Green Flame Rising (Exalted vs Dresden Files)
- Thread starter DragonParadox
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
[X] No, leave be for now
I switched votes over the risk of leaking information, but there is value here for them.
If it's public then the threat of people instantly starting to search for your victim changes the risk profile of hunting ordo members, and most predators are risk averse since they're fighting for a meal rather than their lives.
If it's secret then it offers the ability to act as a silent alarm while a victim is incapacitated. Not all supernatural predators immediately kill their victims; see what happened to Pauline or any of those people who've been disappeared into that cave system on the Raith's local estate.
If something hits you with a mental effect and then walks off with you having a diabolic tamagotchi on hand to call for help could save your life. Especially if they are able to pass along details of what's going on without taking attention away from their protectee.
But you're right about it being too much, too fast.
The information getting our would be a problem for us, and they probably won't trust Molly's Totally Innocent Demons tm on thet day we join anyway. We'd definitely leak and risk getting nothing for it if a significant number of members reject it or otherwise freak out.
We should start with stacking up the best craft check we can on some cookies and then doing some limited lore exchanges with the other key members. To an extent it doesn't matter if they're willing to share anything earth shattering at first, we just need the face time to establish relationships.
Did they ever really do anything else? I was under the impression that the issue was that they set up their rules as a top focused professional organization/interest group under guidelines set down before the fall of the Roman Empire, and only in the 21st century started thinking about doing anything else.
fictionfan
Please sir, may I have some Meows?
- Location
- Tempe, AZ
[X] Yes
-[X] Cyberdevils for a more secure and magically hardened line of communication
-[X] Cyberdevils for a more secure and magically hardened line of communication
I mean if anything a roman origin would mean they would have quite the focus on patronage, but also in the before times when there were fewer wizards and travel was more dangerous since it is 'Ways or take your chances with the roads, the bandits and the wars' contacts with friendly minor talents would be all the more valuable, wizards can be a lot more versatile than minor talents, but even they are not omnidisciplinary.
Note that we don't have to tell people that our devils are devils. Mischievous spirits of the loneliness of modern society that would love some company is an accurate description from a western paradigm, and it's hard to contradict.
Summoning and bargaining with minor spirits is an absolutely bog standard thing for Dresden-verse talents to do. It's not special or different or noteworthy.
Summoning and bargaining with minor spirits is an absolutely bog standard thing for Dresden-verse talents to do. It's not special or different or noteworthy.
Oh sure, especially for large parts of the country where the White Council has no permanent presence.
And its not helped by the fact that the White Council tries to project an image of omniscience, which when they dont react it leads some people to assume they dont care.
But Chicago specifically has had Dresden for at least half a decade at this point, and had ringside seats to him going to bat for people multiple times. And at he'd only become a Warden in November 2006.
It leans well into plot contrivance that magical murders start going down and literally noone talks to him.
Anyway, note that occurred to me:
You do need to bring back Izzy and Alec Morgan.
Its summer vacation and Molly hasnt spent time with her vanilla friends onscreen.
Literally just a year and half after Dresden had stopped a bunch of necromancers in the middle of Chicago.
Recent events have demonstrated that people as a group are a lot dumber than I at least give them credit for, but there is enough hard-earned social reputation there that the idea that nobody talked to Dresden in Chicago is something a plot contrivance.
A lot of conflict is contrived, of course.
Nobody gave a shit about the Ordo as long as they were a small organization that kept its head down.
People will sure as hell give a shit when it has a Celestial Exalt as a member, and more so if it expands.
Even the White Council will have concerns.
Or just paranoia. At least in Chicago.
With a basis, mind, given the rest of the country but its canonically established that Chicago was much safer than a lot of major cities because the mad wizard Dresden lived there, and had a record of murdering the fuck out of interlopers.
A lot of this is inaccurate iirc.
Elaine did much of that initial legwork, not him iirc; her and Abby, who took over running the Ordo Lebes after Anna Ash was murdered by the Skavis. At no point was he running it; not only was it not how it was setup, but he was physically incapable of it. The time commitment, the technology requirement for someone who has issues with telephone landlines would be insurmountable.
Dresden provided public backup, and they did information sharing, because it was in the Paranet's benefit to transmit early warning to someone willing and able to help. And because with Dresden around, Chicago was a safe fallback.
