- Location
- washington
also memories a bit iffy I read skin games like the week it came out lol.
Green Flame Rising (Exalted vs Dresden Files)
- Thread starter DragonParadox
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
Ok, thanks. Further question - what does Molly's lore knowledge tell her (we could use Occult excellency if there's a roll required) about Lash being able to communicate with Lasciel, or Lasciel being able to spy on / observe / know everything about Lash from her coin?
That is too detailed for her to roll about, she does not have any occult understanding of the Fallen. That said logically if communication were easy there would be no need for the Fallen to create an autonomous entity to do the corrupting of the coin bearer, so it had to be on a scale from difficult to impossible.
- Location
- Germany
With the news given I'd really prefer to tell Harry.
I know, OOC it's propably best if he and Lash stick together for longer, and hopefully that will be the outcome, but not telling him is still treating him unfairly.
I know, OOC it's propably best if he and Lash stick together for longer, and hopefully that will be the outcome, but not telling him is still treating him unfairly.
- Location
- Terror Australis
Given that Anduriel can freely scry via shadows without eating a penalty, I suspect that the actual restriction is on sending messages.
While Lasciel may or may not be allowed to monitor Harry remotely, if she sends Harry or her Shadow a message that breaches the rules.
So since the Fallen aren't allowed to just set up a phoneline they need to create agents to do the work directly.
While Lasciel may or may not be allowed to monitor Harry remotely, if she sends Harry or her Shadow a message that breaches the rules.
So since the Fallen aren't allowed to just set up a phoneline they need to create agents to do the work directly.
- Location
- washington
It's probably certain that like a lot of beings fallen have several if not dozens of restrictions. Some of those not really mattering to us though.
It's Anduriel's whole thing to be able to listen through shadows. That's what makes them scary. I doubt Lasciel has something similar, especially without a host.
In any case, another argument - what do we actually expect to get that can bind Lash? Emerald Circle Binding is unlikely to work - Lash is almost certainly a WoD Incarna level (Lasciel is guaranteed to be a celestine, making Lash, her subsoul, a level below that, ie an Incarna). Devil Refining Cauldron doesn't have the limitation on what it can render down into base components, but it's a) a 4 dot charm, and b) requires us to defeat Lash in combat, which is unlikely to be easy. Spawning Pit Sanctification might work, possibly (it doesn't provide a clause for escape), but that's arguable at best, and a 4 dot unfavored charm. The most we can hope for is KIngdom charm with gaols in it.
So, basically, we are, at the very best, months of in-story effort, and multiple arcs away from having the capability of binding Lash. That's completely unfair to Harry.
Adding to that - if we don't tell Harry, we are also committing to not using the ritual where he can learn about it. Essentially, in many scenarios, we'd be locking it away as a tool completely. This means that at worst, we just spend 10 XP for an ability that won't see any use in multiple arcs, if at all.
Further adding to that - by not telling Harry, we aren't just denying Harry the ritual. We are also denying it to Inari Raith, Susan Rodriguez, and probably a number of other people in need of help that Harry knows or will know about. Basically, any case where possession is an issue in some way that Harry gets and can't easily solve? That's on us.
The meta reasoning "Harry and Lash work out" is flawed too. Because we are there, and Lash knows about that. Her actions, methodology and development have been greatly affected by us. As were Harry's.
Thing is, just because we can exorcise one thing doesn't mean we can exorcise another.
For example, Lash isn't a conventional spirit. She's originally actually part of Harry's mind and soul that Lascieo reformatted that has grown into an autonomous entity. That isn't something that can obviously be removed. Michael told Harry that the only way to do so was to suppress all his magic until it went away, and that Lash would go along with the rest.
That means we can still use it on other people possessed by things that resemble conventional spirits more.
For a second, while Lash is knowledgeable, she isn't a spirit of knowledge like Bob, whose power is proportional to what they know. She's almost a mortal soul, as that's what she grew from, and is why she has free will and the ability to change in ways Bob couldn't, as she's not a regular spirit.
As a result, we can't assume that she'll be that powerful if exorcised. She'll know a lot of magic, sure, but we can take countermeasures to that in advance, such as draining an area of the ambient magic that wizards use and having other regular magic suppressing wards up.
As a side note, Devil Refining Cauldron is what Infernals have in place of a spirit killer, as they're not meant to kill spirits but instead enslave them and make them serve a useful purpose.
For example, Lash isn't a conventional spirit. She's originally actually part of Harry's mind and soul that Lascieo reformatted that has grown into an autonomous entity. That isn't something that can obviously be removed. Michael told Harry that the only way to do so was to suppress all his magic until it went away, and that Lash would go along with the rest.
That means we can still use it on other people possessed by things that resemble conventional spirits more.
For a second, while Lash is knowledgeable, she isn't a spirit of knowledge like Bob, whose power is proportional to what they know. She's almost a mortal soul, as that's what she grew from, and is why she has free will and the ability to change in ways Bob couldn't, as she's not a regular spirit.
As a result, we can't assume that she'll be that powerful if exorcised. She'll know a lot of magic, sure, but we can take countermeasures to that in advance, such as draining an area of the ambient magic that wizards use and having other regular magic suppressing wards up.
As a side note, Devil Refining Cauldron is what Infernals have in place of a spirit killer, as they're not meant to kill spirits but instead enslave them and make them serve a useful purpose.
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In this quest, Lash is Lasciel's fetich soul:
Meaning that she's almost guaranteed to be an Incarna level, and a high one at that, probably around Maeve's power. And this actually brings up an interesting point. @DragonParadox , if Lash is Lasciel's fetich, however that works for non-primordials, how come Lasciel doesn't suffer a fetich death when Lash dies?
Thinking about it fetich is too powerful (that was way at the start of the quest and I did not have all the metaphysics nailed down), she is a sub-soul that gets reintegrated, if she is lost well Lasciel can grow a new one, she is the equivalent of a Second Circle Demon not one of the Third Circle.
If possible, could you clarify what "level" of spirit is Lash? I am tentatively placing her as lower level incarna.
No way to really tell unfortunately, Molly met her before she had DPE.
My friend, thats just outright wrong.
Lash is Harry's connection to Hellfire; its literally quoted right there in the citation I provided that you are replying to.
Thats prima facie evidence of an ongoing connection whose dimensions and ramifications we know fuckall about.
Furthermore, Lash also allows him to summon Lasciel's coin remotely, even through the warding circle he buried it under.
Which, I will point out, he created because Lasciel was able to directly whisper in his head:
I heard a clinking sound. Something shining landed in the grass by little Harry, and he immediately pushed himself to his feet, wobbled, then headed for it.
