Of Steamworks and Magick Obscura

[Third Magus]

It was the destiny of each third-born of the Dante family to meet a strange and dark fate, for reasons not deemed courteous to inquire into, but possibly (malicious rumour had it) due to a pact made with demons or similar dubious entities at the beginning of the family's line. Michael's great great grand-uncle, Will, simply disappeared from his locked study, and was never seen nor heard of again. His great grand-aunt, Regina, was lost within the stacks of the library in Pyre. It was said that, on quiet days in the great library, one could still hear her voice, seeming to come from just the next aisle down, exclaiming over some new discovery. His grand-uncle, Simon, was killed by his own horse, an animal he'd raised from a foal who was absolutely devoted to him. The horse was in a fit of madness incited by the passing of the first steamtrain through the town.

Michael still dimly recalled his own aunt, third-born in her generation; Anna. She'd seem to consciously try and thwart the family curse; living a dully conscientious life and marrying a wealthy, amiable, unremarkable merchant from the City of Glass. Yet strangeness had infected her, almost when the family thought she'd somehow escaped it, in the latter years of her life. After her husband died, she took to the study of history with great interest and enthusiasm; first as a hobby, then as a seriously practised discipline. She grew so keen that, when word came of the new discovery of an archaeological site in the Kornbluth plains, nothing would do but she go out and inspect it herself.

The family curse, or demon, or whatever it was, seemed to have a particular fondness for the drama of a mysterious disappearance. She never arrived on the site, although local nomads distinctly recalled the descent of a middle-aged, bespectacled woman from the zeppelin Righteousness. What had happened to her? The rest of the family shook their heads resignedly over dinner, and declared the curse at fault.

Michael Dante wasn't prepared to accept that. Michael Dante was a dark-haired, rebellious youth; with dark blue eyes large in his pale face like those of a starving child or a corpse. He'd studied magick at university; the old ways, as opposed to the new, shoddy cheap technology of steam and clockwork. His instructors had told him he had talent, and youthful pride had swollen that into 'wisdom and experience'.

Michael Dante had liked his aunt Annah, in a mildly indulgent way. He was not prepared to let this family curse snatch her away without even a cursory attempt at investigation. He would go to the Kornbluth plains himself, and find out what had happened to her. University custom required that, at this point in his studies, he take on an apprentice and train them for a year. Michael Dante shrugged this off. He could take the apprentice with him to Kornbluth, train them en route. He'd stop at Pyre on the way, seek out an apprentice among the first-year students at the university there.

It never occured to Michael Dante as he boarded the train to Pyre to worry about the fact that he himself was the third child of his parents.



Okay; this is a steampunk setting, inspired by the game Arcanum. Magic and Victorian-era technology co-exist (uneasily), there are weird technomagical gadgets and strange, unexplored mysteries of the past. Everything has a Victorian tinge to it, in tone and nomenclature. I need one female author to take the part of Michael's apprentice. You can be a straight-up magick-user like Michael himself, or try and blend magick and technology. There may be other parts available later on. Anyone interested?

Edit: now need a couple of male authors as well. PM me if you're interested.

 

[papillon24]

I'm interested as your apprentice

The year at the university had been a tough one so far. the many exams that were given and the students there were curel. Tyran was never the best in the class but she always tried her hardest with every task at hand. People feared her long fire red hair and emerald green eyes thinking her to be and evil spirit come to haunt the university.

It was not like that though. It had been her life dream to be here among the best and she was not about to let a few mean students ruin that dream.

Many times Tyran could be found huddeled in the library or in the classrooms chatting things up with the teachers and bringing a better reputation to her throught the teachers. She always could get a good recomontadtion from professor Grimwald who knew her potential the best.

That day she was found in the classroom discussing the magic of healing and positive energies with professor Girmwald before class started. She felt that today would be her day to do or become something great.

 

[Third Magus]

"Some coffee, sir?"

Michael nodded politely, noting the 'sir'. A year ago, he had been a student and Professor Grimwald had been his teacher, called him by his first name and was informally friendly. The etiquette of Caledorn society was strict, but Michael also felt there was some hint of something else to Grimwald's new formality, some hint of something he wished to convey to his former star student.