When Dresden died, they continued with the other US Wardens, but added Lara's White Court as first responders
I mean, Dresden was ignorant of how they shared information:
"The Fomor are that bad?" I asked. They were a crew of bad guys whose names were known primarily in old mythology books, the survivors of a number of dark mythoi across the world, the worst of the worst—or at least the most survival-minded of the worst.
"They're ruthless," Thomas said. "And they're everywhere. But between Marcone's hired goons, Lara's resources, and Murphy's people, they haven't gotten a solid foothold here. Other cities, it's bad. Los Angeles, Seattle, San Francisco, Miami, and Boston are the worst off. They're grabbing anyone with a lick of magical ability and carrying them away. Thousands of people."
"Hell's bells," I muttered. "What about the White Council?"
"They're busy," Thomas said. "Word is that they're operating around the coasts of Europe, especially in the Mediterranean, fighting the Fomor there. Lara's people have been sharing a little information with the Council, and vice versa, but there's nothing like an alliance."
"They aren't working in the U.S. at all?" I asked.
Thomas shrugged. "Your Warden buddies are trying," he said. "Ramirez got hurt pretty bad last year. I don't think he's back in action yet. But the Wardens in Baltimore and San Diego are holding out, and the kid in Texas is giving them hell."
"Good for Wild Bill," I said. "So how come other cities haven't gone down?"
"Lara," Thomas said simply. His voice altered subtly and I could recognize the precise, enunciated tones that marked his sister's voice. "We labored for centuries to cultivate this herd. I will not abide a horde of toady, has-been poachers."
"She's a sweetheart," I said.
"She's done a lot," he said. "But she wouldn't have been able to do it without the Paranet."
"Wow. Seriously?"
"Knowledge is power," Thomas said. "There are tens of thousands of people on the Paranet. Eyes and ears in every city, getting more experienced every day. Something happens, one of the Fomor moves, and the entire community knows about it in minutes."
I blinked. "They can do that?"
"Internet," Thomas said. "The Netters are all low-grade talents. They can use computers and cell phones without hexing them up. So something starts happening, they tweet about it, and Lara dispatches a ready team."
"And she just happens to get to find out more about the magical talents in other cities. The ones who can't really defend themselves. In case she gets hungry later."
"Yeah," Thomas said. "But it's not like the Netters have a lot of choice in the matter." He paused for a couple of blocks and then said, "Lara's getting scary."
"Lara was always scary."
Thomas shook his head. "Not like this. She's getting involved in government."
"She was always doing that," I said.
"City officials, sure. A few key state bureaucrats. And she kept it gentle and invisible—manipulation, influence. But now she's going for something different."
"What?"
"Control."
"They're ruthless," Thomas said. "And they're everywhere. But between Marcone's hired goons, Lara's resources, and Murphy's people, they haven't gotten a solid foothold here. Other cities, it's bad. Los Angeles, Seattle, San Francisco, Miami, and Boston are the worst off. They're grabbing anyone with a lick of magical ability and carrying them away. Thousands of people."
"Hell's bells," I muttered. "What about the White Council?"
"They're busy," Thomas said. "Word is that they're operating around the coasts of Europe, especially in the Mediterranean, fighting the Fomor there. Lara's people have been sharing a little information with the Council, and vice versa, but there's nothing like an alliance."
"They aren't working in the U.S. at all?" I asked.
Thomas shrugged. "Your Warden buddies are trying," he said. "Ramirez got hurt pretty bad last year. I don't think he's back in action yet. But the Wardens in Baltimore and San Diego are holding out, and the kid in Texas is giving them hell."
"Good for Wild Bill," I said. "So how come other cities haven't gone down?"
"Lara," Thomas said simply. His voice altered subtly and I could recognize the precise, enunciated tones that marked his sister's voice. "We labored for centuries to cultivate this herd. I will not abide a horde of toady, has-been poachers."
"She's a sweetheart," I said.
"She's done a lot," he said. "But she wouldn't have been able to do it without the Paranet."
"Wow. Seriously?"
"Knowledge is power," Thomas said. "There are tens of thousands of people on the Paranet. Eyes and ears in every city, getting more experienced every day. Something happens, one of the Fomor moves, and the entire community knows about it in minutes."
I blinked. "They can do that?"
"Internet," Thomas said. "The Netters are all low-grade talents. They can use computers and cell phones without hexing them up. So something starts happening, they tweet about it, and Lara dispatches a ready team."
