Land Of Mirrors

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Lithël Aelfwine, Feb 15, 2016.

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  1. A Rp based on Mage: The Ascention with three Original Characters. The action happens in London, around 2016.

    Scepter Scriven - Character sheet (open)

    Background (open)

    Scepter was unfortunate enough to be born in Argentina, and be a young adult, an artist, a student, and a hopeless idealist, when the last military dictatorship struck the country. Him and his girlfriend joined the people who opposed to the regime. And during this time, his girlfriend getting pregnant took them by surprise. They lowered their profiles after having their daughter, but destiny had them in the wrong place at the wrong time.

    They found themselves in the middle of an attack, were his girlfriend died, and he ended up wounded, but at least their daughter was not harmed. He went into hiding, and eventually found a way out of the country. He hated to give up like that, and was in great pain for his loss, but he feared for the life of his daughter.

    As his daughter grew up, he took any job that would leave him a bit of money, and lived in the verge of poverty for some years. When his daughter grew up a little and wasn’t a dependant baby anymore, he met through his job an older man, called Pedroni, who after hearing about him being a single dad to a little girl, started helping him out. He always said Scepter was destined to something big.

    With some of the weight of his life off his shoulders, he went back to the artistic side of him he had left behind: the writer. He started writing again. None of the political and idealistic fiction that got him in trouble in Argentina, because it brought back bad memories. Mostly horror, inspired by his inner sadness, and fantasy, the kind of stories he liked to show his daughter.

    He started showing his work to editors and publishers. But the more he wrote, some strange things started happening to him. A character of him, inspired on Pedroni, who was a powerful mage with a thing for shooting firewalls, started showing more and more coincidental similarities with Pedroni, and the man showed a strange behaviour too, and lots of secrecy. He stumbled upon the protagonist of one of his horror stories, which he’d later know was a vampire. And so, the coincidences started stacking. Eventually, he tried writing on purpose things he wanted to happen. And coincidences continued stacking.

    At the age of 45, Scepter was one of the most prolific and well paid authors, always fighting with Stephen King for the title of King of horror. He changed his original, latin name, for the name Scepter Scriven, his original pen name, more fitting for England, his current home.

    His awakening was surprisingly non-violent, for someone who held so many horrors in his mind. He had stayed over at Pedroni’s house, his daughter now an adult and living far away. The strange vision came to him while he drank his morning tea. And when he was back to normal, Pedroni was standing next to him, with a huge smile on his face.

    Pedroni became his mentor, and Scepter a disciple. Today, Scepter is 60 years old, has been a mage for the last fifteen years, and only now he’s prepared to confront the death of his life. Will he let go of his grief, or delve in the mages’ world, looking for a way to bring his girlfriend back?

    Appearance (open)


    Despite his age, and his initial rocky life, a healthy lifestyle free from addictions has kept Scepter’s body in good shape. He isn’t a young adult anymore, but can walk and run without problems, and his eyesight is not that bad. His body has many scars, always covered by clothes, from that incident in Argentina. His day to day clothing is quite laid back, and will wear a suit when the occasion calls for it, but he always wears all black. He carries a bag black bag that most people find feminine, but artists are eccentric like that.

    Personality (open)

    For the people who know him, he’s the cute grandpa. He’s gentle, warm, usually in a warm mood when in public, and assumes everyone is starving to death and feeds them, preferably with food cooked by himself. In private, he’s a bit of a sad individual. His mentor, more often than not, sees him either serious or depressed.

    For his fans, he’s a psychopath. A man of his age always dressed in black with a feminine bag is off putting, and the gap between his gentle demeanour and the horrors he writes is too big. His fans swear he’s up to something, and has many secrets hidden under his carpet. The fact that Specter affirms he wants to scare people on purpose and identifies himself with the villains of his stories doesn’t help.

    Demeanor: Gentle.
    Nature: Searcher (I hope that’s the correct word in English)
    Searcher Essence (Again, I hope it’s the correct word).

    Paradigm and powers (open)

    It was through his writing that Scepter was able to discover the mind modifies the world, and not the other way around. Actually, a lot of people think that (Law of attraction? Anyone?), but most people forget something crucial. They’re not the only mind in the world. As every mind pulls in their desired direction to shape the world, the reality becomes a mess of ever changing probabilities. What most people think will happen had a high probability of happening, but the case would be different.

    How can a mind turn probabilities in its favour? Being more powerful that the other minds. This knowledge has made his mind powerful enough to try and bend luck to his favour (awakening). To further power up his mind, most of the time he writes in order to organize his thuoghts, and perform magic.

    He’s mainly proficient in Entropy. His focus is his artistic writing.

    He learnt about the Prime sphere from his mentor, and hermetic mage. His focus is actually writing down a spell, and then reading it aloud with some hand movements, old mage style.

    He knows a tiny bit of Correspondence. His focus his drawing a map, like those he includes in his stories.