He felt uneasy, uncomfortable with the distance Grimwald seemed to imply existed between them, and with the taxing train journey he'd taken here. He'd only managed to get a third-class compartment, and been jostled by loud, good-natured factory workers and sullen-mouthed soldiers, half of them sporting shiny clockwork prosthetic limbs from the recent wars in the south. Men came back changed from those wars; changed in body, all metal parts, and changed in mind; become cold and empty. Michael always got a stabbing headache around them, though they said and did nothing to provoke.

He sipped his coffee, examined Grimwald's office while he tried to regain his focus. It was a dark, warm place, lined with old, worn books and with a great oak desk in the centre. Along the desk were ranged a dozen glittering metal butterflies. It was Grimwald's hobby to design and create the tiny things; beautiful works of minature technomagical engineering. Michael remembered how fascinated he'd been the first time he'd watched Grimwald wind them up and let them fly across the room.

"I wanted to discuss with you the matter of taking an apprentice", said Grimwald, after Michael's silence had begun to stretch into awkwardness. Michael snapped out of his trance, nodded.

"I told you by telegram, did I not, that I would have to take them with me to Kornbluth?". His air of casualness was assumed. It was not usual practice for new university mentors to take their apprentices travelling with them.

Grimwald nodded. "That's actually quite fortunate"

Michael raised an eyebrow.

"I have a particular student in mind. Her name is Tyran. She's not a natural", the way I was, Michael silently added, "But she does her best. Unfortunately, the other students have taken against her rather, and tend to tease her. You remember how they can be"

Michael did. The dark, mysterious reputation of the Dantes had made him immedietely unpopular at university.

"I thought taking a year off from this university, and the company of her peers, might do her much good. You can incorporate the ruins you find in Kornbluth into your lessons: I understand the ancient peoples there had a remarkable hermetic and necromantic tradition"

Michael nodded noncommitally. "Perhaps I should see her, sir"

Grimwald nodded. "Certainly". He called outside the door to a passing student. "Nickleby? Would you be so kind as to go and find Tyran and ask her if she would be so kind as to join me in my office directly?"

The student nodded and disappeared, but watchful Michael noticed the fleeting look, an odd mixture of contempt and fear, that crossed his face when the professor mentioned Tyran.

The professor and his one-time student waited in renewed uncomfortable silence for the student under review to join them.

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

She sat reading in the library. Somehow she had just become lost in the journal of Minerva Wellings, the most famous female technomage of the time.

"Tyran?" She heard Nickleby's voice from around the corner.

What in the word does he want now she thought to herself. The last time he had come looking for her it was a trick into following him to lad where strange orange goo was poured over her from above. It too a week to get all of it out of her hair. The stench from in was unbearable as well.

She went back to her book pretending not to hear him. "TYRAN!" His shouting scared her as she fell backwards in her chair. The noise was enought to lead Nickleby to her exact location.

"What do you want this time Nickleby? I'm not going anythere with you. I've learned my lesson from last time."

"Professor Grimwald would like to speak to you. I think that your in trouble or something."

"I don't belive you. This is another one of your tricks"

"Seriously he sent me to find you"

"Oh very well then I'll go, but I'll make you impotent if this is another trick."

Slowly she rose and with book in hand she made her way down the twisted hallways of the university to Professor Grimwald's office.

Quietly she tapped on the door before entering.

"Professor Grimwald?"

"Yes Tyran, please sit." she sat nervousely next to the young man in th office

"What ever it was I did I'm sorry. Don't send me home. Don't believe andthing that Karma said to you she just doesn't want me here anymore. I really can explain."

"Your not in trouble Tyran. I wanted you to meet someone. This is Michael Dantes"

"Hello" She held her hand out a bit shyly embarrassed about her outbreak.

 

[Third Magus]

Michael studied Tyran intently, his head cocked slightly to one side. Green eyes and flame red hair; an unusual combination in Caledorn, and not one held to be auspicious. He did his best to refrain from smiling at her outburst; he knew what condescension felt like.

He took her hand gravely in his firm grasp and bowed politely over it. Professor Grimwald carried on:

"Mr Dante is one of our post-graduate students. As you know, university regulations dictate that post-graduate magi take on an apprentice from the first year students, to act as a private tutor and general mentor throughout the year... "

Michael raised an eyebrow to Grimwald, tacitly asking permission to continue. Grimwald nodded.