"And she just happens to get to find out more about the magical talents in other cities. The ones who can't really defend themselves. In case she gets hungry later."
"Yeah," Thomas said. "But it's not like the Netters have a lot of choice in the matter." He paused for a couple of blocks and then said, "Lara's getting scary."
"Lara was always scary."
Thomas shook his head. "Not like this. She's getting involved in government."
"She was always doing that," I said.
"City officials, sure. A few key state bureaucrats. And she kept it gentle and invisible—manipulation, influence. But now she's going for something different."
"What?"
"Control."
If he didnt know they shared intel via the Internet.
Apropos of nothing, here's a little extra information on the Fae, and the fact that they can cross thresholds without an invitation:
Fae and thresholds said:
- Location
- Germany
Molly is pretty busy, throwing herself into multiple projects, helping a friend (Rosie) and also learning two different supernatural arts.
Kinda makes sense to neglect school-friends.
Most of these people do not know what the Hell happened on Halloween, for the good and simple reason that they were all hunkering down though the storm they knew they did not have any hope of facing or else they got time off from work and they got out of the city. Afterwards... well who would have told them? Harry does not like to toot his own horn, most people do not even know who Butters is. At most you you would get some rumors from Bok and if memory serves he er... saw Harry ask about a person who never existed as he got that book or tried to at least.
- Location
- washington
Butcher also said that disease was as much of a problem for wizards as it is for mortals. Their no more resistant at all than muggles they just if they survive get better faster or at all.
1)There are houses and locations where you'll find ghosts.
There are NO houses in Chicago that have been abandoned because of ghosts. Not in canon.
2)Art museum. Not antiquities. A lot, if not the majority of their collection, is painting.
And all this presupposes that there is any stuff there that has not been noticed previously by other supernaturals.
The juice is not worth the squeeze.
I dont really see it.
If the association with the nascent Demon Empress/Infernal Exalt doesnt already deter a predator from a premeditated attack on an Ordos member, a bugged and tracked cellphone wont. They will just toss it as the first element of an attack.
And they'd expect us to track missing persons. Finding missing people is literally something that Dresden is known for.
Very few edge cases where it makes sense in my opinion.
Not to mention most of those have alternatives.
I mean, I'm perfectly willing to hack into or HMP the local cellphone exchange and put location trackers on the cellphone numbers they give us, and have cyberdevils watch for changes in their movement routines. Essentially location history in realtime. If its alarming, spoof a call to their number as a telemarketer or 911 doing a wellness check.
Invasive, but less so than putting a spy in the same room with them 24/7.
And that wont require us asking permission, or to expose that capability.
1)They are minor talents, not blind.Nothing actually prevents them from checking you know?
Even if you tell the cyberdevils to lie about their origins when asked, their physical presence is enough for another practitioner to divine their origins.
2)Summoning and binding minor spirits into service is very much not a bogstandard thing for Dresdenverse practitioners.
Not really.
They're close enough that Izzy called Molly's home to check when she was absent from school.
I assume they keep in contact by phone offscreen, but its summer vacation. You cant be that busy during summer vacay.
He essentially told them. Citation:
It was time to rendezvous with the Wardens, so I headed for McAnally's.
Mac's tavern was tucked in neatly beneath one tall building and surrounded by others. You had to go down an alley to get to the tavern, but at least it had its own dinky parking lot. I managed to find a spot in the lot and then limped down the alley to the tavern, taking the short flight of steps down to the heavy wooden door.
I opened the door onto a quiet buzz of activity. In times of supernatural crisis, McAnally's became a sort of functional headquarters for gossip and congregation. I understood why. The tavern was old, lit by a dozen candles and kerosene lamps, and smelled of wood smoke and the steaks Mac cooked for his heavenly steak sandwiches. There was a sense of security and permanence to the place. Thirteen wooden pillars, each one hand-carved with all manner of supernatural scenes and creatures, held up the low ceiling. Ceiling fans that normally turned in lazy circles were not moving now, thanks to the power outage, but the actual temperature of the bar was unchanged. There were thirteen tables scattered out irregularly around the room, and thirteen stools at the long bar.