I panicked abruptly and lunged out ahead of him, slapping my hand down over a polished silver coin before the child could squat down to pick it up. I felt a prickling jolt shoot up my arm, and had the sudden, intangible impression that someone nearby was waking up from a nap and stretching.
I looked up to see a car on the street, driver-side window rolled down.
Nicodemus sat at the wheel, relaxed and smiling. "Be seeing you, Dresden."
He drove away. I took my shaking hand from the coin.
Lasciel's blackened sigil lay before my eyes. I heard a door open, and on pure instinct palmed the coin and slipped it in my pocket. I looked back to find Sanya frowning and looking up and down the street. His nostrils flared a few times, and he paced over to stand near me. He sniffed a few more times and then peered down at the baby. "Aha," he rumbled. "Someone is stinky." He swooped the kid up in his arms, making him squeal and laugh. "You mind if I steal your playmate for a minute, Harry?"
"Go ahead," I said. "I need to get going anyway."
Sanya nodded and grinned at me, offering his hand. I shook it. "It has been a pleasure to work with you," Sanya said. "Perhaps we will see each other again."
The coin felt cool and heavy in my pocket. "Yeah. Maybe so."
I left the cookout without saying good-bye, and headed home. I heard something the whole time, something whispering almost inaudibly. I drowned it out with loud and off-key singing, and got to work.
Ten hours later, I put down the excavating pick and glowered at the two-foot hole I had chipped in my lab's concrete floor. The whispering in my head had segued into "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Stones.
"Harry," whispered a gentle voice.
I dropped the coin into the hole. I slipped a steel ring about three inches across around it. I muttered to myself and willed energy into the ring. The whispering abruptly cut off.
I dumped two buckets of cement into the hole and smoothed it until it was level with the rest of my floor. After that, I hurried out of the lab and shut the door behind me.
Mister came over to demand attention. I settled on the couch, and he jumped up to sprawl on his back over my legs. I petted him and stared at Shiro's cane, resting in the corner.
I panicked abruptly and lunged out ahead of him, slapping my hand down over a polished silver coin before the child could squat down to pick it up. I felt a prickling jolt shoot up my arm, and had the sudden, intangible impression that someone nearby was waking up from a nap and stretching.
I looked up to see a car on the street, driver-side window rolled down.
Nicodemus sat at the wheel, relaxed and smiling. "Be seeing you, Dresden."
He drove away. I took my shaking hand from the coin.
Lasciel's blackened sigil lay before my eyes. I heard a door open, and on pure instinct palmed the coin and slipped it in my pocket. I looked back to find Sanya frowning and looking up and down the street. His nostrils flared a few times, and he paced over to stand near me. He sniffed a few more times and then peered down at the baby. "Aha," he rumbled. "Someone is stinky." He swooped the kid up in his arms, making him squeal and laugh. "You mind if I steal your playmate for a minute, Harry?"
"Go ahead," I said. "I need to get going anyway."
Sanya nodded and grinned at me, offering his hand. I shook it. "It has been a pleasure to work with you," Sanya said. "Perhaps we will see each other again."
The coin felt cool and heavy in my pocket. "Yeah. Maybe so."
I left the cookout without saying good-bye, and headed home. I heard something the whole time, something whispering almost inaudibly. I drowned it out with loud and off-key singing, and got to work.
Ten hours later, I put down the excavating pick and glowered at the two-foot hole I had chipped in my lab's concrete floor. The whispering in my head had segued into "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Stones.
"Harry," whispered a gentle voice.
I dropped the coin into the hole. I slipped a steel ring about three inches across around it. I muttered to myself and willed energy into the ring. The whispering abruptly cut off.
I dumped two buckets of cement into the hole and smoothed it until it was level with the rest of my floor. After that, I hurried out of the lab and shut the door behind me.
Mister came over to demand attention. I settled on the couch, and he jumped up to sprawl on his back over my legs. I petted him and stared at Shiro's cane, resting in the corner.
Thats just not possible.
A fetich soul of an angel would not need to run on the soul and brain of a human, and frankly wouldnt fit.
Furthermore, Lasciel would never put her fetich soul in such a position of vulnerability; if Lash had been a fetich soul, her death in White Night would have killed Lasciel. Thats what happens when your fetich dies. A successor entity would have gone on, the way Adrian became Adorjan, or Theion became Malfeas on the death of a fetich soul, but it would not be Lasciel.
Besides, fetich souls are appallingly powerful on a level that Lash just has no feats for.
Corpsetaker rooting around in Dresden's head in Dead Beat? The Outsider attack that paralyzed Dresden in the Raith Deeps in White Night? Just two examples of things that just plain wouldnt have been possible with an angelic fetich in Dresden's noggin.
I harbor major doubts about the validity of using a Primordial soul-structure model to model an angel, even a Fallen.
We've seen several of them onscreen, loyalists and Fallen alike, and we have gotten some Word of Jim on how Uriel operates.
That does not appear to be a plausible model.
In any case, even that greatly over estimates Lash.
We have seen her act over multiple books; she doesnt have the feats to suggest that she wields the power of an angelic subsoul, and the terms of being imprisoned in a Coin appear to preclude Lasciel being able to transfer any splinter of her person out of the Coin to go act on her behalf elsewhere.
Lash would in Eclipse Phase terms, be a beta or gamma fork of Lasciel: a mental clone with some important parts snipped off and turned loose to perform a task for the original, in the expectation that the primary personality will reabsorb them later.
Or, to use Exalted 2E Infernal models, her closest analogue is a Splintered Gale Shintai clone.
Splintered Gale Shintai
Cost: 10m, 1wp, 1lhlMins: Essence 3
Type: Simple (Speed 7)
Keywords: Obvious, Sorcerous, Stackable
Duration: Indefinite
Prerequisite Charms: Self As Cyclone Stance
To call Adorjan insane minimizes how alien and frightening she really is. However, the fissures and partitions of her souls offer many opportunities to those who emulate her power. The Exalt's body shimmers and flickers like a mirage and she opens her mouth in a soundless scream of agony. Bloody vapors pour from her mouth in ragged gasps, congealing to form a duplicate of the Infernal's body that comes into existence naked or wearing simple clothes (worth Resources 2 or less). This duplicate is a heroic mortal, but has the same non-magical traits as its creator, including Intimacies, Motivation and memories. It has no destiny to divine and is a creature of darkness, but is too insignificant to be outside fate. Human trait limits apply, capping Attributes and Abilities at 5 dots. The construct begins life with full health, Willpower points equal to (lesser of the Infernal's Willpower or Essence rating) and all Virtue channels.