"Unfortunately, personal affairs take me to Kornbluth this year", said Michael, "Professor Grimwald has been kind enough to make special exception for me, and allow me to take my apprentice with me, and recommended you. This would, obviously, take you away from your regular studies for the greater part of the year, but I feel I would be able to cover most of your course myself, and you would also have the chance to study the native Kornbluth magic"

A little concerned that the formality of his speech had worried Tyran, he ended by directing a small, reassuring smile at her. Along with condescension, he remembered all too well some of the drier, stuffier teachers at Pyre University, and how much he had disliked their lectures.

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the outbreak.

"Kornbluth you say?....It sounds quite interesting. I would be honored to be your apprentice Mr. Dantes. I hope I do not burden you with my mishaps. there are quite a few."

OOC:Sorry for the shor post IO'm in a rush out the door

 

[Third Magus]

Michael smiled.

"Excellent. I look forward to teaching you, Miss Tyran"

He stood, bowing to Professor Grimwald.

"Thank you for your hospitality, sir, and for recommending Miss Tyran"

He turned to Tyran.

"I'm sure you must need to make your goodbyes, gather your things and make preparations for the journey. We'll be leaving Pyre by train very early tommorow morning, going east to the airfield in the City of the Glass, almost a day's journey. I have booked us tickets on the zeppelin Creature of Impulse to Manar, in Kornbluth"

He slipped her train and zeppelin tickets into her hand. "If you could meet me at Illuminas Street Station at five o'clock tommorow morning..."

Professor Grimwald laid a hand on his shoulder.

"If I could have a word with you, sir..."

"Certainly". The professor drew him away behind his desk, courteously dismissing Tyran and spoke in low tones.

"I am sure she'll impress you"

"She appears to be a very personable young lady", replied Michael, diplomatically avoiding mention of Tyran's flustered air.

"But a word about your business in Kornbluth. I knew your aunt, Mrs Fisher, slightly. She wrote several impressive pamphlets on arcane history, and I know what she was researching at the time she disappeared..."

Michael leaned closer, suddenly interested. "Really? What?"

Grimwald hesitated. "There are... entities that popular philosophy in this modern age likes to pretend don't exist. An attitude, I might add, gravely dangerous"

"Yes, yes", said Michael impatiently. His politeness, to Grimwald, to his new apprentice, was beginning to wear thin. His headache had returned stronger than before, and now was beginning to blur the edges of his vision with black. The pain and frustration fed off each other. "Tell me what she was studying"

"Michael.... ", all formality dropped from the professor's tone, "Promise me something. Promise me you'll look after yourself. Promise you'll look after Tyran"

"Yes", said Michael, his tone biting, thin and underneath, confused, "I believe I'm capable, as a graduated mage, of defending myself. And defending the girl over there, though her 'mishaps' may make that a hard and thankless task. Now tell me what my aunt was studying"

Shock crossed Grimwald's face, as he stared into Michael's dark blue eyes, blazing with anger. There was a long pause. Michael shook his head.

"What am I... I'm sorry, professor. It's just... my head hurts, and I need to know"

The professor seemed to have made his own decision. "I'm sorry, but I will not tell you"

"What? But I have all of Kornbluth to search otherwise! Knowing what she was studying would narrow it down immensely, could lead me to straight to her"

Grimwald nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of"

Michael was hurt, and doing everything in his power not to show it. "Very well, sir. As you would have it"

He started to make for the door. Grimwald stopped him.

"You're angry now, I know. I wish I could explain but even trying would just make you angrier. You have to trust me, Michael. Here"

He drew something from his pouch. It was a butterfly, like the ones on his desk, but made from paper, its wings shaped in delicate folds. He proffered it.

"Here. It's a good luck charm"

Michael picked it up and stared at it bleakly, his mind swimming with hurt, anger and betrayal.

"How quaint. I've seen things like it in village fairs in the south. They hang them over the pillows of children, to bring them fair dreams and long lives. 'Inferno' "

Michael channeled a spark of energy, the old familiar rush like blood up his nerves through his fingertips, and the paper butterfly flared in a tiny, bright flame. Michael watched it burn away, letting none of the fire touch his fingers. He flicked the ash on to Grimwald's desk.