The whole layout of the place was meant to disperse and divert dangerous or destructive energies that might accompany any grouchy wizard types into the tavern-nothing major. It was just a kind of well-planned feng shui that cut down on the number of accidents bad-tempered practitioners of the arts might inadvertently inspire. But that dispersal of energies did a little something to ward off larger magical forces as well. It wasn't going to protect the place from a concentrated magical attack: McAnally's wasn't a bomb shelter. It was more like a big beach umbrella, and when I came through the door I felt a sudden relief of pressure I hadn't realized had built up. The minute I shut the door behind me, some of the fear and tension faded, the dark energies Cowl had stirred up sliding around the tavern like a stream pouring around a small, heavy stone.
A sign on the wall just inside the door proclaimed, ACCORDED NEUTRAL TERRITORY. That meant that the signatories of the Unseelie Accords, including the White Council and the Red Court, had agreed that this place would be treated with respect. No one was supposed to start any kind of conflict inside the tavern, and would be bound by honor to take outside any fight that did come up, as rapidly as possible. That kind of agreement was only as good as the honor of anyone involved, but if I broke the Accords in the building, the White Council would hang me out to dry. From past experience, I assumed that the Red Court would come down on any of their folk who violated the tavern's neutrality in the same way.
The tavern was crowded with members of the supernatural community of Chicago. They weren't wizards. Most of them had only a pocketful of ability. One dark-bearded man had enough skill at kinetomancy to alter the spin on any dice he happened to throw. An elderly woman at another table had an unusually strong rapport with animals, and was active in municipal animal shelter charities. A pair of dark-haired sisters who shared an uncanny mental bond played chess at one of the tables, which seemed kind of masturbatory, somehow. In one of the corners, five or six wizened old practitioners-not strong enough to have joined the Council, but competent enough in their own right-huddled together over mugs of ale, speaking in low tones.
Mac himself glanced over his shoulder. He was a tall, spare man in a spotless white shirt and apron. Bald and good at it, Mac could have been any age between thirty-five and fifty. He pursed his lips upon seeing me, turned back to his wood-burning stove, and quickly finished up a pair of steaks he'd been cooking.
I started limping over to the bar, and as I went the room grew quiet. By the time I was there, the uneven thump of my staff on the floor and the sizzling of the steaks were the only sounds.
"Mac," I said. Someone vacated a stool, and I nodded my thanks and sat down with a wince.
"Harry," Mac drawled. He slipped his frying pan off the stove, slapped both steaks onto plates, and with a couple of gestures and brief movements made fried potatoes and fresh vegetables appear on the plates, too. It wasn't magic. Mac was just a damned good cook.
I glanced around the room and spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "I need some space, Mac. Some people are meeting me here shortly. I'll need several tables."
A round of nervous whispers and quiet comments went through the crowd. The old practitioners in the corner rose from their table without further ado. Several of them nodded at me, and one grizzled old man growled, "Good luck."
The less experienced members of the supernatural crowd looked from me back to the departing seniors, uncertainty on every face.
"Folks," I said, in general. "I can't tell you what to do. But I would like to request that you all think about getting home before dark. Come nightfall, you want to be behind a threshold."
"What's happening?" blurted one of the youngest men in the room. He still had pimples.
Mac eyed him and snorted.
"Come on. I'm a wizard. We have union rules against telling anybody anything," I said. There was a round of muted chuckles. "Seriously. I can't say any more for now," I said. And I couldn't. Odds were better than good that one or more spies lurked among the patrons of the tavern, and the less information they had about White Council plans and activities, the better. "Take this seriously, guys. You don't want to be outside come nightfall."
Mac turned around to the bar and swept his eyes over it, his expression polite and pointed. He grunted and flicked his chin at the door, and the noise from the room rose again as people began speaking quietly to one another, getting up, and leaving money on the tables as they left.
Two minutes later, Mac and I were the only people left in the tavern. Mac walked around the edge of the bar and sat down next to me. He put one steak-laden dinner plate on the bar in front of me, kept the other for himself, and added a couple of bottles of his home-brewed dark ale. Mac flipped the tops off with a thumbnail.
"Bless your soul, Mac," I said, and picked up one bottle. I held it up. Mac clinked his bottle of ale against mine, and then we both took a long drink and fell to on the steaks.
We ate in silence. After a while, Mac asked, "Bad?"
"Pretty bad," I said. I debated how much I could tell him. Mac was a good guy and a long-term acquaintance and friend, but he wasn't Council. Screw it. The man gave me steak and a beer. He deserved to know something more than that there was a threat he probably couldn't do anything about. "Necromancers."