    Extra (open)

    He travels a lot, mostly for an inner search, and it also allows him to meet his fans from all over the world. His mentor, despite being 80 years old, always joins him, craving adventure.

    Here, have a cookie for making it this far.


    Francesco L. Vetinari - Character sheet (open)

    Background (open)

    Appearance (open)

    Currently in his forties Lord Vetinari is tall, thin and dresses all in dusty black, including a black skullcap. His appearance has been likened to that of a predatory flamingo, if one existed.
    He uses a short lock beard and has half blonde, half grey hair that he uses slicked back.


    Personality (open)

    He's actually extremelly pragmatic, but takes ideas to the extreme everytime, wich turns every one of his endeavors in a gigantic operative that covers all corners.
    Aside his obsesive nature, he's also always alert and extremelly analitic, so he might take some time to start an endeavour, but once started, he tried to fullfill it, just in case.
    His home and the chantry has a violent number of traps and security systems, and he requires everyone to add to the security of the chantry.
    Vetinari is very good at listening, and has a way of making people uncomfortable so that they talk more and more in trying to dilute the atmosphere. Lord Vetinari is also very manipulative.

    His way to do politics in the city is likened to a room full of tension, with people bickering and shouting at one another, and "in the middle of it all, one man, quietly doing his own thing."
    Other reasons for his political succes include his mastery of diplomacy and manipulation, his distant and menacing air, his everpresent calmness and composure (which, ironically, make other people ill at ease), and his skills as soldier.

    Paradigm and powers (open)

    As all the other aspects in him, his magical ways are various and subtle. He was taught by the Hermetics, and as such he studies magick.
    He understands human minds and as such he understands how the will of people work to form the reality. Often, he tries to affect people in general first before using magick to accomplish the effects he needs.
    He adheres to the general belief among hermetics that reality is just the tapestry human will makes.

    He considers his mind is superior to many others, and most too, so he tries to use it as a conduct for change. Also, he likes a lot of puzzles and riddles to further exercise his mind, being all of them the Foci for his work, along with many materials that are belived to have powers because this beliefs help his work.

    He is mostly proficient with Mind sphere and has a minimal knowledge of Prime and Forces.

    He has grown a still Static resonance.

    Extra (open)

    -He has echoes since an incident that is said to have been on purpose, when he entered a silence. Since then, he doesn't sleep and he can't sleep, but he functions well enough.

    - His family coat of arms is a plain, simple sable shield, and therefore does not show up against the black coach in which Vetinari travels - black on black. His family motto is Si non confectus, non reficiat (If it ain't broke, don't fix it).

    -Lord Vetinari lives and works in the Parliament, from where he is a member and the caretaker, and where he formed in the "unused" subterranean part the place for the Arturic Chantry.
    He sits on a plain wooden chair at the feet of the chair of the president, (much like the Steward of Gondor in The Lord of the Rings).

    -He accepts interviews in the Oblong Office (Jest intended on the White House's Oval Office) inside the Chantry. Notably he does not request, or even demand the presence of any of his citizens, but merely has them informed that they "have an appointment with him," and they are promptly escorted to said appointment. When Vetinari considers the meeting ended, he usually dismisses his visitors with the phrase "don't let me detain you." The inherent implication being that he just might if they let him.

    -His bedroom is spartan; containing little more than a narrow bed and a few battered cupboards. He apparently requires so little sleep and gets up so early that going to bed is merely an excuse to change his clothes. He is known to always be in his office at very late, (or perhaps early,) hours, apparently just coinciding with when someone wishes to see him and he wishes to see them.

    -HATES MIMES and had a member of the chantry flayed for being a mime and conducting a ritual using that as a foci, but the rest of the chantry thought it was an amusing character trait.

    -Enjoys reading written music rather than listening to it performed, because the idea of it being performed by people, with all the sweat and saliva involved, strikes him as distasteful.

    -Has firmly-held Views about modern art which are not far removed from those he holds concerning mime artists.

    -Lord Vetinari enjoys a variety of games and puzzles (both metaphoric and literal); he faithfully completes the daily crossword in every british paper.

    -Lord Vetinari has a vast spy network, and he himself is the head of intelligence, the only man who knows all of the information so far collected.

    -His success has led many to attempt to emulate him – or, in some extreme cases, to become him. There is apparently an entire group of Marauders devoted to people convinced that they are Vetinari. They often engage in eyebrow-raising competitions.

    Cael Mahdavi - Character sheet (open)

    Background (open)

    Having lived in the same house, Cael and his siblings were neglected by their druggie parents. When he wasn't under the generous care of the servants, he would spend his time reading about magic in the study. Throughout the years, he'd picked up information from documents and books, ranging from the actual history of magic, terminology, and important factions (current or in the past). Little did Cael know that his parents were being blackmailed out of their money in exchange for keeping silent about their misdeeds. In time, they were unable to keep up on their end of the deal, and because of that he often wondered about the increasingly missing possessions in their estate.