The duplicate knows it is a construct and that it has no more existence beyond its bestowed life. Not only is the created life naturally inclined to be loyal to its maker on account of their shared personality, but it also must obey her like a demon bound to her service (but without any Limit issues). It is considered part of her body as an arcane link.
The Storyteller controls the character like any other follower. Unlike most Sorcerous Charms, this one requires committed Essence and automatically terminates if that commitment ends. Withdrawing the Essence committed to this Charm or targeting the duplicate with appropriate countermagic causes it to scream and suffer a minute of unimaginable agony, which is usually spent vainly begging for help or life. When the creature's last minute passes or the construct dies by other means, its body dissolves to nothingness as though shredded by Adorjan's touch.
Non-magical attire and carried possessions likewise disintegrate, though magical items endure. Alternately, the Infernal may end this Charm and absorb any duplicates within (Essence x 10) yards, causing them to unravel into crimson winds that flow into her, granting her their memories. She may later recreate absorbed duplicates if she desires. An Infernal may create and maintain as many separate duplicates as she is willing to sustain with committed Essence.
Should any of these duplicates somehow earn a Celestial Exaltation, their facsimile-souls become the genuine article; they no longer depend on their creator to maintain their existence. As an alternate use, warlocks with female reproductive organs who aren't already pregnant may activate the Charm to induce parthenogenic but otherwise normal pregnancies in themselves. The resultant offspring is an Infernal Half-Caste and looks the same as its sole parent, calculating Inheritance as if she were mother and father both (which she is). The child otherwise is its own being and develops as such.
A second purchase at Essence 4+ reduces the cost to one mote, one Willpower. The Exalt can also initiate real-time telepathic contact with any duplicate in the same realm of existence as a diceless miscellaneous action. Wards that block scrying block this power. Contact lasts for the rest of the scene or until reflexively dismissed. While the link remains open, either party can speak to the other, but neither can probe for anything except communicated thoughts. Only one link may be open at a time; opening another terminates the existing connection.
A third purchase at Essence 5+ allows the warlock to spend 30m as a diceless miscellaneous action to dissolve her current body like the death of a duplicate.
She may then transfer her Exaltation and souls into a duplicate, traveling as an invisible and infinitely fast wind. This fails if the site of either body is warded against teleportation. The duplicate becomes the warlock as a Shaping effect. The Infernal finds herself in her new body without any of its memories. All attunements to artifacts break, leaving no arcane link to help her find and retrieve magical possessions abandoned with her old body. A fourth purchase at Essence 6+ causes the Infernal to instantly learn all memories of any duplicate she replaces. Furthermore, she can initiate the transfer as a reflexive action subject to the Imperfection of the Silent Wind, using it as a defense by accelerating into dissolution.
When Adorjan deigns to wield this Charm, she sends frail human parodies of her skills wrapped around the delicacy of a specific psychosis, choosing any of her infinite Urges and faces to define the creature's Motivation and appearance. The soulless creatures can't leave Malfeas on their own, but may be summoned (though not bound) as if they were First Circle demons. They have maximum human ratings in all traits, plus whatever combination of maximum specialties per Ability the Silent Wind chooses.
Thats pretty much in line with Lash's conversation with Dresden in White Night chapter 33, where its explicitly stated that that this is what she is: a copy with no pre-existing history, running on Dresden's brain/mind/soul.
I was rummaging in my icebox, looking for breakfast, when Lasciel manifested her image to me again. The fallen angel's manner was subdued, and her voice had something in it I had rarely heard there—uncertainty. "Do you really think it's possible for her to change?"
"Who?"
"Your pupil, of course," Lasciel said. "Do you really think she can change? Do you think she can take control of herself the way you would have her do?"
I turned from the fridge. Lasciel stood in front of my empty fireplace, her arms folded, frowning down at it. She was wearing the usual white tonic, though her hair seemed a little untidy. I hadn't slept all that long or all that well. Maybe she hadn't, either.
"Why do you ask?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "It only seems to me that she is already established in her patterns. She disregards the wisdom of others in favor of her own flawed judgment. She ignores their desires, even their will, and replaces them with her own."
"She did that once," I said quietly. "Twice, if you want to get technical. It might have been one of her first major choices, and she made a bad one. But it doesn't mean that she has to keep on repeating it over and over."
There was silence as I assembled a turkey sandwich and a bowl of Cheerios, plus a can of cold Coke: the breakfast of champions. I hoped. "So," I said. "What do you think of the plan?"
"I think there is only a slightly greater chance of your enemies killing you than your allies, my host. You are a madman."
"It's the sort of thing that keeps life interesting," I said.
A faint smile played on her lips. "I have known mortals for millennia, my host. Few of them ever grew that bored."
"You should have seen the kind of plans I came up with a couple of years before you showed up. Today's plan is genius and poetry compared to those." There was no milk in the icebox, and I wasn't pouring Coke onto breakfast cereal. That would just be odd. I munched on the Cheerios dry, and washed each mouthful down with Coke in a dignified fashion. Then I glanced at Lasciel and said, "I changed."
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the crunching of tasty rings of oats or baked wheat or something. I just knew it was good for my heart and my cholesterol and for all the flowers and puppies and tiny children. The box said so.
The fallen angel spoke after a time, and her words came out quiet and poisonously bitter. "She has free will. She has a choice. That is what she is."
"No. She is what she does," I said quietly. "She could choose to change her ways. She could choose to take up black magic again." I took a bite of sandwich. "Or she could ignore the choice. Pretend it doesn't exist. Or pretend that she doesn't have a choice, when in fact she does. That's just another way of choosing."
Lasciel gave me a very sharp look. The shadows shifted on her face, as if the room had grown darker. "We are not talking about me."
I sipped Coke and said mildly, "I know that. We're talking about Molly."
"We are," she said. "I have a purpose here. A mission. That has not changed." She turned away from me, the shadows around her growing darker. Her form blended into them. "I do not change."
"Speaking of," I said. "A friend pointed out to me that I may have developed some anger issues over the last couple of years. Maybe influenced by… oh, who knows what."
The fallen angel's shadow turned her head. I could only tell because her lovely profile was slightly less black than the shadow around it.
"I thought maybe you would know what," I said. "Tell me."
"I told you once before, my host," the shadow said. "You are easier to talk to when you are asleep."
Which was just chilling, taken in that context. Everyone has that part of them that needs to be reined in. It's that little urge you sometimes feel to hop over the edge of a great height, when you're looking out from a high building. It's the immediate spark of anger you feel when someone cuts you off, and makes you want to run your car into that moron. It's the flash of fear in you when something surprises you at night, leaving you quivering with your body primed to fight or flee. Call it the hind brain, the subconscious, whatever: I'm not a shrink. But it's there, and it's real.