Mac's fork froze on the way to his mouth. He shook his head, put his last bite of steak into his mouth, and chewed slowly. Mac never used a sentence when one word would do. "Wardens?"
"Yeah. A lot of them."
He pursed his lips with a frown. "Kemmler," he said.
I arched an eyebrow, but I wasn't really surprised that he knew the infamous necromancer's name. Mac always seemed to have a pretty darned good idea about what was going on. "Not Kemmler. His leftovers. But that's bad enough."
"Ungh." Mac finished up his plate in rapid order, then rose and started collecting money and clearing the tables in the corner farthest from the door. At some point he collected my barren plate and empty bottle and put a fresh ale down in front of me.
Mac's tavern was tucked in neatly beneath one tall building and surrounded by others. You had to go down an alley to get to the tavern, but at least it had its own dinky parking lot. I managed to find a spot in the lot and then limped down the alley to the tavern, taking the short flight of steps down to the heavy wooden door.
I opened the door onto a quiet buzz of activity. In times of supernatural crisis, McAnally's became a sort of functional headquarters for gossip and congregation. I understood why. The tavern was old, lit by a dozen candles and kerosene lamps, and smelled of wood smoke and the steaks Mac cooked for his heavenly steak sandwiches. There was a sense of security and permanence to the place. Thirteen wooden pillars, each one hand-carved with all manner of supernatural scenes and creatures, held up the low ceiling. Ceiling fans that normally turned in lazy circles were not moving now, thanks to the power outage, but the actual temperature of the bar was unchanged. There were thirteen tables scattered out irregularly around the room, and thirteen stools at the long bar.
The whole layout of the place was meant to disperse and divert dangerous or destructive energies that might accompany any grouchy wizard types into the tavern-nothing major. It was just a kind of well-planned feng shui that cut down on the number of accidents bad-tempered practitioners of the arts might inadvertently inspire. But that dispersal of energies did a little something to ward off larger magical forces as well. It wasn't going to protect the place from a concentrated magical attack: McAnally's wasn't a bomb shelter. It was more like a big beach umbrella, and when I came through the door I felt a sudden relief of pressure I hadn't realized had built up. The minute I shut the door behind me, some of the fear and tension faded, the dark energies Cowl had stirred up sliding around the tavern like a stream pouring around a small, heavy stone.
A sign on the wall just inside the door proclaimed, ACCORDED NEUTRAL TERRITORY. That meant that the signatories of the Unseelie Accords, including the White Council and the Red Court, had agreed that this place would be treated with respect. No one was supposed to start any kind of conflict inside the tavern, and would be bound by honor to take outside any fight that did come up, as rapidly as possible. That kind of agreement was only as good as the honor of anyone involved, but if I broke the Accords in the building, the White Council would hang me out to dry. From past experience, I assumed that the Red Court would come down on any of their folk who violated the tavern's neutrality in the same way.
The tavern was crowded with members of the supernatural community of Chicago. They weren't wizards. Most of them had only a pocketful of ability. One dark-bearded man had enough skill at kinetomancy to alter the spin on any dice he happened to throw. An elderly woman at another table had an unusually strong rapport with animals, and was active in municipal animal shelter charities. A pair of dark-haired sisters who shared an uncanny mental bond played chess at one of the tables, which seemed kind of masturbatory, somehow. In one of the corners, five or six wizened old practitioners-not strong enough to have joined the Council, but competent enough in their own right-huddled together over mugs of ale, speaking in low tones.
Mac himself glanced over his shoulder. He was a tall, spare man in a spotless white shirt and apron. Bald and good at it, Mac could have been any age between thirty-five and fifty. He pursed his lips upon seeing me, turned back to his wood-burning stove, and quickly finished up a pair of steaks he'd been cooking.
I started limping over to the bar, and as I went the room grew quiet. By the time I was there, the uneven thump of my staff on the floor and the sizzling of the steaks were the only sounds.
"Mac," I said. Someone vacated a stool, and I nodded my thanks and sat down with a wince.
"Harry," Mac drawled. He slipped his frying pan off the stove, slapped both steaks onto plates, and with a couple of gestures and brief movements made fried potatoes and fresh vegetables appear on the plates, too. It wasn't magic. Mac was just a damned good cook.
I glanced around the room and spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "I need some space, Mac. Some people are meeting me here shortly. I'll need several tables."