"Leave my life alone"

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

She left quickly looking at the ticket in hand. Oh, how her life would now change as she left this place of persecution. What an adventure lie ahead of her.

To her dorm she ran thinkning of what was needed to be done before her departure to kornbluth. There she packed a small bag with a few clothes and spell items as well as a few books.

There were really no goodbyes to be said but she rushed quickly to the library anyways to see who would be there.

Upon entering she spotted Nicklyby and Karma at a long narrow table. They looked up as she approached.

"So I heard you had a meeting with Grimwald. Why would he want to speak with a mess up such as you tyran?" Karma's words dug deep but Tyran stood her ground.

"After today I will no longer be here. I have been chosen to be an apprentice to Michael Dantes and traval to Kornbluth with him for the year." she smiled with the satisfaction of knowing that Karma was boiling inside with rage.

"I just came to say goodbye." She turned and left. Sleep would be needed for the upcoming day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning came slowly as she awok from a light sleep. The excitement was too much as she dressed in a simple black dress and cloak. she grabbed her things and proceeded to the Illuminas Street Station. It was stil early when she arrived but she sat and waited patiently for Mr. Dantes to arrive.

 

[Third Magus]

Michael hadn't visited his rooms in college since his graduation, over a year ago. They had been left exactly as they were; all the cleaning staff knew that the property of a graduated mage was sacrosanct. And possibly dangerous.

Michael coughed in the billowing layers of dust his entrance had disturbed, and gingerly drew back the thick curtains that kept his small sitting room plunged in darkness. He selected a handful of old, leatherbound books from the shelf over the armchair; simple texts on elemental and healing magicks, suitable for a student mage, and placed them in a pile on the desk.

More thoughtfully, he looked for some books for himself. He had nothing on ancient Kornbluth, and didn't feel up to the trip down to the library to search for them. Instead, he chose a metalbound copy of Matheson's Incantations; a strange work; allusive, haunting, seeming to imply much more than it stated, that he had read without fully comprehending once before, and The Book of the Sign, the basic book of spells.

After he'd finished a year training an apprentice, if he wished to continue his studies and was judged suitable by the university, he would be given a grant to research and compile his own spellbook. Spellbooks were eerie things, with half-lives and intelligences of their own, and creating such a thing was no easy matter. It was said to take years off the life-span of some magi, and simply consume the minds of others, and for this reason as well as native frugality, the university only gave its grant to the strongest-willed, most talented of magi.

Many mages played it safe, writing simple primers for students and introductions to magic, creating few original spells, and relying more on the work of those gone before. Michael seemed to recall that was what Grimwald had produced for his post-graduate work. Although such things were necessary, and held their own dangers, Michael had always held authors of such spellbooks in faint contempt. His heroes were such as Matheson and Egermann; pioneers on the shadowy edge of magic, creating wholly original works of power that risked the reader's soul and sanity almost as much as the author's. One paid the price, of course; Matheson had ended his days in a lunatic asylum, and Anita Egermann had burned out at the age of twenty-five, and lost all ability to read and write permanently, but the gift they bestowed in the understanding of magic as a whole was immeasurable.

Michael packed the books away in a portmanteau, along with clothes and other necessaries for the journey. In a hidden compartment inside the lining, he placed the tools of his art; a pair of athames, a deck of Tarot cards, and certain amulets. They were only necessary for the greater magicks, but Michael liked to be prepared.

He slept poorly and was troubled with certain nightmares; the image of a paper butterfly burning in his hands repeated over and over again.


In the morning, he washed himself with cold water from the copper basin in the mirror, and shaved himself with a cold new razor. He dressed in a dark suit, and placing a simple grey coat and travelling-cloak over it. Clapping on his hat, he left for the train station.


"Good morning, Miss Tyran"

She was sitting in the train's anteroom. Although she hadn't heard his dismissive words against her to Grimwald the evening before, Michael still felt vaguely guilty when he saw her eager face. The train's whistle sounded.

"I believe that's our call", he added, waving for his new apprentice to precede him on to the train.

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

she almost jumped out of her seat when he arrived.