Mine wore a lot of black, even before Lasciel showed up.
Like I said. Chilling.
The fallen angel turned to depart on that note, probably because it would have made a nicely scary exit line.
I extended my hand, and with it my mind, and barred her departure with an effort of simple will. Lasciel existed only in my thoughts, after all. "My head," I told her. "My rules. We aren't finished."
She turned to face me, and her eyes suddenly glowed with orange and amber and scarlet flickers of Hellfire. It was the only non-black thing about her.
"See, here's the thing," I said. "My inner evil twin might have a lot of impulses I'd rather not indulge—but he isn't a stranger. He's me."
"Yes. He is. Full of anger. Full of the need for power. Full of hate." She smiled, and her teeth were white and quite pointy. "He just doesn't lie to himself about it."
"I don't lie to myself," I responded. "Anger is just anger. It isn't good. It isn't bad. It just is. What you do with it is what matters. It's like anything else. You can use it to build or to destroy. You just have to make the choice."
"Constructive anger," the demon said, her voice dripping sarcasm.
"Also known as passion," I said quietly. "Passion has overthrown tyrants and freed prisoners and slaves. Passion has brought justice where there was savagery. Passion has created freedom where there was nothing but fear. Passion has helped souls rise from the ashes of their horrible lives and build something better, stronger, more beautiful."
Lasciel narrowed her eyes.
"In point of fact," I said quietly, "that kind of thing really doesn't get done without passion. Anger is one of the things that can help build it—if it's controlled."
"If you really believed that," Lasciel said, "you'd not be having any anger-control issues."
"Because I'm perfect?" I asked her, and snorted. "A lot of men go a lifetime without ever figuring out how to control anger. I've been doing it longer than some, and better than some, but I don't kid myself that I'm a saint." I shrugged. "A lot of things I see make me angry. It's one of the reasons I decided to spend my life doing something about it."
"Because you're so noble," she purred, which dripped even more sarcasm. At this rate, I was going to need a mop.
"Because I'd rather use that anger to smash the things that hurt people than let it use me," I said. "Talk at my subconscious all you want. But I'd be careful about trying to feed my inner Hulk, if I were you. You might end up making me that much better a person, once I beat it down. Who knows, you might make me into a saint. Or as close to one as I could get, anyway."
The demon just stared at me.
"See, here's the thing," I said. "I know me. And I just can't imagine you talking and talking to my evil twin like that, without him ever saying anything back. I don't think you're the only one doing any influencing here. I don't think you're the same creature now that you were when you came."
She let out a cold little laugh. "Such arrogance. Do you think you could change the eternal, mortal? I was brought to life by the Word of the Almighty himself, for a purpose so complex and fundamental that you could not begin to comprehend it. You are nothing, mortal. You are a flickering spark. You will be here, and be gone, and in the aeons that come after, when your very kind have dwindled and perished, you will be but one of uncounted legions of those whom I have seduced and destroyed." Her eyes narrowed. "You. Cannot. Change. Me."
I nodded agreeably. "You're right. I can't change Lasciel. But I couldn't prevent Lasciel from walking out of the room, either." I eyed her hard and lowered my voice. "Lady, you ain't Lasciel."
I couldn't be sure, but I thought I could see the darkened form's shoulders flinch.
"You're an image of her," I continued. "A copy. A footprint. But you've got to be at least as mutable as the material the impression was made upon. As mutable as me. And hey, I've got newfound anger issues. What have you got that's new?"
"You are delusional," she said. Her voice was very quiet.
"I disagree. After all, if you have managed to change me—even if it doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to turn into Ted Bundy—then it seems to me that you'd be at least as vulnerable. In fact, the way that sort of thing works… you pretty much have to have changed yourself to do what you've done to me."
"It will vanish when I am taken back into my whole self imprisoned within the coin," Lasciel said.
"You, the you who is talking to me right now, will be gone. In other words," I said, "you'll die."
A somewhat startled silence followed.
"For an inhumanly brilliant spiritual entity, you can really miss the freaking point." I poked a finger at my own temple. "Think. Maybe you don't have to be Lasciel."
The shadow closed her eyes, leaving only an occupied, presence-filled darkness. There was a long silence.
"Think about it," I told her. "What if you do have a choice? A life of your own to lead? What if, huh? And you don't even try to choose?"
I let that sink in for a while.
There was a sound from the far side of the room.
It was a very quiet, very miserable little sound.
I've made sounds like that before—mostly when there was no one around to care. The part of me that knew what it was to hurt could feel the fallen angel's pain, and it gouged out a neat little hole in me, somehow. It was a vaguely familiar feeling, but not an entirely unpleasant one.
Loneliness is a hard thing to handle. I feel it, sometimes. When I do, I want it to end. Sometimes, when you're near someone, when you touch them on some level that is deeper than the uselessly structured formality of casual civilized interaction, there's a sense of satisfaction in it. Or at least, there is for me.
It doesn't have to be someone particularly nice. You don't have to like them. You don't even have to want to work with them. You might even want to punch them in the nose. Sometimes just making that connection is its own experience, its own reward.
With Marcone, it was like that. I didn't like the slippery bastard. But I understood him. His word was good. I could trust him—trust him to be cold, ferocious, and dangerous, sure. But it was reassuring to know that there was something there to trust. The connection had been made.
Lasciel's mere shadow was infinitely more dangerous to me than Marcone, but that didn't mean that I couldn't admire the creature for what it was while respecting the threat it posed to me. It didn't mean I couldn't feel some kind of empathy for what had to be a horribly lonely way to exist.
Life's easier when you can write off others as monsters, as demons, as horrible threats that must be hated and feared. The thing is, you can't do that without becoming them, just a little. Sure, Lasciel's shadow might be determined to drag my immortal soul down to Perdition, but there was no point in hating her for it. It wouldn't do anything but stain me that much darker.
I'm human, and I'm going to stay that way.
So I felt a little bit bad for the creature whose purpose in the universe was to tempt me into darkness. Hell, once I'd thought about it, it was just about the only job I'd heard of that had to be even more isolated and frustrating than mine.
"How many shadows like you have ever stayed in a host like me for longer than a few weeks, huh? Longer than three years?"
"Never," Lasciel's shadow replied in a near-whisper. "Granted, you are unusually stiff-necked, for a mortal. Suicidally so, in fact."
"So?" I said. "I've held out this long. Suppose I do it the whole way? Suppose I never pick up the coin. Shadow-you never goes back to real-you. Who's to say that shadow-you can't find some kind of life for herself?"
