.

    "Through me you pass into the city of woe; through me you pass into eternal pain..." he intoned. "All hope abandon, ye who enter here." He still did not look at the Spiteful even once.

    "I know what you are." he whispered so softly only the Spiteful could hear.
  16. Leon the Spiteful

    Leon's eyes narrowed as he shot the stranger a sidelong glance, but he maintained his nonplussed smirk, replying with a merry tone to his nasally voice, "I see we have similar tastes in reading material."

    He gently closed the
    Divina Commedia in an almost reverent manner, placing it next to him on the bench. He tossed an arm around the back perilously close to his new companion and turned his body towards the man, grinning wickedly with an arch of his eyebrow."Oh? And what is it you think I am?" He spoke out loud, making no effort to soften his words.

    He regarded the newcomer warily for a moment. Staring him straight in the eyes, he leaned forward, suddenly dead serious. "What do you want?" If he were a canine, the hair on the back of his neck would be standing up.

    He felt threatened, subtly shifting his weight away from the stranger, preparing his legs to run if necessary.
  17. Jillian Aiya

    Unaware that she was being observed, Jillian nonchalantly walked over to an empty desk and picked up a few file folders and papers, careful not to grab anything that looked important. Her heart was hammering in her chest; this was not her. This was not her usual behavior. Raising the materials to hide her face and conceal the panic that was threatening to consume her, Jill tried not to shake. What am I doing? What on earth am I doing?! This isn't right. If they catch me I'll be arrested, my career will be ruined... what will dad think?! She tried to control her breathing and focus.

    Vincent. I have to find his journal, find something. His death and his findings have to be connected somehow, I can feel it. I have to do this for him. Steeling her resolve and taking a casual glance around to see if she was noticed- everyone looked busy, thank goodness- she noticed a white board broken up into roughly-drawn rows and columns with names scrawled sloppily in between. One stood out, in smudged green marker: Moore. Next to it was a strange phrase and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it amidst the other jumble of names. Stark White.

    Moore: Stark White

    A glance at the other lines showed that they were in fact, names. Jones: Branaugh Smith, Leibowicz: Sanchez Morgan, the list went on but the phrase next to her friend's name continued to puzzle Jillian. She walked on, afraid that pausing and staring would only get her noticed more quickly. She crossed to the other side of the room, her mind in overdrive trying to recall details from the article about the scene or things from Vincent's emails. Coming to rest in front of what seemed to be a private office, door shut and blinds closed tight against the workers outside, Jill glanced up. Maybe this was where evidence was kept and Stark White would be answered in the journal. If she could only get inside. The plaque on the door made her feel immediately like an idiot.

    Det. Alexandre White, Det. David Stark

    Stark White. She could have facepalmed if she weren't so frightened of being noticed. But she was so close now; the object of her search could be just behind that door. If she could slip in unnoticed...

    Jillian rested a hand on the doorknob lightly, furtively glancing around the room once more when sudden movement at the blinds drew her attention. There was someone inside. And she was pretty sure they had seen her. Her heart felt like it would explode out of her chest as panic washed over her once more. And then the knob turned against her hand. Jillian froze.
    It felt like her rapidly-fluttering heart stopped. She was pale as milk, her brown eyes large in her surprise. Looking into the face of the man in front of her, she could only squeak.

    "Oh. Hi."
  18. [​IMG]


    omewhere in the distance, a musician boasted the beautiful sound of a violin. The particular song was unusually cheery for such an instrument; nevertheless, it was attracting bystanders. Those who actually slowed down to listen seemed to appreciate the skill of the player, rather than the message behind it. Though, the song is considered dated in mortal time, and, thus, has lost recognition.

    Regardless of its popularity among the humans, Cassius's curiosity tugged at him. Who would be playing such a song here - and now? Was it through reverence or mockery?

    As the wolf in sheep's skin rose, he observed the American woman one last time. As he watched, she put her book down into her lap and loosely closed her eyelids. It appeared as if the melody had totally enraptured her.

    Cassius gracefully walked in the direction of the music. People gathered around the young woman, some swaying and moving while others simply stood and admired. He arrived at the little spectacle and carefully watched the musician. Others stood in front of him, blocking him from a good view, but something seemed out of the ordinary about the player.

    Next to him an elderly man sang
    these lyrics under his breath:

    "Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it; prone to leave the God I love-"

    At that instance those two lines etched into his mind. They seemed to repeat over and over. Over and over. His mind sped up, turning seconds into minutes; all the while his countenance never changing.

    Within his mind's eye Cassius envisioned flashes of a string of events. The first flash: Two men - one wearing a cloak and drenched in water, and the other visibly frightened. Then, suddenly, a flash of light streaked across the picture and revealed the cloaked figure once more. He could hear him say, "Bless me, Father," but nothing else. Finally, a blinding white light overwhelmed his vision.

    In the deepest part
    within his mortal cavity, a burning sensation grew from the light of a candle to a raging wildfire. It felt as if a white-hot iron brandished a distinct pattern harshly into his flesh at an indiscernible location.


    He could see himself writhing in pain on the ground, digging his nails into the dirt and stone, screaming aloud in anguish. The sound of it was deafening, as nothing escaped his lips. Nothing but silence. No one could hear him. Not even his god.

    This, this was when his mind flashed back to what was reality.