A round of nervous whispers and quiet comments went through the crowd. The old practitioners in the corner rose from their table without further ado. Several of them nodded at me, and one grizzled old man growled, "Good luck."
The less experienced members of the supernatural crowd looked from me back to the departing seniors, uncertainty on every face.
"Folks," I said, in general. "I can't tell you what to do. But I would like to request that you all think about getting home before dark. Come nightfall, you want to be behind a threshold."
"What's happening?" blurted one of the youngest men in the room. He still had pimples.
Mac eyed him and snorted.
"Come on. I'm a wizard. We have union rules against telling anybody anything," I said. There was a round of muted chuckles. "Seriously. I can't say any more for now," I said. And I couldn't. Odds were better than good that one or more spies lurked among the patrons of the tavern, and the less information they had about White Council plans and activities, the better. "Take this seriously, guys. You don't want to be outside come nightfall."
Mac turned around to the bar and swept his eyes over it, his expression polite and pointed. He grunted and flicked his chin at the door, and the noise from the room rose again as people began speaking quietly to one another, getting up, and leaving money on the tables as they left.
Two minutes later, Mac and I were the only people left in the tavern. Mac walked around the edge of the bar and sat down next to me. He put one steak-laden dinner plate on the bar in front of me, kept the other for himself, and added a couple of bottles of his home-brewed dark ale. Mac flipped the tops off with a thumbnail.
"Bless your soul, Mac," I said, and picked up one bottle. I held it up. Mac clinked his bottle of ale against mine, and then we both took a long drink and fell to on the steaks.
We ate in silence. After a while, Mac asked, "Bad?"
"Pretty bad," I said. I debated how much I could tell him. Mac was a good guy and a long-term acquaintance and friend, but he wasn't Council. Screw it. The man gave me steak and a beer. He deserved to know something more than that there was a threat he probably couldn't do anything about. "Necromancers."
Mac's fork froze on the way to his mouth. He shook his head, put his last bite of steak into his mouth, and chewed slowly. Mac never used a sentence when one word would do. "Wardens?"
"Yeah. A lot of them."
He pursed his lips with a frown. "Kemmler," he said.
I arched an eyebrow, but I wasn't really surprised that he knew the infamous necromancer's name. Mac always seemed to have a pretty darned good idea about what was going on. "Not Kemmler. His leftovers. But that's bad enough."
"Ungh." Mac finished up his plate in rapid order, then rose and started collecting money and clearing the tables in the corner farthest from the door. At some point he collected my barren plate and empty bottle and put a fresh ale down in front of me.
Whether he told them the details afterwards wasnt necessary; there are enough people with the skills and experience to put two and two together. Note the old practitioners knew what was coming without being told.
I mean, there were zombies and spectres in the streets. A full on magic firefight, with Wardens attempting an escort mission on children. Sue's skeleton ended up in a field.
And the magic vortex of the Darkhallow would not have been subtle to anyone with even rudimentary magic senses.
Never mind those that simply asked a spirit, or a wyldfae.
Its like back during Grave Peril when Bianca and Kravos fucked with the Gauntlet.
Everyone with magic senses could tell fuckery was up, and could put two and two together when the local Red Court seethe suffered a sudden case of burning down with everyone in it.
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In addition to what DP said, it's also worth considering how IC that could be a reflection of how context effects reputation.
The white council hunts big monsters and law breakers, but that doesn't mean they're particularly helpful for anything else.
Dresden's shenanigans being something that makes the city safer heavily implies that the other council members and wardens don't do that stuff and that everywhere else is worse than what we see happen all the time in Chicago.
Which informs their reputation, even in Chicago. A lot of these people have either been in the city before he was or came in from other places.
Shit is dangerous and the council doesn't help you unless it's convenient or you have connections.
That's another inconsistency if anything is; he had a map on his wall he updated with information from the paranet all over the country that he has to destroy when the FBI raided his place.
He was also a major part of the political shifts in the council that made it possible for them to work with the wardens in the first place.
Harry's role in training and leading them during the war made him immensely popular with the younger members and wardens in general, and he repeatedly publicly argued with the Merlin and other senior council members about this topic.
He wasn't the start of that discussion, but he helped crystallize it into action and connect it to the paranet.
From what I can find online he wasn't as involved in running it as I thought, but he's still very publicly connected to them.
Before his death the Harry was plugged in enough that anyone wanting to screw with him had as much reason to go after the paranet as our future enemies will have to go after the ordo.