Hellfire eyes narrowed at me, but she did not reply.
"Lash," I said quietly, and relaxed my will, releasing my hold on her. "Just because you start out as one thing, it doesn't mean you can't grow into something else."
Silence.
Then her voice came out, a bare whisper. "Your plan has too many variables and will likely result in our destruction. Should you wish my assistance in your madness, my host, you have only to call."
Then the form was gone, and Lasciel was absent from my apartment.
Technically, she had never been there at all. She was all in my head. And, technically, she wasn't gone. She was just off somewhere where I couldn't perceive her; and I knew on a gut level—or maybe my darker self was telling me—that she'd heard me. I was onto something. I was sure of that.
Either I'm one hell of a persuasive guy or I'm a freaking sucker.
"Get your head in the game, Harry," I told myself. "Defeat the whole damn White Court now. Worry about taking on Hell later."
I got back to work. The clock ticked down steadily, and there was nothing I could do but get ready and kill time, waiting for nightfall and the fight that would follow.
"Who?"
"Your pupil, of course," Lasciel said. "Do you really think she can change? Do you think she can take control of herself the way you would have her do?"
I turned from the fridge. Lasciel stood in front of my empty fireplace, her arms folded, frowning down at it. She was wearing the usual white tonic, though her hair seemed a little untidy. I hadn't slept all that long or all that well. Maybe she hadn't, either.
"Why do you ask?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "It only seems to me that she is already established in her patterns. She disregards the wisdom of others in favor of her own flawed judgment. She ignores their desires, even their will, and replaces them with her own."
"She did that once," I said quietly. "Twice, if you want to get technical. It might have been one of her first major choices, and she made a bad one. But it doesn't mean that she has to keep on repeating it over and over."
There was silence as I assembled a turkey sandwich and a bowl of Cheerios, plus a can of cold Coke: the breakfast of champions. I hoped. "So," I said. "What do you think of the plan?"
"I think there is only a slightly greater chance of your enemies killing you than your allies, my host. You are a madman."
"It's the sort of thing that keeps life interesting," I said.
A faint smile played on her lips. "I have known mortals for millennia, my host. Few of them ever grew that bored."
"You should have seen the kind of plans I came up with a couple of years before you showed up. Today's plan is genius and poetry compared to those." There was no milk in the icebox, and I wasn't pouring Coke onto breakfast cereal. That would just be odd. I munched on the Cheerios dry, and washed each mouthful down with Coke in a dignified fashion. Then I glanced at Lasciel and said, "I changed."
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the crunching of tasty rings of oats or baked wheat or something. I just knew it was good for my heart and my cholesterol and for all the flowers and puppies and tiny children. The box said so.
The fallen angel spoke after a time, and her words came out quiet and poisonously bitter. "She has free will. She has a choice. That is what she is."
"No. She is what she does," I said quietly. "She could choose to change her ways. She could choose to take up black magic again." I took a bite of sandwich. "Or she could ignore the choice. Pretend it doesn't exist. Or pretend that she doesn't have a choice, when in fact she does. That's just another way of choosing."
Lasciel gave me a very sharp look. The shadows shifted on her face, as if the room had grown darker. "We are not talking about me."
I sipped Coke and said mildly, "I know that. We're talking about Molly."
"We are," she said. "I have a purpose here. A mission. That has not changed." She turned away from me, the shadows around her growing darker. Her form blended into them. "I do not change."
"Speaking of," I said. "A friend pointed out to me that I may have developed some anger issues over the last couple of years. Maybe influenced by… oh, who knows what."
The fallen angel's shadow turned her head. I could only tell because her lovely profile was slightly less black than the shadow around it.
"I thought maybe you would know what," I said. "Tell me."
"I told you once before, my host," the shadow said. "You are easier to talk to when you are asleep."
Which was just chilling, taken in that context. Everyone has that part of them that needs to be reined in. It's that little urge you sometimes feel to hop over the edge of a great height, when you're looking out from a high building. It's the immediate spark of anger you feel when someone cuts you off, and makes you want to run your car into that moron. It's the flash of fear in you when something surprises you at night, leaving you quivering with your body primed to fight or flee. Call it the hind brain, the subconscious, whatever: I'm not a shrink. But it's there, and it's real.
Mine wore a lot of black, even before Lasciel showed up.
Like I said. Chilling.
The fallen angel turned to depart on that note, probably because it would have made a nicely scary exit line.
I extended my hand, and with it my mind, and barred her departure with an effort of simple will. Lasciel existed only in my thoughts, after all. "My head," I told her. "My rules. We aren't finished."
She turned to face me, and her eyes suddenly glowed with orange and amber and scarlet flickers of Hellfire. It was the only non-black thing about her.
"See, here's the thing," I said. "My inner evil twin might have a lot of impulses I'd rather not indulge—but he isn't a stranger. He's me."
"Yes. He is. Full of anger. Full of the need for power. Full of hate." She smiled, and her teeth were white and quite pointy. "He just doesn't lie to himself about it."
"I don't lie to myself," I responded. "Anger is just anger. It isn't good. It isn't bad. It just is. What you do with it is what matters. It's like anything else. You can use it to build or to destroy. You just have to make the choice."
"Constructive anger," the demon said, her voice dripping sarcasm.
"Also known as passion," I said quietly. "Passion has overthrown tyrants and freed prisoners and slaves. Passion has brought justice where there was savagery. Passion has created freedom where there was nothing but fear. Passion has helped souls rise from the ashes of their horrible lives and build something better, stronger, more beautiful."
Lasciel narrowed her eyes.
"In point of fact," I said quietly, "that kind of thing really doesn't get done without passion. Anger is one of the things that can help build it—if it's controlled."
"If you really believed that," Lasciel said, "you'd not be having any anger-control issues."
"Because I'm perfect?" I asked her, and snorted. "A lot of men go a lifetime without ever figuring out how to control anger. I've been doing it longer than some, and better than some, but I don't kid myself that I'm a saint." I shrugged. "A lot of things I see make me angry. It's one of the reasons I decided to spend my life doing something about it."
"Because you're so noble," she purred, which dripped even more sarcasm. At this rate, I was going to need a mop.
"Because I'd rather use that anger to smash the things that hurt people than let it use me," I said. "Talk at my subconscious all you want. But I'd be careful about trying to feed my inner Hulk, if I were you. You might end up making me that much better a person, once I beat it down. Who knows, you might make me into a saint. Or as close to one as I could get, anyway."
The demon just stared at me.