    When the raid came about, there was a lot of bloodshed. Cael didn't remember much. It might have been because of the rushing adrenaline, but he does recall the gruesome facial expressions of his siblings and of the servants. He remembered fading to black and having a voice guide him to safety.

    Cael would wake up the the next couple of days sitting up against an alleyway, clueless about the reason for the scorching pain along his arm and back, clueless about the aching soreness all about his body, clueless about his bearings, and clueless about the turn of events that led him to his situation. But there were a couple of things clear to him at the time, one of them being there was a watch in his hand, and he could use his magic with it.

    Appearance (open)


    Standing at 5'3", the Persian boy is always seen wearing a pair of flayed cargo pants and an orange hoodie. Since Cael almost always on the run, he rarely finds quality time to keep up with hygiene. If he finds a laundromat he will look to consider staying for a new set of clean clothes. Around his neck, he rests a pair of headphones connected to the iPod in his sweater.

    Cael's hoodie and plain t-shirt conceal a stab would above his right shoulder blade. In addition, all of the bones along his right arm are broken. It was left unattended ~2 years ago and healed improperly, rendering it unusable. He tucks in this arm in his pocket from public eyes. Due to lack of use, it shows a clear musculature difference compared to his left arm.

    Cael keeps a switchblade hidden in his pants. His countenance makes him come off as an angry child, but he will feign amiability when the occasion benefits him.

    Personality (open)

    Cael is very distrustful of people. For him, it's difficult to open up even among those he would share close ties with. Criticism rubs him in the wrong way, and he will more than likely get himself in fights over it. Pain and insecurity hit home for him, and as a result, he has difficulty changing his views of someone after his first impression. He judges others based off of their experiences, mostly on how much emotional damage they've endured in their lifetime. Being a reserved person, he prefers to stay away from the center of attention. Cael is firm on the belief that he is deserving of a better life, and often he envies those who have the privilege of living one.

    Because his powers remind him of life back at home, he does not pride himself on them.

    -Rebel Nature, Survivor Demeanor
    -Dynamic Essence

    Paradigm and Powers (open)

    During his time in the study, Cael came to the conclusion that everything in the universe, inanimate or animate, follows a string, a path, or a flow of some sort. The string or thread that the object follows is its fate. By tapping into multiple strings, Cael can see how multiple factors in the world interact with one another, giving him foresight.

    Cael's focus is his watch. He needs to be holding it to manipulate the Time and Correspondence spheres.

    Extra (open)

    -does not have a problem with looting if it's possible, otherwise he looks for whatever source of income he can before staying on the move again
    -he smokes, prone to fits of rage if not satiated
    -Is too young to to buy smokes and has no form of identification. He either bribes strangers into buying them for him or loots them himself.
    -Scraps up any money he can find on the streets. Be it change, bills, or items of value, just to get by.
    -Always sleeps on either his back or left side of his body.
    -He hugs his right arm when he runs.
    -Has a fear of using guns- the last time he used a pistol (a year ago), he handled it improperly and it smacked him in the face.
    -Was never taught a good majority of manners in life. he disregards titles of authority when addressing someone
    -He enjoys listening to electronic music, more notably drumstep and techno. At times he will be in the mood for rock.
    -He keeps his head down as a habit

  2. @Isho13 and @Shirosaki


    The office was built in the middle of the building, but still, the window of this office showed a beautyful spring dusk. The thin man rised a finger and switched the light on, just to keep going over the accounts of the chantry, the informs of his contacts and, every 12 pages, the partiture of Suites for Violoncello Solo, from Johann Sebastian Bach. This last, was just for his personal amusement because ¿What's life without those little pleassures and nonesenses?

    The man sitting in the spartan couch was no other than the Patrician of this chantry, member of the Order of Hermes and member of the House of Lords in the Westminster Palace, or as known by the common folk of the United Kingdom, the Parliament. He was also one of the permanent keepers of the place, and founder of the Chantry of Mirrors, inside this same building. He was ending his work with this papers, ready to read the last part of his suite, when he saw what was written in the last page: a single line of coloured letters glued to the pentagram over the music, every letter in a different shape and size like the work of a lousy and dramatical kidnapper. But that was not the work of a kidnapper, but a prankster.

    A prankster, and a threatening one, in his chantry. In his office, under the nose of the Queen and the MI6... under HIS nose. He didn't care who was the prankster, but Jeffry Morgan, his Director of Security, was going to burn. He took what evidence he had and faced the mirror that leaded out of the Office. We'll see each other, Prankster. Don't let me detain you. He advised, in case he wasn't alone, with a smile on his face.