We can see that history in how the sword of Damocles works and Ebenezer's relationship with Harry, but the patronage stuff is about personal and relational politics - not organizational policy.
- Location
- United States
[X] No, leave be for now
1) How could they check? They don't have their point of origin tattooed on their non-existent foreheads. Tracking a spirit to the original home in the Nevernever seems like high order divination.
2) I disagree. Dealing with minor Nevernever spirits like minor Wyldfae seems common to the point of ubiquity. Harry's deal with the brownies doesn't seem to be particularly unique. Traditions like leaving out a saucer of milk for them seems like the kind of thing that many families only basically aware of the supernatural would do.
So they know a bunch of wardens showed up and smashed some kind of big bad's face in. Unless he told them later (not very in character for him to do) they would not know:
- What it was
- That he had anything to do with dealing with it himself
fictionfan
Please sir, may I have some Meows?
- Location
- Tempe, AZ
I find it a little odd that the same people that argued so passionately about not joining because they were worried about us putting them in danger also are unwilling to take a close to costless and somewhat beneficial action to help keep them safe.
Could I get a quote on that? Also, this is a bit of goalpost shifting. I didn't say "abandoned". I said "their value was affected". I.e. they could be cheaper because people tend to feel bad in them / get sick / die, or stuff tends to break down. We know from the update that there are multiple properties (it's not a given that they are in Chicago proper, but it's likely) that a real estate agent with a gift for sensing spirits stayed far away from in her career. From this, we can infer the following:
1) There are many real estate properties (houses, apartments) that have spiritual problems - Pauline isn't the only real estate agent in Chicago, and unless she's specifically unlucky (unlikely, but possible ,we could check), she wouldn't run into the haunted properties more often than normal. This means that there are many more haunted properties in Chicago than she is aware of. I.e., there's an abundance of haunted properties in Chicago.
2) Some of those properties come up on the market, enough that a single real estate agent ran into them multiple times in her career. This either means that the same properties come up on sale often (due to hauntings causing the new owners to resale them), which would affect (lower) their value, or there's an abundance of them
3) At least some of those hauntings are scary enough that a spiritualist stayed far away from them, despite it likely harming her business. Now, she might be especially easily scared. That's possible. It's also possible that they are dangerous.
At least within the narrative of this quest I find it more likely that Dresden never got to them, due to lack of awareness, probably, or lack of time. For Lydia they could be a source of XP easily. And possibly recruitable ghost minions.
They don't need to be antiquities to be interesting from the crown perspective. From finding lost art, to solving myseries, I want to see what we can get. Also, what squeeze? It literally costs us, what a single afternoon? That's nothing. There's potential gain for essentially zero effort here.
Very arguable, given that even White Council in this quest has very little info on the Thousand Hells, and what info they have is often erroneous. This is indisputable, based on the earlier update, where Molly trades knowledge of said Hells to Harry. And cyberdevils are very new, less than a century old, less than fifty years old, even, as a species. The most a minor practitioner would be able to guess is that they are dark spirits. There's almost certainly no bestiary that lists them in easy access, if at all.
- Location
- washington
I mean no that's obviously not something that can be quoted.
Happy New Years guys, it has not quite gotten here yet but i won't be at the computer at midnight.
I was on board for joining, but I can see some strategy to be played with here.
Matthews noticed and got a feel for Clippy as soon as he laid eyes on Molly, and we are new. Passing out demons on our first meeting with the broader group is a bit much.
I think that a halfway option like Uju32 describes is a better place to start.
A few weeks to months of lore exchanges and trust building and we can get back to it.
Those are reasonable alternatives that I'd be fine with.
I wouldn't call immunity to hexes and local ears edge cases though. Someone ditching the phone in the right place could fool remote monitoring but wouldn't get a cyber devil since they're paying attention to their surroundings.
I'd give it good odds that in the process of ditching a phone whoever's doing it would give us a picture of their face.
The cyber devil would certainly be throwing alerts from what it can hear either way.
This is fair.
This, less so.
Most older wizards do not appear to live in cities, or advertise their city of residence like Dresden did. Other than Edinburgh and Archangel. So activity is likely to be noted more by its absence than by where its working.
Of course, this is the North American experience.
Most of the wizard population is outside the US. No idea how that goes.
1) Map.
Less than half a minute later, Bob returned and flowed back into the skull again. "There're a bunch of guys in suits and uniforms knocking on the door, Harry."