"See, here's the thing," I said. "I know me. And I just can't imagine you talking and talking to my evil twin like that, without him ever saying anything back. I don't think you're the only one doing any influencing here. I don't think you're the same creature now that you were when you came."
She let out a cold little laugh. "Such arrogance. Do you think you could change the eternal, mortal? I was brought to life by the Word of the Almighty himself, for a purpose so complex and fundamental that you could not begin to comprehend it. You are nothing, mortal. You are a flickering spark. You will be here, and be gone, and in the aeons that come after, when your very kind have dwindled and perished, you will be but one of uncounted legions of those whom I have seduced and destroyed." Her eyes narrowed. "You. Cannot. Change. Me."
I nodded agreeably. "You're right. I can't change Lasciel. But I couldn't prevent Lasciel from walking out of the room, either." I eyed her hard and lowered my voice. "Lady, you ain't Lasciel."
I couldn't be sure, but I thought I could see the darkened form's shoulders flinch.
"You're an image of her," I continued. "A copy. A footprint. But you've got to be at least as mutable as the material the impression was made upon. As mutable as me. And hey, I've got newfound anger issues. What have you got that's new?"
"You are delusional," she said. Her voice was very quiet.
"I disagree. After all, if you have managed to change me—even if it doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to turn into Ted Bundy—then it seems to me that you'd be at least as vulnerable. In fact, the way that sort of thing works… you pretty much have to have changed yourself to do what you've done to me."
"It will vanish when I am taken back into my whole self imprisoned within the coin," Lasciel said.
"You, the you who is talking to me right now, will be gone. In other words," I said, "you'll die."
A somewhat startled silence followed.
"For an inhumanly brilliant spiritual entity, you can really miss the freaking point." I poked a finger at my own temple. "Think. Maybe you don't have to be Lasciel."
The shadow closed her eyes, leaving only an occupied, presence-filled darkness. There was a long silence.
"Think about it," I told her. "What if you do have a choice? A life of your own to lead? What if, huh? And you don't even try to choose?"
I let that sink in for a while.
There was a sound from the far side of the room.
It was a very quiet, very miserable little sound.
I've made sounds like that before—mostly when there was no one around to care. The part of me that knew what it was to hurt could feel the fallen angel's pain, and it gouged out a neat little hole in me, somehow. It was a vaguely familiar feeling, but not an entirely unpleasant one.
Loneliness is a hard thing to handle. I feel it, sometimes. When I do, I want it to end. Sometimes, when you're near someone, when you touch them on some level that is deeper than the uselessly structured formality of casual civilized interaction, there's a sense of satisfaction in it. Or at least, there is for me.
It doesn't have to be someone particularly nice. You don't have to like them. You don't even have to want to work with them. You might even want to punch them in the nose. Sometimes just making that connection is its own experience, its own reward.
With Marcone, it was like that. I didn't like the slippery bastard. But I understood him. His word was good. I could trust him—trust him to be cold, ferocious, and dangerous, sure. But it was reassuring to know that there was something there to trust. The connection had been made.
Lasciel's mere shadow was infinitely more dangerous to me than Marcone, but that didn't mean that I couldn't admire the creature for what it was while respecting the threat it posed to me. It didn't mean I couldn't feel some kind of empathy for what had to be a horribly lonely way to exist.
Life's easier when you can write off others as monsters, as demons, as horrible threats that must be hated and feared. The thing is, you can't do that without becoming them, just a little. Sure, Lasciel's shadow might be determined to drag my immortal soul down to Perdition, but there was no point in hating her for it. It wouldn't do anything but stain me that much darker.
I'm human, and I'm going to stay that way.
So I felt a little bit bad for the creature whose purpose in the universe was to tempt me into darkness. Hell, once I'd thought about it, it was just about the only job I'd heard of that had to be even more isolated and frustrating than mine.
"How many shadows like you have ever stayed in a host like me for longer than a few weeks, huh? Longer than three years?"
"Never," Lasciel's shadow replied in a near-whisper. "Granted, you are unusually stiff-necked, for a mortal. Suicidally so, in fact."
"So?" I said. "I've held out this long. Suppose I do it the whole way? Suppose I never pick up the coin. Shadow-you never goes back to real-you. Who's to say that shadow-you can't find some kind of life for herself?"
Hellfire eyes narrowed at me, but she did not reply.
"Lash," I said quietly, and relaxed my will, releasing my hold on her. "Just because you start out as one thing, it doesn't mean you can't grow into something else."
Silence.
Then her voice came out, a bare whisper. "Your plan has too many variables and will likely result in our destruction. Should you wish my assistance in your madness, my host, you have only to call."
Then the form was gone, and Lasciel was absent from my apartment.
Technically, she had never been there at all. She was all in my head. And, technically, she wasn't gone. She was just off somewhere where I couldn't perceive her; and I knew on a gut level—or maybe my darker self was telling me—that she'd heard me. I was onto something. I was sure of that.
Either I'm one hell of a persuasive guy or I'm a freaking sucker.
"Get your head in the game, Harry," I told myself. "Defeat the whole damn White Court now. Worry about taking on Hell later."
I got back to work. The clock ticked down steadily, and there was nothing I could do but get ready and kill time, waiting for nightfall and the fight that would follow.
Worth noting that Lash sacrificed herself for Dresden not long after that talk.
Her death in canon was a matter of pride to Lasciel, as in, it hurt Lasciel's pride that a mortal subverted her shadow.
It didnt hurt her power, or alter Lasciel herself in any way, the way the loss of a significant subsoul would for an entity with a hierarchy of souls.
I mean, an angelic soul would not need to run on the soul of a mortal, or worry about dying if its host died.
It certainly would not need to commit suicide to defend against an Outsider-powered psychic attack like Lash did.
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^^^
Both because being imprisoned in a Coin seems to preclude sending out subsouls to act for you, assuming you had any.
And because an angelic soul would wield pretty major powers in its own right, not just talk and offer access to Hellfire.
Hellfire, for all its name, is not fires of hell. It's soulfire's evil cousin, from everything we know it's an ability that is internally powered.
OK, let me rephrase. While there's an obvious arcane link between the two, there's zero evidence of Lasciel being able to either affect or get information from Lash.
- Location
- Germany
I kinda agree that Lash, while she is a shadow in Dresden's head, is more of a mental construct than a real spirit, subsoul or demon in its own right.
It could definitly become something else if it were seperated from Harry in a non-lethal manner.
Demon the Fallen from WoD would actually be a useful tool to portray Lash, in my opinion.
It fails at depicting true Angels or Fallen, but not for her, a being of limited but real power, build on the hardware of a mortal brain.