    The patrician went out to the security office where the Security Chief was. When he started to approach the door Jeffry got out like a storm. Jeffry was a tall, slender, blonde man with a crew cut and black eyes that had been with Fancesco since the beggining, and his awakening. Although a little older than him, they were always the action and the plan guys, respectivelly, and that always worked for them. Vetinari! The man i was looking for. Said Jeffry as Vettinary rose an eyebrow. I detected... movement at a bookstore on downtown. Unaligned mages, technocrats... and i felt a Descended. The appearence of a Nephandus was terrible news and required all their attention, but right now, Fancesco was feeling... upset, to say the least.
    I'll prepare to go. We should be careful with that mix. I'll prepare, and in the mean time... he handed his friend the note. Someone entered my office and left a note. I want him found. He sad. Jeffry looked shocked. the security protocols were extreme and redundant in most of the cases, at least 3 times each. It was almost impossible for someone to sneak inside the office and go unoticed. I'll have my best men working on the note was the only response Jeffry had to his friend, and he started to make some few calls.
    #2 Lithël Aelfwine, Feb 15, 2016
    Last edited: Feb 15, 2016
    • Nice execution! Nice execution! x 1
  3. This meeting had been relatively improvised. Unless he was on a tour in order to promote his books on purpose, Scepter Scriven, renowned horror and fantasy writer, didn't update his fans regularly on his whereabouts. He often communicated with them through social media, but talking about where he was going and what he was doing wasn't in his best interest.

    But just as he was passing by this city, he was approached by a man who stumbled upon him by chance, and begged him to come to his bookstore for meeting his fans and signing autographs. Scepter guessed the man wished to bring his library to the spotlight. And after seeing how warm and classical the place was, and how the owner was being so kind to him, despite the odds saying famous people had to stick to the schedule given to them by their managers, Scepter accepted the request.

    Since the bookstore was relatively small, and the meeting was quite spontaneous, only a couple of days after his initial meeting with the owner (who was overjoyed for having Scepter there), there were much less people than usual, with lots of fans complaining in social media about how they didn't have the money to go see him, or lived in other countries, but wishing him the best.

    Scepter was in the back of the store, together with his old friend and mentor, Pedroni. Scepter was peering from behind a curtain. These kind of meetings didn't make him nervous anymore, so he was just waiting for the owner to announce his presence. He looked around, the deposit was filled with books, and he felt at home. As his eyes wandered around, he glanced at Pedroni, and saw the thin man giggling as he read something in his cellphone. "With all these books around you, you still prefer to read in the internet?" The writer said as he walked up to his mentor.

    "You don't find these kind of things in books." Pedroni replied with a mischievous smile. The younger man took the cellphone in his hand, his nose wrinkling when he saw the title. 'Scepter Scriven x Dad [MxM, old men, anal, BDSM, bestiality, blood play...]' He didn't finish reading the title, and went to read the rest of the text. He couldn't endure too much, and gave the cellphone back to his mentor.

    "I don't know why my readers insist on buying my books, when the things they write is a thousand times more scary." Scepter complained with disgust in his voice.

    "I think they're just looking up to you. And at least they think I'm your father and not your husband or something." The older man laughed again, as he went to scroll looking for more scary material.

    "What's the point if they're still going to write erotica about us?" Scepter sighed heavily. He perked up when he heard the store owner starting to announce the start of the fan meeting. He cracked his neck, made sure to put on a gentle smile, and walked out from behind the curtain, waving at his fans as soon as he saw them, before going to sit at a table with a microphone prepared for him. The fans cheered for him, and some stared in awe.

    Scepter had this strange feel to him that sent chills up people spine, and made some want to look away. An ever present aura of the man not belonging there, and hiding something terrible under his sleeve, like the cultists in Lovecraftian literature. Even if his fans admired him deeply, they could swear Scepter's smile was a false one, and behind those calm, gentle eyes, hid the mind of a psychopath.

    He thanked his readers for being there, and started the question and answers session that would take place before the autograph signing. His eyes roamed towards the other far end of the store, where he noticed a well known face for him. A mage he'd call his fellow, had he not chosen to go through a darker path of life. They became friends before Scepter was aware of this, and while he still enjoyed the man's company, he always made sure to leave magic affairs aside and pretend they were regular people. He suspected his friend wanted to drag him through that same path too, but since for now there weren't any clear signals, he let him be.
  4. His pants dampened as he shuffled his legs around in a puddle of water at his feet. Cael jerked awake at the sensation, letting out a sigh. His first thoughts and emotions of the day consisted of discomfort over the fact that the water on his ankles wasn't going to dry anytime soon. He looked at the puddle, then all around him. As far as he could tell, he was still in the same alleyway from last night. And as far as he could tell, the pipe system above him was generous enough to leak in his sleep.

    He propped himself up from the concrete wall and pulled his hood down, brushing himself off of dust and rocks. He decided do the meditation later- he felt too icky to concentrate as he was anyway. Walking down toward the exit, he checked his pockets for his belongings, and concluded that nothing was stolen. Cael dispersed from the emptiness of the alley into the bustling streets and headed towards a restaurant. He entered the establishment only to ignore the waiter by which he was greeted and disappear past the restroom door. He was alone. Alone now with no one to judge him. And he made haste in drenching his face with soapy sink water, hoping for not one soul to walk in to catch him. No one else came in the bathroom after him, but he still felt unclean after having wiped himself off on his hoodie. There were no paper towels. "What kind of goddamn restaurant this fancy forgets to restock the paper towels..." he grumbled.