"Mr. Dantes, you scared me."

she followed close behind him onto the train. the private compartment they were in was quite elegant and better than anything she had been on before. Quitely she sat on the soft pillowy seat next to the window.

She noticed the way he dressed and then felt somewhat underdressed for the trip. For some reason he seemed troubled but tried to hold it hack.

"Mr. Dantes?....If I may ask.....what is the reason for travaling to kornbluth? I have never hear of an apprentice studying away from the university before."

 

[Third Magus]

Michael hesitated over his response, staring out of the compartment's window as the train slowly steamed out of the station, through Pyre's grey slums, dominated by the dark bulk of factories on the skyline.

The girl had a right to know; it was her education at stake, but on the other hand, he had no wish to discuss his family's affairs. Eventually, he compromised:

"My aunt, Annah Fisher, disappeared on her way to study certain newly-discovered ruins on the Kornbluth plains. I... I am the only of the family available to look for her"

He tried to change the subject. "What of you, Miss Tyran? Whereabouts do you come from? I can't place your accent".

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

Her cheeks flushed a pale pink as he spoke to her. She had no intention of bringing up a sensitive subject to her new teacher.

"What of you, Miss Tyran? Whereabouts do you come from? I can't place your accent". his voice was deep and smooth as he spoke gently to her.

"Well, really now...is it that important. i really hate speaking of my background. All I want is to study magic. more so the dark arts, but that is only to find the true good that come about from it." she stared at her lap and let her fingers wind in the softness of the cloak.

She looked back up from the corner of her eye.

"Do you really want to know Mr. Dantes?"

He nodded slightly for her to go on.

"I grew up on the shores of the great black lake. you must of heard of it, since everyone is warned not to go near it. the manor on the far edge of it is my family's. We are the owners of the lake and all that lives within. The water is the source of my magic as well as all of my relation."

 

[Third Magus]

Michael nodded thoughtfully.

"It's not where our power comes from, but what use we make of it that matters".

There was a pause. To break it, Michael reached into his portmanteau and withdrew an oval ebony box.

"Would you care for a game of Crows?", he asked, already setting up the pieces; sixteen black and one white.

The origins of Crows was lost in antiquity, although it was said to represent the action of a murder of crows; taking flight and pecking to death the one albino in the flock. Nobody could say if that was what crows actually did, since a fluke of nature had given them allergic reactions to the smog of the new factories, and they had almost all died out fifty years ago, when the first partially mechanised factories were introduced, except for scattered, tiny flocks the zoos had managed to save.

In Crows, one player took the white piece, called the Crow King, and the other controlled all the other black pieces. The goal of the Crow King was to escape to any corner of the board, the goal of the other player was to completely surround the white piece with his pieces. Student mages were always encouraged to play it, as the studied calm and lengthy examination of options the game required were similar to the traits needed for the practise of magick.

"White or black?", asked Michael, placing the last piece on the unrolled cloth board.

 

[papillon24]

She studied the pieces that he brought out with great detail. Never before had she seen such and intriquet game before.

"I would love to play a game. I have not played for quite some time.I'll be the black"

 

[Third Magus]

Michael smiled, and set down the Crow King in the centre of the board. Crows was an interesting game; tactics varied greatly depending on whether one was black or white. The Crow King's movements were much more limited than the black crow pieces, but he could move in directions they were unable to.

He quickly found himself absorbed in the game. He'd never been a particularly adept player; he was too impatient, but he found himself playing better than usual, nimbly side-stepping Tyran's attempts to hem him in and always moving, in the peculiar spiral the movement rules enforced, towards one of the cloth board's corners.

Tyran might have been out of practise, but she was still a strong player. Only three squares from the bottom lefthand corner and victory, Michael's Crow King was blocked, and soon trapped entirely by the black pieces. Smiling ruefully, he conceded defeat.

"Poor Crow King", he murmured, almost to himself, staring at the finished game's tableau "Pecked to death..."

The train had long emerged from Pyre and its surrounding suburbs and now rattled through the long stretches of timberland and rough farm-country between Pyre and the City of Glass. Michael, surprised by his own slightly morbid thoughts looking at the mass of black surrounding white on the board, spoke up again.

"You are a skillful opponent, Miss Tyran. Where did you learn to play?"