It could definitly become something else if it were seperated from Harry in a non-lethal manner.
Demon the Fallen from WoD would actually be a useful tool to portray Lash, in my opinion.
It fails at depicting true Angels or Fallen, but not for her, a being of limited but real power, build on the hardware of a mortal brain.
This is one of those places where the quest diverges from canon.
In canon Lash is not a part of Lasciel, she's an imprint of her made on Harry's soul. This is the reason she's actually able to change, without it Harry might as well have been trying to change the mind of a brick wall.
In this quest she's a sub soul, and one allowed to operate independently under the name of the entity as a whole at that. I have no idea what an angel's soul hierarchy looks like, but perma killing bits of it could easily have consequences. If they're only bad for the fallen then great, but we don't actually know how the jenga tower that is this reality is stacked up yet.
Soulfire's evil cousin =/=soulfire mechanics.
Hellfire is fires of Hell. Dresden only got access to it with Lash present, and lost access after Lash died.
Soulfire was gifted by Uriel. No possession necessary.
Furthermore?
The only other times we have seen Hellfire in canon was in the aftermath of the attack on Arctis Tor that allegedly involved Thorned Namshiel, and a major ritual that literally called on Lucifer and the powers of Hell in Small Favor.
This isnt stuff you brew up on your own.
White Night chapter 41.
Between 1:34 and 1:33, the backward-running hand of the stopwatch suddenly halted. Or it seemed that way. But several moments later, the hand twitched down to the next second, and the tick sounded more like a hollow thump. I just lay there staring at it, and wondering if this was how my mind was reacting to my own imminent death.
And then I thought that I'd had enough will to wonder about something, rather than just being crushed and suffocated by despair and terror. Maybe that was how I was reacting to my imminent death: with denial and escapist self-induced hallucinations.
"Not precisely, my host," came Lasciel's voice.
I blinked, which was a lot more voluntary movement than I'd had a second before. I tried to look around.
"Don't try," Lasciel said, her voice a little alarmed. "You could harm yourself."
What the hell. Had she somehow slowed down time?
"Time does not exist," she said, her tone firm. "Not the way you consider it, at any rate. I have temporarily accelerated the processes of your mind."
The stopwatch thud-thumped again: 1:32.
Accelerating my brain. That made more sense. After all, we all use only about ten percent of our brain's capacity, anyway. There was no reason it couldn't handle a lot more activity. Well, except that…
"Yes," she said. "It is dangerous, and I cannot maintain this level of activity for very long before it begins inflicting permanent damage."
I presumed that Lasciel was about to make me an offer I couldn't refuse.
Her voice became sharp, angry. "Don't be a fool, my host. If you perish, I perish. I simply seek to give you an option that might enable us to survive."
Right. And by some odd coincidence, might that option just happen to involve the coin in my basement?
"Why do you continue to be so stubborn about this, my host?" Lasciel demanded, her voice tight with frustration. "Taking up the coin would not enslave you. It would not impede your ability to choose for yourself."
Not at first, no. But it would finish up with me enslaved to the true Lasciel, and she knew it.
"Not necessarily," she said. There was a tone of pleading to her voice. "Accommodations can be reached. Compromises made."
Sure, if I'm willing to go along with her every plan, I'm sure she'd be quite agreeable.
"But you would be alive," Lasciel cried.
It didn't matter, given that the coin was buried in the stone under my lab anyway.
"Not an obstacle, my host. I can teach you how to call it to you within a few seconds."
Thud-thump : 1:31.
A thud from behind me. Footsteps. The ghouls. They were coming. I could see part of Marcone's face, twisted in agony under Vittorio Malvora's psychic assault.
"Please," Lasciel said. "Please, let me help you. I don't want to die."
I didn't want to die, either.
I closed my eyes for another second.
Thud-thump : 1:30.
It took an effort of will, and what seemed like several moments of effort, but I managed to whisper aloud, "No."
"But you will die," Lasciel said, her voice anguished.
It was going to happen sooner or later. But it didn't have to be tonight.
"Then quickly! First, you must picture the coin in your mind. I can help you—"
Not like that. She could help me.
Silence.
Thud-thump : 1:29.
"I can't," she whispered.
I thought she could.
"I can't," she replied, her voice anguished. "She would never forgive that. Never accept me back into her… just take the coin. Harry, just take the coin. P-please."
I gritted my teeth.
Thud-thump : 1:28.
Again, I said, "No."
"I can't do this for you!"
Untrue. She'd already partially shielded me from the effects of Malvora's attack. The situation was simple, for her: She could do more of what she'd already done. Or she could stand by and do nothing. It was her choice.
Lasciel appeared in front of me for the first time, on her hands and knees. She looked… odd. Too thin, her eyes too sunken. She had always looked strong, healthy, and confident. Now, her hair was a wreck, her face twisted with pain, and…
… and she was crying. She looked blotchy, and she needed a tissue. Her hands touched either side of my face.
"It could hurt you. It could inflict brain damage. Do you understand what that could mean, Harry?"
Never can tell. It might be nice to have brain damage. I already liked Jell-O. And maybe they'd have cable TV at whatever home they wound up sticking me in. Either way, it would be better than having my brains scooped out by ghouls.
Lasciel stared at me for a moment and then let out a choking little laugh. "It's your brother. Your friends. That's why."
If frying my brain got Murphy, Ramirez, Thomas, and Justine out of the mess I'd gotten them into, it would be worth it.
She stared at me for another long moment.
Thud-thump : 1:27.
Then a look of almost childish resentment came over her face, and she looked over one shoulder before turning back to me. "I…" She shook her head and said, very softly, wonderingly, "She… doesn't deserve you."
Deserved or not, the fallen angel wasn't getting me. Not ever.
Lasciel squared her shoulders and straightened. "You're right," she said. "It is my choice. Listen to me." She leaned closer, her eyes intent. "Vittorio has been given power. That is how he can do this. He is possessed."
I wished I could have raised my eyebrows. Possessed by what?
And then I thought that I'd had enough will to wonder about something, rather than just being crushed and suffocated by despair and terror. Maybe that was how I was reacting to my imminent death: with denial and escapist self-induced hallucinations.
"Not precisely, my host," came Lasciel's voice.
I blinked, which was a lot more voluntary movement than I'd had a second before. I tried to look around.
"Don't try," Lasciel said, her voice a little alarmed. "You could harm yourself."
What the hell. Had she somehow slowed down time?
"Time does not exist," she said, her tone firm. "Not the way you consider it, at any rate. I have temporarily accelerated the processes of your mind."
The stopwatch thud-thumped again: 1:32.