    Cael found himself walking among crowds of people on the street again, walking among people in crowds who would regard him reproachfully for his passing stench. Guess he'd have to wait until he felt better than crap before his foresight routine.
  5. The chantry had a sturdy but decent car to attend official bussines, so they got it and went off to track the two mages new to the city and capture at least one of them. Francesco couldn't drive himself due to an old injury in his right leg, or that is what he wanted everyone to belive anyway, so in any case he made Jeffry take care of the driving as he prepared the GPS to track the place: Enigma's Palace, a bookstore in downtown. Shouldn't take more than 10 minutes to get there He commented. What's the plan once there? Jeffry asked.

    We split up. I got my beeper ready, you get yours ready and i'll signal you there as soon as i see the Nephandus on the bookstore. You'll be waiting for me on the Coffee Shop just acros the street and i'll get in the bookstore and scan people's minds to get the nephandus. Once you join with me, we extract the Writter and lure the Nephandus with him. Then we take the nephandus and bring the writter for a chat. Might be already on descention's way. He explained. Those kind of chats made him remember the military, and that had been one of the most beautyful moments of his life: it was curious, but an army is chaotic, and still the chain of command is so simple and beautyful. the thought brought a smile upon his face.

    And the Writter's friend? Asked Jeffry after nodding on evey step of the way. Let him choose to come with us or to stay there, but if he is troublesome, deal with it. Any amount of force. He said.
    I just hope you can handle his mental barriers. Answered Jeffry to his friend's overconfidence. I don't need magick to understand him. Or it. He answered with an amused look in his eyes that was not reflected in the rest of his expression.

    They advanced for 7 minutes until they reached the corner of the street they needed to get. They separated and Francesco entered the bookstore like a ghost dressed in black. He had simple black and practical clothes, and a cane he used for walking occasionally. He had only one ring, green with an amethist that made a focus he could use to help his magick. As his cane's tip hit the floor, he started to look everyone in the eye with his clear look and his tranquil, still, rested gestures, wich drove most people nervous to edge in the few seconds they shared a connection with him. In their nervous gaze he found how most of them were not even sleepers, but comatose: they couldn't comprehend magick, much less awaken, if their own reality was on stake.

    This would be Jeffry Morgan, the security chief
    On his own, Jeffry advanced into the Coffee Shop. It was, in fact, very fancy, but nothing he was not used to by now, spending most of his days and nights in a palace (quite literally) helping his friend to bring this dream of a chantry to life, and maybe, reclaiming then all of England or maybe the whole UK! But for now, he had to cleanse all of his city, and for that he ordered his frappuchino with double chocolate and nutella pie. For that, and because sugar helped him concentrate (and was his little weakness).
    For a second, he forgot the pressence of a descended mage wanting to bring the end of the world upon this reality when he saw his slice of pie was twice as big as he thought. "I'm a little too human" he thought for a second, but he forgot again when he bit onto the nutella.​
  6. Scepter replied to all the questions with a calm voice and a smile that never went away. As always, some of the questions were ones that popped up in all of his interviews and Q&A sessions, but some other questions were original. A girl even asked him for life advice, and he was eager to reply, leaving the girl in tears for those much needed words. He didn't notice the elegant figure walking among the people, but he held his fingertips to the bridge of his nose as a strange sensation invaded his mind. A sensation of panic in the back of his mind, like there would be a radical, imminent change in the world as he knew it.

    If such a change was going to be good for him, great, but what if that wasn't the case. He took some of his attention away from his readers, his next answer coming out as if he was distracted, or suffering a great headache. By his expression, the headache seemed to be the case. But his head didn't hurt. Instead, he was tapping into his powers. His other hand went to retrieve his cellphone from his pocket as he apologised to his fans, for he had forgotten to turn off his cellphone and he couldn't stand it constantly vibrating against his leg. Was the cellphone what gave him the headache, and made him look like he was about to commit? The fans started whispering about him, the rumours about him being terribly picky and neurotic in all aspects of his life resurfacing again.

    With a hand used to it, Scepter hastily wrote something in his cellphone. His focus wasn't provided by the expensive artefact, but by the writing itself. "A shiver went uoa his paine as he lfelt the shadow coming closer agin". A terrible attempt at writing, specially when pulled off so fast, but the quality of the text didn't influence the result. He went stiff as he felt the pull of destiny getting tangled up in that place. A bitter taste invaded his mouth, as he felt almost certain that this place would witness a disaster. The owner of the bookstore asked him if he was alright, and he apologised to everyone, saying he needed a moment to himself. Scepter darted to the back of the shop. His mentor looked at him with shocked eyes as he suddenly wrote something else in his cellphone, and then read it out loud, waving his arm dramatically. He could feel someone in the store performing magic, but what kind of magic and with what purpose eluded him.