His only thought had been to dispel his own sombre broodings, but now he wondered uncomfortably if his apprentice found these questions about her and her past boorishly prying.

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

"Please, just Tyran. I really do hate the formalities." Her glance went to the scenery of the landscape that passed by quite quickly. "The game just kinda came as a natural game for me. My father taught it to me when I was very young and I have always loved the challenge."

 

[Third Magus]

"Tyran it is"

The train passed through a small farming town, stopping briefly at the station to gather a small handful of passengers. A lean, balding, dry-skinned man, with a pince-nez perched on his nose, got into Michael and Tyran's first-class apartment, shooting them an odd, unreadable glance as he took the seat opposite and produced a small leatherbound book.

Michael felt oddly uncomfortable in his presence, as he sometimes did around people, generally for no apparant reason. One of his tutors had thought it was a touch of the sixth sense, but even if it was, the premonitions were always too vague to do anything but alarm.

The newcomer's slightly ridiculous, almost playfully tilted pince-nez, didn't suit him. They felt like an attempt to disguise his nature; fur and feathers on a reptillian predator. There were cold gray eyes behind the lenses; Michael could feel them watching him over the edge of the man's book.

Irritably, Michael shook himself of ridiculous fancies, and addressed Tyran again.

"Well, Mis... ahh, Tyran", the name, shorn of formality, sounded unfamiliar to him, "What areas interest you especially in the field of magick? What kind of spells would you prefer to concentrate on during the course?"

With the power-source she had described her bloodline as possessing, the magick of water and shadows, an elusive art of tricks and illusions that many practised and few mastered, was likely to suit her, but Michael also sensed an aura of the healing and positive magicks; the so-called 'Kindly Arts' about Tyran. Perhaps she preferred to deny her heritage.

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

For a moment his gaze seemed distant as she watched him watch the window. Someting was bothering him and she felt it might be her.

Then he spoke, softly drawing her in with his voice

"Well, Mis... ahh, Tyran", the name, shorn of formality, sounded unfamiliar to him, "What areas interest you especially in the field of magick? What kind of spells would you prefer to concentrate on during the course?"

"Well Sir, As I said I love the spells my father taught me on the shores of the the lake. You know, the darker magic. But really I have become quite comfortable with those and would like to work with something new. I would like to know how to heal. I believe it would be a good trade to know."

 

[Third Magus]

"Healing magicks are a semi-controversial subject. Some people maintain they go against nature, by interfering with the body's natural routine. They've tried to pass a bill through the House of Parliament banning it three times now"

Michael smiled. "Last time the Cerrig whip pointed out that medicine interfered with the body's natural routine too".

His smile faded as he once again caught the gaze of the man in the opposite seat. "Conservative speeches about how the Kindly Arts tear apart the body are nonsense, of course, but it is true that healing magick must be used carefully. It acts by forcing an impetus to the body to heal itself; to close over old wounds, form and discard scabs, pump poisons out of the bloodstream. One of the cardinal laws of magick is that energy cannot be created; only transferred. Healing magicks use the body of the subject being treated to gather their energy from.
"For a strong adult, and a minor injury, the treatment might not cause more than an unusual need for sleep and food over the next few days, but the worse the injury is, the greater the drain. One of the oldest of the cardinal laws is that nothing in magick is without its price. There are many occasions when healing magicks can be of no use whatsoever; they will take more to heal him than the patient can afford to give. Thus, there'll always be a need for ordinary medicines and physicians, no matter how advanced the Kindly Arts become"

Michael continued to teach Tyran the theory of healing magicks as the train rumbled on. He spoke in a soft, clear voice, easily carrying over the sound of the moving train. Their fellow passenger continued to watch them silently.

It was evening, and shadows were gathering in the bruised purple sky over the City of Glass as they pulled into the station. It was just a short coach-ride from there to the zeppelin's airfield. Michael got up, and offered a hand to Tyran to step out of the train.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Messalina Bishop

It was 96° out and felt like 110 in the shade. She needed into the fan-cooled air of her house and something cold to drink. Messalina swore as she shuffled her groceries in her arms and grabbed the mail from the box before letting herself into the brownstone.