    Acting as if nothing happened, his body was frozen in place. His heart continuing to race as he stood among mortal beings.
    Despite the weight of the situation weighing on their shoulders, Alex was unable to hold back a smile at David's wry comment. Truth be told, he appreciated the little respite the short witty banter had given them though it was for only a fleeting moment. The fact of the matter was, the possiblity of war still loomed over the horizon, and if anything, it scared him shitless. He needn't tell David that, he could already see in the other man's eyes the same fear that had closed its icy skeletal fingers around his heart. His mind drifted to the dagger that he kept. "I won't let harm come to them, Jason. Not as long as I live. Not as long as blood courses through my veins. Not as long as breath fills my lungs. Not as long as the sigil remains within me. I won't let harm come to them." he solemnly repeated to himself the promise that he had given Jason just moments before they said their final goodbyes to each other.

    Alex gave a knowing smirk. David was right. The Shadows will rally, that much was certain. There was little love to spare for the Heavenly Host between all the different bodies of the Shadows. "That may be so, David, but we don't know how long the Shadows will take. Time may be a luxury we don't have anymore" he said grimly. He knew he came across as pessimistic, but David knew better than to take it at that. Of all the people in the damned police station, David was the one that would know that Alex's negativity was more realism than pessimism. Heaven did not like standing idly by. Even as they spoke, there were probably preparations being made, fights being fought elsewhere. Alex could only shake his head to clear it of the image of a charred and barren earth. No. It would not come to that. The Shadows wouldn't let it.

    "To be honest, David, the Firsts scare the crap out of me too. If anything, I fear them even more than the Heavenly Host. They aren't our allies. They never were. We simply share the same enemy. They are driven by anger, resentment and a thirst for vengeance. Do you think they've never turned on mankind before? They despise us as much as they despise them--" said Alex, looking upwards momentarily. "--because we were the ones that were deemed 'good enough,' not them. They were cast aside in favor of us, forgotten and buried in the depths of myth and legend. If I were in their place, I would have pretty good reason to hate us too..."

    "Regardless, we need their assistance..."

    Alex smiled. It was rare, these moments of gallantry from David. Despite himself, he couldn't help but think it was a folly to think they could fight forever. Even now the blood of the magus family lines was thinning. Fewer and fewer born into the packs. It was only a matter of time before the rebellion was whittled down to nothing. The glory of the Shadows was dwindling. "We can't fight forever, David. We just can't. They're eternal. We're not." he mused to himself. Better not to let David hear of it.

    "That's to be expected... A lot of the magi are self-serving pricks anyway. If anything, it's the Pantheists and the Druids that will have our back--" Alex let out an exasperated sigh. "--eventually," he finished.

    "Maybe the Hand can help" he murmured low enough for only David to hear. "I'm pretty sure they're as interested in Moore's death as we are, if not more. They have manpower enough to spare to safeguard the girl. At least for now, with most of the conflict happening out of sight. She may hold the key, David. We can't let them have her too."

    "Quite unfortunately, David" said Alex, grinning. He punched his gruff friend lightly on the shoulder. "You know exactly what team I swing for." Alex could not help but let out a loud snicker at that one. For another moment, he felt free of the colossal burden that had been placed upon the mortal world. The next, reality came crashing back down.

    He opened the door and was quite pleasantly surprised to see one sheepish and extremely nervous-looking Jillian Aiya in front of him, hand still extended to reach for the knob. "Ms. Aiya, come. We've a few questions to ask of you" he said, inviting her in. David was a vital part of the investigation, he always seemed to know which questions to ask. The only problem was he often lost his temper with many an offender.

    "Please. Any help to find Dr. Moore's killer will be appreciated."
  20. Jillian Aiya

    When the gorgeous man opened the door and ushered her into the office, Jillian was admittedly a little dumbstruck. She wasn't getting yelled at, at least not yet. It was almost as if he were expecting her. The strangeness of this along with his words snapped her back to reality and despite the rapid flutter in her chest, she was able to reign herself in. With a small nod, she stepped into the office.

    The sight of a second man within the room wasn't all that surprising. Jillian nodded to him in polite greeting; he was older than the first man, weathered and gruff-looking and reeking of cigarettes. She introduced herself, smiling nervously. "Hello, Jillian Aiya. I didn't realize I was expected..." She trailed off. With a slight shake of her head, expression serious, Jill crossed her arms protectively across her waist. She looked back and forth between the two detectives. "Please, ask anything. I'm looking for answers about Vincent's death as well."

    Dropping her eyes shyly, she let them wander around the room until they came to rest on small leather-bound book stained with rust-colored splotches. The hair at the back of her neck raised; the journal. Vincent's journal. Painted in Vincent's blood.

    Momentarily forgetting the other men in the room, Jillian walked to where the book lay mechanically, a hand out to touch it. She hesitated, a tremor running through her fingers. She lowered her head as she looked at it, the object of her search, as if the bloodstained cover could speak to her and give up its answers. "This is his journal. The paper said that he was writing in it when-" She paused, her voice breaking slightly when she continued. "-when he was murdered. Have you found anything? Any leads?"

    She broke her gaze on the journal and looked back and forth between the detectives. "That's why you want to talk to me, isn't it? Because I knew him." She frowned slightly, dark brows knitting in confusion. "How can I help?"
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