That Petty Evil Might Open the Way
18th of February 2007 A.D.
You would think that any right-thinking soul who heard of a place called 'La Barrière d'Enfer', the Gates of Hell would stay away from them, you would think that if you'd never met a Frenchman. Ebeneezer McCoy, Blackstaff of the White Council loved and hated, as only a country boy come late to the great cities of the world could. Dorian Grey that literary demon conjured from Wilde's imagination once said: 'When Good Americans die they go to Paris'. Of course Wilde had been buried in the Cimetière de Bagneux outside the old walls of Paris of which now there scarce lay brick on brick, maybe he knew a little more of demons that weren't literary than Ebenezar gave him credit for. He hadn't been back here in fifty seven years.
The trendy little restaurant was new, the building that housed it was not, decorated with friezes of dancers caught eternally in the dance. They almost seemed to come alive from the light from the window spilling had once been the gate though which the tolls were taken, bribes were given and all manner of devilry done. Woe betide the traveler who did not keep their wits about them past the gate, the guards were more likely to whistle and turn their heads than come look if they heard screams.
These days the screams were felt not heard.
"This being
force majeure and all, do you mind lending a few drops of blood to be used on the spot," he asked the girl with silver running though her voice and eyes like life's last sunset.
She stopped dead,
heh, looked between him and the doors adjar with some kind of canned music flowing out of 'em. "Are you sure... if there's trouble below they might be violent."
"If you weren't here to talk 'em down I wouldn't try it, but then I wouldn't have the blood to try. That's how wizardry goes more often than you'd think."
"Alright," she snapped a switchblade out of somewhere and cut her palm. Red blood, Ebeneezer noticed. A lot of scions had stranger colors.
To be a wizard was to be prepared, that is what he said if anyone asked why he carried around little packets of milk and honey. Usually the thing they prepared him for was a quick coffee but at times like this...
White and gold and red mixed in a cup he'd snatched off an empty table, its last drinker just lucky enough to miss the show. Milk and honey and blood, that's how the old greeks had called the dead and not just them. A twist of power, a handful of words, half a prayer half a summoning at least as old as the Trojan War, ittle taught these days. It called the dead, pale and cold fractured reflections that cut living flesh like glass, but it didn't bind them. The light flickered and died, the darkness poppled like ink inside, pale figures moving in the gloom. He saw or thought he saw beggers without eyes and lepers peeling flesh from bone, soldiers with limbs lost to careless, cruel canonades, screetching screeming, wanting hungering. It was the living whose voices could hardly be heard even as they ran, men and women, young and old from the suddenly cursed building. The old man winced when he saw a kin who couldn't have been older than thirteen run out the end of her braid dipped in fresh blood. The ectoplasm would melt in a few minutes, the memories would stick. He'd done worse for less reason in his day, but not in front of Harry.
"Stop!" Said death's daughter in a voice like a bell tolling in the halls of Hades and the darkness stopped at the threashold and the pale figures drew back like flotsam on a frozen wave.
As the potential witnesses were getting as far away down the street as they could and other passers by were trying and failing to get answers out of them the girl Lydia fiddled with her phone and some of that 'rock-an'-roll' stuff. Of all the Keys to all the places.
Reality ripped in two along a seam ethereal amd Molly Carpenter stepped though among colapsed tables and broken chairs, the smell of spilled alchool and the cavoring of ghosts.
He pulled on the thread leading to Arthur down below. but as they were making their way into the passage that lead to the old quarries turned ossuaries Ebeneezar heard the least welcome voice at this place and time, amplified by magic, young it was but half familiar: "Attention warlcoks. Surrender yourself for judgement and you will have a fair trial."
Lucio and the others were already in the tunnel and they had left a readguard.
What do you do?
[] Try to get information from the controlled wardens
[] Just knock them out and continue down, you have your lead
[] Write in
OOC: The Barrière d'Enfer is a real place in our world, the structures just remained gouvernment property.