"Lucy, I'm home!" Messa greeted the oversized blue Persian who was head-butting her leg in a manner of greeting. "You'll be fed in a minute, fuzzy one. Patience. Me first today."

She opened the ice box and took out a pitcher of lemonade which she replaced with a head of lettuce and some cheese before turning to dish out some food for the now yowling Lucy. Messalina kicked off her shoes and began to unbutton her blouse as she took a swig of her ice cold drink and shuffled through the mail.

"Bills and more bills, Lucy. That's all we ever... " She paused as an envelope with an engraved return caught her eye. "Oooh... a high class bill. Maybe we should give them a read, huh?" Grabbing a knife from the counter, she slit the envelope open.

Dear Dr. Bishop,

Your educational credentials and recognition as an authority in Classical Archaeology have led us to seek you out with an offer we believe you will not be able to refuse. Suffice it to say that your project at Aphrodisias in the Maeander River basin may have been a huge discovery but this one will both rival and surpass it. The financial remunerations alone will make it more than worth your while.

If you are interested in learning more, and we are sure that you will most certainly be, please accept our invitation to join us at the Kornbluth Hotel in Manar soonest possible. All travel expenses will be reimbursed upon your arrival at same.

Sincerely,

Dr. Primus Hendershot
Director, The Phoenix Group, Ltd

"Well well well," she mumbled as she took another long drink and turned the letter over to look at the back. Why people did that was beyond her, but she did it without fail. One of these days she'd figure that out.

Reopening the ice box, she tossed the cheese and lettuce into the refuse bin and poured another lemonade as she read and reread the letter. It was tempting. Very tempting indeed. How could she refuse?

Messalina Bishop had been named for one of the uppity wimmin of herstory as her father liked to say. Never quite living up to the reputation of the wife of the Emperor Claudius of Rome, she had had a wild youth but had finally settled down in her twenties and hit the books (much to her parents' relief) earning a major in archaeology and a minor in cultural anthropology.

Messa had heard of Primus Hendershot before. In certain circles he was revered, in others abhorred. In all, he was considered to be untrustworthy. She, however, didn't have an opinion of the man. She was bored and this seemed like the perfect fix.

Checking the City of Glass Transportation schedule, she saw that she still had time to catch the coach that would take her to the Creature of Impulse. That, followed by another check for the zeppelin's departure times and destinations made it a done deal. "All set, Lucy. Now all we have to do is pack."

An hour later, dressed in a brown mid-length skirt that was cinched tight at the waist but flowed freely over her hips and legs which she topped with a loose-fitting white silk blouse, Messalina slipped on a pair of sturdy hiking boots and threw her cloak over her shoulders. Hoisting her overstuffed portmanteau, she shooed Lucy into her animal carrier and headed for the station, arriving with a full twenty minutes to spare. Ten after she purchased her ticket.

 

[Third Magus]

The City of Glass was quiet as Michael, Tyran, their fellow passenger and a small group of other travellers descended from the train and made their way on to the street outside.

The streets were empty, and the air cold as an omen, with only the occasional passer-by hurrying away in the distance. Michael scanned them, the deep feeling of unease he had had all day suddenly growing in this silent evening. The sky was the colour of a bruise; deep ugly purples and browns.

One young woman was already standing by the coach’s stopping point, waiting for it. A torn and crumpled newspaper, blown by the wind, tumbled across the street. Michael caught the first few words of its headline: ‘THIRD DAY OF STRIKE…’. He led Tyran across to the stopping point.

A sudden violent gale whipped at the newspaper, and it danced a frenzied dance across the street, scraps of dirty grey-white paper tearing loose. Michael flinched, then felt ridiculous for doing so. A mage had to be calm, not jumping at shadows. Fine example to set his apprentice.

The coach was fifteen minutes late and, when it arrived, the driver had a bloody gash on the side of his head.

“Riots uptown”, he said laconically.

Michael prepared to climb aboard.

 

[papillon24]

Tyran

Her mind grew silent as she steped off the train. The idea of this place had always given he a bad feeling. Soemthing was odd in te air but she could not put her finger on it.

The carriage pulled up and the man who drove it seemed to bleed from his head.

"Mr Dantes?....Is all right with this place? and Where are we headed?"