    The descended mage did notice Veterinari, and he pretended to be another fan, showing great concern as Scepter suddenly left the room. Him and another fan wondered if the writer would be back, and told each other they hoped that was the case. The man, who despite being a young adult like most people there had managed to form a friendship with the writer, was confident that his own abilities would disguise him as a normal dumb human, to the mage that was scanning their minds.
  7. When his uneasiness had passed, Cael went to find a place of seclusion. Another alleyway. These were his favorite places to go, just because of the quiet and reprieve it provided him; they were places free of the anxiety that rose within him when he stayed within earshot or in other strangers' visions. As far as he knew, everyone was judging him. It was definitely true. In a street with a couple hundred of other people, with their own lives to worry about and minds filled with agendas, they all were definitely paying attention to him and only him. Why not? He was Cael after all, there was no reason to approve his existence.

    Cael never looked up from the sidewalk to confirm his suspicions. As soon as he arrived to his destination, the boy sat right back down into his familiar position, his legs criss crossed and his palms rested on his knees. He gripped his pocket watch in hand and let the chain dangle loose on the pavement, exhaling deeply. He started up his magic. Images of the city square slipped into his mind one by one, as well as sights unfamiliar faces and gut feelings. When he meditated, events of the day came to him in no particular order. It would be at the end of his concentration that he'd be able to piece together the information. All the while, his watch glowed a very slight green.
  8. The moment Scepter went off, he knew he had to make his move. Vetinari looked around and started scanning frenetically, but everyone seemed so normal... and then, he felt it. A cunning resonance, such as his own, but this one was not only cunning, but twisted. He recognized this as the trademark of a Nephandus, exactly the same as his disgusting undead avatar.
    Vetinari thought what to do next for a moment. If he knew Jeffry, as soon as the beep reached him he'd jump up and get to the rear exit to pin the nephandus down in the place, and then, it was just a matter of time to get the Nephandus. But that might make him desperate, and a descended monster wouldn't doubt to turn everyone on the place a sacrifice to make some powerful magic to destroy them. As much as he had sleepers in low regard (they were technocracy's tools, after all) he was human enough to not want a carnage. They had an agreement with the vampires, after all, and Lady Anne didn't want an scandal that would attract hunters.

    His other option, he thought, was to get close to him and try a direct approach, but that could scare him away. His lame leg made a chase the worst idea. But... Maybe he could retain him confusing his mind and then just beep Jeffry to come. That was his best shot, even with the mental shield he surelly had. He went over to his prey and touched the "Send" Button on his beeper, which called Jeffry. The guy didn't seem to have seen him, so he touched the other's shoulder and with that, and his amatist collar as a focus, he focused on the man's mind, trying to get a grip on it as a farfer would grasp a chiken's neck... but when he broke the first mental layer and entered that mind, nothing was where it sould be: the desires where blooming on the outside while the thinkings he was having right now where deeply hidden.
    As he tried to grip this mind, it slipped his like an eel would run through some novice fingers. He tried to go out, but the outter layer was now fortified, so he could not scape. He realized then what was going on: It was a trap! Not only a trap, he was stuck in this mind he now understood who it belonged to... the one who wrote the letter. It was a Madman, a Marauder. Probably one thet new about him or thought was him and that allowed to make him fall... but, there should be a flaw somewhere. Marauder's minds were never complete... he just had to find it.


    Jeffry hastly ended his food and payed way over what he had too, but he liked everything so maybe a little reward was ok. He went out trying to enter the alleyway to get to the back door of the place, but when he entered, he found a boy sitting on the floor. He recognized there was magick, he recognized there was some kind of power going on and he felt the odylic energies around the boy... Maybe it was him, an he outrunned his slow friend. But then... he was too young. Way too young... But not for a Widderslainte that had awakened... He run a scan on the boy, reading the little flame of his zippo lighter, but he was clear. A regular mage, making magick on an alleyway by the side of 2 tradicionalists, a nephandus and his prey... He had to be up to something... or he might be helping the regular mage in the inside... Jeffry decided to wait until the boy ended (wich, given the place he was doing this, it couldn't be much) and ask him for help, just to be sure.
  9. "Who's there?!" Haziness overcame his eyesight as he shot up from the ground, and his body turned to the sound of footfalls further down the concrete. It was a side effect from having his meditation interrupted. Cael frantically fumbled in his pockets past his pack of cigarettes in search of his switchblade. You can never trust anyone these days, the common person doesn't just walk into an alleyway without a good reason, and everyone knows that. If he pulled out his knife now, he could bluff his readiness to fight, but his act would only hold up for so long. This damn fog just wouldn't go away. He felt himself break into a sweat.
  10. I'm no enemy, little one. he said, but he didn't really knew he was a child or some archmage, vampire or god knows what fucking bloody monster in theese nights he coud come across. I'm friendly he said as he pulled the revolver's hammer back, to shoot quickly from his pocket. That made him able to shoot a single shot without taking out the safe lock: obviously he would always pull two times to get a better chance to impact, but at this distance, he couldn't possibly fail, and if he did, then the revolver wasn't going to change anything.
    There's a nephandus inside, chassing two good people that are awakened like us. You were involved in this?
  11. "Mr. Scriven, is anything wrong?" Scepter got startled and looked back at the shop owner clearly disturbed, but luckily for him, the man hadn't walked in on him performing his magic. Instead, it seemed like the writer was mortified by a message in his cellphone.