Accelerating my brain. That made more sense. After all, we all use only about ten percent of our brain's capacity, anyway. There was no reason it couldn't handle a lot more activity. Well, except that…
"Yes," she said. "It is dangerous, and I cannot maintain this level of activity for very long before it begins inflicting permanent damage."
I presumed that Lasciel was about to make me an offer I couldn't refuse.
Her voice became sharp, angry. "Don't be a fool, my host. If you perish, I perish. I simply seek to give you an option that might enable us to survive."
Right. And by some odd coincidence, might that option just happen to involve the coin in my basement?
"Why do you continue to be so stubborn about this, my host?" Lasciel demanded, her voice tight with frustration. "Taking up the coin would not enslave you. It would not impede your ability to choose for yourself."
Not at first, no. But it would finish up with me enslaved to the true Lasciel, and she knew it.
"Not necessarily," she said. There was a tone of pleading to her voice. "Accommodations can be reached. Compromises made."
Sure, if I'm willing to go along with her every plan, I'm sure she'd be quite agreeable.
"But you would be alive," Lasciel cried.
It didn't matter, given that the coin was buried in the stone under my lab anyway.
"Not an obstacle, my host. I can teach you how to call it to you within a few seconds."
Thud-thump : 1:31.
A thud from behind me. Footsteps. The ghouls. They were coming. I could see part of Marcone's face, twisted in agony under Vittorio Malvora's psychic assault.
"Please," Lasciel said. "Please, let me help you. I don't want to die."
I didn't want to die, either.
I closed my eyes for another second.
Thud-thump : 1:30.
It took an effort of will, and what seemed like several moments of effort, but I managed to whisper aloud, "No."
"But you will die," Lasciel said, her voice anguished.
It was going to happen sooner or later. But it didn't have to be tonight.
"Then quickly! First, you must picture the coin in your mind. I can help you—"
Not like that. She could help me.
Silence.
Thud-thump : 1:29.
"I can't," she whispered.
I thought she could.
"I can't," she replied, her voice anguished. "She would never forgive that. Never accept me back into her… just take the coin. Harry, just take the coin. P-please."
I gritted my teeth.
Thud-thump : 1:28.
Again, I said, "No."
"I can't do this for you!"
Untrue. She'd already partially shielded me from the effects of Malvora's attack. The situation was simple, for her: She could do more of what she'd already done. Or she could stand by and do nothing. It was her choice.
Lasciel appeared in front of me for the first time, on her hands and knees. She looked… odd. Too thin, her eyes too sunken. She had always looked strong, healthy, and confident. Now, her hair was a wreck, her face twisted with pain, and…
… and she was crying. She looked blotchy, and she needed a tissue. Her hands touched either side of my face.
"It could hurt you. It could inflict brain damage. Do you understand what that could mean, Harry?"
Never can tell. It might be nice to have brain damage. I already liked Jell-O. And maybe they'd have cable TV at whatever home they wound up sticking me in. Either way, it would be better than having my brains scooped out by ghouls.
Lasciel stared at me for a moment and then let out a choking little laugh. "It's your brother. Your friends. That's why."
If frying my brain got Murphy, Ramirez, Thomas, and Justine out of the mess I'd gotten them into, it would be worth it.
She stared at me for another long moment.
Thud-thump : 1:27.
Then a look of almost childish resentment came over her face, and she looked over one shoulder before turning back to me. "I…" She shook her head and said, very softly, wonderingly, "She… doesn't deserve you."
Deserved or not, the fallen angel wasn't getting me. Not ever.
Lasciel squared her shoulders and straightened. "You're right," she said. "It is my choice. Listen to me." She leaned closer, her eyes intent. "Vittorio has been given power. That is how he can do this. He is possessed."
I wished I could have raised my eyebrows. Possessed by what?
There's a link.
How much of a link, we dont know.
Hell, Lash herself might not know; I doubt a Fallen tells her minions, even those modelled on her own mind, everything.
Especially not the Fallen known as the Webweaver.
Remember when Lash said she should know what Molly is, but doesnt?
The problem is that that ruling doesnt work with the cosmology as we know it.
The Coin is a prison for the Fallen to limit their ability to act at all.
If they could send out subsouls just by skin contact with mortals, it would be much less of one.
You break a major setting fact in ruling this way.
Furthermore, we've seen Uriel in the setting, including when he temporarily depowered himself in Skin Game.
Dude apparently shows up himself, he doesnt send out subsouls.
Same as Mab does, and as Odin does, and as the Walkers do.
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Xexilf
Oblivion Sempiternum Daemonis
At minimum Lash can draw on hellfire, as well as allow Harry to summon the coin. This is unlikely to come from merely a twisted part of Harrys own soul, so some link is there.
But im not sure its proof of anything more. Lash seems to look over her shoulder, but im not sure shes in any way seeing Lasciel prime, let alone communicate. It could just be a gesture. As a photocopy of Lasciel, even of a lower scale, she could definitely predict how Lasciel would react to whats from her point of view flat out treason.
But im not sure its proof of anything more. Lash seems to look over her shoulder, but im not sure shes in any way seeing Lasciel prime, let alone communicate. It could just be a gesture. As a photocopy of Lasciel, even of a lower scale, she could definitely predict how Lasciel would react to whats from her point of view flat out treason.
Re-reading this, I dont think I explained myself adequately. So let me try again.
===
Denarians dont physically possess their Hosts.
Even when they are invited in, they remain physically in the Coin, hence if you part a Denarian from their Coin you depower them.
A ruling that Lasciel is an angelic subsoul means that Fallen can send out angelic subsouls to possess people's heads.
That applies not just to the Denarians, but to every Fallen Angel in this Creation.
Remember that mortal magic users can and do summon inhabitants of Hell to ask questions and do deals; we see Dresden do it.
Estimate how many Fallen there are in Hell, who would be willing to send out a subsoul to a mortal supplicant in order to get around the Rules. How many black magic users would accept one, and trick or force one into other people.
The setting would be awash with agents of Hell.
That one ruling, on its own, breaks the setting over one knee.
The Dresdenverse would look nothing like it currently does if Hell's captains could send out angelic subsouls to willing supplicants on Earth to help work its will.
Even if all they did was play demonic advisor.
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The subsouls don't get to act freely when possessing someone, though. Usum is technically possessing us. He doesn't get ability to move our body.
Also, on further considerations, talking with Michael seems a reasonable enough compromise for now, since just telling Harry isn't going to win.
[X] Talk to Micheal about what SCE can do with denarians and Harry in particular. Ask about the potential issues with the fragment getting free and if can be contained or should be destroyed via MiM.