 

[Third Magus]

"It's the glass factories", Michael told Tyran, "The workers work long hours for little pay in terrible conditions. Something has to give..."

His eyes were drawn to the empty street ahead of the speeding coach. The entire crowd of travellers were packed into the one coach. The driver had shook his head grimly when asked if any more coaches would be coming. Michael and Tyran were tighly squeezed in near the driver's seat, a few places down from the young lady he'd seen earlier.

"The only weapon they have against the management is the option of refusing to work. Recently, though, three or four of the biggest businesses here passed a bill through Parliament, making strikes and unions illegal... meaning they can call out the police if a strike is formed. That ups the ante"

Michael shook his head. "There'll be strikers beating blacklegs, there'll be policemen beating strikers, and sooner or later there'll be the vultures this kind of chaos always brings; looters who take advantage of the confusion to run amok"

Belatedly wondering if he should have taken a more soothing note, he smiled reassuringly at Tyran, and brushed aside a loose strand of red hair from her face. "Don't worry, Miss... don't worry, Tyran. We just need to get to the airfield, where the zeppelin Creature of Impulse will be waiting to take off, and we can leave all this place's troubles behind us"

 

[stalwartone]

OOC-Jervis Tehtch.

IC- Pausing for a moment to touch the brim of his slightly battered bowler in acknowledgement of the young lady before him, Jervis allowed the customary moment of respectful time, then pressed around her, and stepped into the street. His eyes darting briefly to each side, he skipped across to the other side, avoiding the heavily digested remains of some horse's last meal. He may have disliked crossing town under his own power, but with the local strife disrupting local transportation, he had a better chance of making the flight if he used his feet rather than risk the availability of the coaches. An acquaintance had been working on a perambulator, but the thought of sitting for any length of time on top of either a boiler or a hotbox as someone attempted to navigate the streets unnerved him.

Anyone besides me, definitely. He was top at finding his way around, even in the darkest night or most unfamiliar terrain. That had more to do with his studies in the finding arts, as well as the numerous runes on his body and the tools carried at his side. Some might rely upon the night sky and the oddities of magnetics, but Jervis was more willing to trust the teachings of the Tome of Findeyng, and the various elements required of it.

The air station was before him, and he stepped into the looming structure. He couldn't understand the mindset of those that designed these buildings. Huge affairs that forced a sense of inferiority upon those that entered, then you were forced to go out to an open field to climb aboard the ship. Darkling's minions, those airships were built within facilities smaller than these, stored within them even. Why force people to feel tiny when taking distance transportation?

In any case, he purchased his ticket, and went to the correct terminal. A liveried baggage boy attempted to take his two bags from him, but he politely refused. Too many chances for his tools to be taken from him, and he would likely need all of them at the other end of the trip.

 

[Violet_J]

Rebecca Ingles - Creature of Impulse

"Lower the mooring lines."

"Moorings, aye."

Neither voice sounded particularly enthusiatic, or even hinted at the gravity of the task about to be undertaken. In fact, both the voice of the first mate and the helmsman sounded nearly bored.

This may have been routine to them, but it was only Rebecca's fifth landing in a von Zeppelin. She leaned forward a little more, looked down at the ground, and tried to peer under the airship. From the ground, it was an impressive sight; a slow motion capture and wrestle of a floating elephant, or whale. The mooring lines quickly descended from the airship, nearly a dozen thin threads rushing to the ground. They all stopped just shy of touching.

The ground crew assembled in place, safely grounded the airship, and pulled the lines taunt. Now the airship would slow its own descent and let the ground crew pull it down against its natural tendancy to float.

"Leftenant," a voice called over her shoulder, interrupting her musings over the ballet below.

"Yes, sir," she spun on her heels, toward the voice. It was her immediate commanding officer, the ship's navigator, Leftenant Commander Paul Webster, and he was smiling.

"Would you prepare our logs?" His hand motioned toward the map table toward the back of the command deck.

"Yes, sir," she chirped and dutifully made her way aftward. The flight logs and charts would have to be 'finished', incomplete notes completed, half finished computations computed, and all of it signed by two officers before it was turned into the logistics people on the ground. More routine and boring work for the rest of the crew, but the experience hadn't quite grown tiresome for her.