    The writer turned to the shop owner, hiding his cellphone from prying eyes. "Beverly, I'm sorry to end the fan meeting like this but I have to go. Please make the kids leave." He pleaded, used to referring to his fans as "kids" since most of the time they were so much more younger than him.

    "But what's wrong?"

    "I can't explain. I have a feel that something terrible is about to happen."

    Intuition wasn't something that sounded that strange, but the shop owner still seemed convinced that the fan meeting didn't have to be cut like this. "Sir, this might be a panic attack of some sort that you're about to experience. Have you tried some breathing techniques?" He suggested with a gentle voice.

    "I know it's not a panic attack. Please, I don't mind repeating the meeting in the near future, but everybody needs to leave. NOW." Scepter did his best to sound assertive and not crazy. Convinced about how the writer would keep his word about repeating this event, the shop owner left to make the announcement that Mr. Scepter Scriven wouldn't be able to continue with the fan meeting.

    The fans were let down. Some were annoyed, some frustrated, and some were worried over the writer, since it wasn't like him to suddenly run away from his audience. The people started walking out of the store, already tweeting and posting on facebook about what happened, and reminding everyone that the shop had promised another fan meeting with the horror writer. The descended mage got out of the store among them.

    Scepter didn't want to come out, as there still were some people in the shop, but his mentor did go to the front of the store to see if there was anything out of place. In the middle of all the youngsters leaving, the idle older man with his gaze lost at the distance stood out from them. Pedroni slowly walked up to Veterinari, and his own thin fingers tapped the other's shoulder. "Are you alright, young gentleman?"
  12. Cael held out his switchblade in front of him with the knife unclipped. "Nephandus? What the hell is a Nepha..." Realization hit him as his memory brought back text from childhood books. He actually knew what a Nephandus was. One thing he didn't need to know was how the word was pronounced to understand the implications of having one around. But if this guy knew about at least that, he must be familiar with the magicks.

    "I don't know jack. I heard nothing about a Nephandus. Now let me ask you something," he swallowed dryly, orienting himself about the direction of the stranger's voice. "How do I know you're not my enemy? Are you a Technocrat? Trying to rob me? Huh?" He bumped into one of the buildings encompassing the alleyway, muttering a curse and blaming his lack of visual awareness at the time. Luckily, the figure was coming into vision. It wouldn't be too long before his eyesight was back to normal, but until then he had yet to catch on to the revolver in his grip.
  13. Jeffry smiled at the little blinded kid and lit a cigarette, wich was twice as tasty since he had just eaten. Look, little fella, if i'd liked to kill you or kidnap you, i could just have knocked you out before you recovered conciousnes, or set you on fire just the same. Trust me, that's not the way the traditions work. Not per se, at least. He said with a grin. Can't loose more time, dude, you in to kick nephandi ass or not? The question was simple in his mind. He took out the safe tap on his revolver and prepared to bust in. By now, the priority had changed, now he needed to go in and take out the orphan and people just enough to get the nephandus.

    Besides Vetinari, there was a young man around his 30 and in a black jacket, along with jeans and some white snickers. The guy also had a baseball hat and was playing with something in his pocket. He was looking at the exit when the old man came in. Vetinari, meanwhile, scouted all around the borders of the mind, but found nothing else than the minimal of fractures which, he reasoned, was just the man having a little sense of what was happening outside.

    Vetinari's body turned around and smiled with a pervertion and efusivity never before shown in his mature face. His toothy grin gritted his teeth as he turned around and grabbed Pedroni by the arms. The old man reflexes were nothing compared with the fast response of the disposable vessel the marauder was riding. Talking about the marauder, he turned around pulling the think he had in his pocket: it was a mirror he quickly put over his face as to not be recognized, and it startled Pedroni, who could not move when he saw his reflextion. Knowing what he have done, Pedroni's sight started to see over the guy's illusion. He was dressed as a clown and his hands had gloves with an eye drawn, as well as many details. The Marauder pulled a siringe from inside the reflection of the mirror, and injected something right in Pedroni's heart. The marauder then turned away and disappeared into a shadow, and suddenly all mages in the room felt the paradox kicking in, like a sting inside their own souls. Vetinari and Pedroni felt to the ground, unconcious.

  14. Cael took a deep breath and considered the situation. "Looks like that ain't an option for you anymore." Jeffry came into his full focus. No longer was anything obscuring his line of sight. "But tell me. If I helped you out to take care of this dude inside, what's in it for me?" He gestured to the door with his head. "I'll tell you right now, I ain't trying to risk my life for some random dude I just met."
  15. Scepter stayed in the back of the shop, unable to shake off the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He leaned against a wall, his ears attentive to the movement of the youngsters, so he knew when to come out without risking a group of fans swarming over to him, and staying for whatever was about to happen. He gasped in surprise and threw a punch forward when he felt someone poking him on the shoulder. It was his fallen friend, who just dodged the clumsy punch.

    "What did you hope to achieve with that?" Said the nephandus. He shook his head. "This scenario... Doesn't it remind you of that draft you showed me? Could it be that you ended up writing your destiny by accident again?"

    The nephandus chuckled at Scepter's annoyed expression. "You remember that draft... Do you? If I'm the cultist... I have to take someone with me today. I wonder who will it be? You? The man with the walking stick?" The man chuckled again. "Or the one messing around with your respected mentor?"

    Scepter couldn't finish processing those words before he heard some noises of something hitting the floor in the front of the shop. He panicked and rushed over there, his mind racing when he saw Pedroni unconscious on the ground. He called out his name and rushed to his side, to see if Pedroni was pale, if he had a pulse, and his mind pushing to sense if there were any magical effects acting on Pedroni, despite him not chanting the required words.
  16. Jeffry looked back just a second. A roof, a warm bath and three meals a day. Maybe a teacher, if you learn some manners. He said not wanting to discuss this kind of thing in the middle of the street. He peacked around the corner and saw a lot of people going out of the building. Bloody fucking 'ell... he muttered under his breath and prepared to jump to action.
    It's now or never, boy.

    It was hard, but Scepter could see Pedroni's chest through a layer he recognized as something otherwordly. His chest looked like if Pedroni's skin would have been made of a paper someone had thrashed and then extended again, all of the wrinkles comming from a single spot in his chest, over his heart. All the wrinkes were covered on pencil stains that were going from the heart to the rest of the body. Scepter recognized that indudably as some kind of poison or magic running through his veins, and after pulling that effect, he could feel the lingering paradox in the air.
  17. He nearly dropped his switchblade at the offer, mouth agape and all. Considering it was, as Jeffry put, now or never, the obvious choice for him would be to accept it without any more thought. He finally uttered some coherent words after stumbling over them for a couple of seconds. "Okay. I- yea okay." Cael sighed and moved closer to the door. "A deal it is," he muttered, trying to focus on the task at hand, but he found himself unable to shake off the thoughts of the holy luxury that awaited him after this encounter. Everything was going to be alright. Maybe.
  18. Scepter couldn't hear the shop owner announcing he was calling the police. Afraid of touching his mentor resulting on making matters even worse, he brought up his cellphone instead, and started writing. He had no magic that would be good against poison, and counter magic was hard to pull off, so he decided to gather the inspiration necessary to perform his counter magic. Pulling the threads of destiny of his own life and that of Pedroni, he wrote about a young man whose teacher was battling a dangerous disease, and how the teacher managed to beat his illness. He wrote about the places he wanted to visit with Pedroni someday. He wrote nice memories he shared with the old man. He was determined to not let his mentor leave him now.
  19. OCC: The kid is totally cute XD Poor boy.

    Jeffry signaled the boy and sprinted forward. Out of the way! He shouted to the people leaving, and the youngsters ran in terror as they saw a man running towards them with a zippo lighter lit in his left hand and a .357 Colt Python revolver in his right. Jeffry entered the place to what looked like a backstage and then crossed through the curtain.
    He stopped where he stood and scrutinized the place. THey were in no danger for now, so he started analizing his flame. He could see the paradox all over the place, and magic being performed for benefic purposes, so there was nothing wrong. Then... he saw the green flame, and knew a nephandus was there, but he saw nobody else than the mage performing magick on the fallen grandpa, the kid, Vetinari and him. Only then Jeffry saw Vetinari and analyzed his flame about him, but luckily he was ok, only mentally exhausted. He was not going to get in his feet for a while.

    Cover me and stay with the injured. It is here. Jeffry ordered the kid and advanced to check the rest of the place to locate the Nephandus
  20. Cael didn't bother closing the door after they had barged in. As Jeffry shouted at the scurrying crowd, he took the time to examine the place. His investigation was cut short when Jeffry caught his attention. "What?" His brow furrowed. "How am I gonna to cover you if I..." His voice trailed off as he watched the man walk off with his lighter. He took a deep breath and exhaled out of his cheeks, shaking his head. Whatever.

    He made his way over to a pair of strangers, one of them lying motionless on the ground. Cael watched as the other person frantically punched in keys on his phone over the perhaps fainted man. The boy knelt in front of the unconscious person, trying to grasp the situation. He realized he still had his switchblade out, and immediately holstered it in his pocket with the blade tucked back inward, so as to not make himself seem hostile. "Uh..." he glanced awkwardly at Pedroni, then at Scepter, unsure of how to help. "You uh, callin' the police?" But that's a pretty long number to be dialing for emergencies, he thought.
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