"I know."
"Why?" he asked. "What's going on?"
"Trouble," I said. "What do I have in here that's illegal?"
"Do I look like an attorney? These ain't law books I'm surrounded by."
There was a heavy slam of impact from upstairs. Whoever was up there was trying a ram on the door. Good luck with that, boys. I'd had my door knocked down before. I had installed a heavy metal security door that nothing short of explosives was going to overcome.
"Where's the ghost dust?" I asked.
"One shelf over, two up, cigar tin in a brown cardboard box," Bob said promptly.
"Thanks," I said. "That section of rhino horn?"
"Under the shelf to your left, plastic storage bin."
So it went, with Bob's flawless memory speeding the process. I wound up stuffing the bag full. Then I tore the Paranet map off the wall and added it to the bag, and tossed the directory of contact numbers for its members in next to it. The last thing I needed was the FBI deciding that I was the hub of a network of terrorist cells.
Bob's skull went in, too. I zipped the bag closed, leaving just enough opening for Bob to see out. Last, I took the two Swords (at least one of which had been used in murders in the Chicago area), slipped them through some straps on the side of the bag, and then hurriedly duct-taped them into place, just to be sure I wouldn't lose them. Then I drew on my duster and slung the bag's strap over my shoulder with a grunt. The thing was heavy.
Bangs and bumps continued upstairs. There was a sudden, sharp cracking sound. I winced. The door and its frame might be industrial-strength, but the house they were attached to was a wooden antique from the previous turn of the century. It sounded like something had begun to give.
"I know."
"Why?" he asked. "What's going on?"
"Trouble," I said. "What do I have in here that's illegal?"
"Do I look like an attorney? These ain't law books I'm surrounded by."
There was a heavy slam of impact from upstairs. Whoever was up there was trying a ram on the door. Good luck with that, boys. I'd had my door knocked down before. I had installed a heavy metal security door that nothing short of explosives was going to overcome.
"Where's the ghost dust?" I asked.
"One shelf over, two up, cigar tin in a brown cardboard box," Bob said promptly.
"Thanks," I said. "That section of rhino horn?"
"Under the shelf to your left, plastic storage bin."
So it went, with Bob's flawless memory speeding the process. I wound up stuffing the bag full. Then I tore the Paranet map off the wall and added it to the bag, and tossed the directory of contact numbers for its members in next to it. The last thing I needed was the FBI deciding that I was the hub of a network of terrorist cells.
Bob's skull went in, too. I zipped the bag closed, leaving just enough opening for Bob to see out. Last, I took the two Swords (at least one of which had been used in murders in the Chicago area), slipped them through some straps on the side of the bag, and then hurriedly duct-taped them into place, just to be sure I wouldn't lose them. Then I drew on my duster and slung the bag's strap over my shoulder with a grunt. The thing was heavy.
Bangs and bumps continued upstairs. There was a sudden, sharp cracking sound. I winced. The door and its frame might be industrial-strength, but the house they were attached to was a wooden antique from the previous turn of the century. It sounded like something had begun to give.
Essentially a rolodex for the technologically challenged.
2)Nope.
Before his death Paranet wasnt very public.
It became less covert after he died and the Fomor War ramped up, which was when the modern Paranet evolved.
Furthermore, they were part of his job. It wasnt personal.
There was no expectation that you could hurt him personally by targetting Paranetters, especially if retaliation was assured and disproportionate.
1)Yes they do.
The same way Brother Divshimar took a look at Molly and said she looks like an archdevil. Or Pauline Moskowitz walked in on us and we needed 10+ sux to stop her fleeing in fear. Or Mouse accosted us at our first meeting.
Or the malk in Undertown called us a servitor of Enma-O. Your origins leave a mark.
Literally not the first time we've seen demons in the series, my friend. Or even in this quest.
They are apparently quite identifiable to people with magic senses who actually look.
2)You are in error.
Plenty of people deal with minor wyldfae or nature spirits. Summon, bargain, do deals.
Binding them into service is a very different matter. Nobody does that, and its pretty dangerous to do.
Closest thing to a bound spirit we see in general circulation in canon is Bob. And Bob is no minor practitioner matter.
There was also the mistfiend, but thats even fucking scarier.
1)The Darkhallow was a death flavored vortex supposed to rip life from a several mile wide area. Pretty blatant to magic senses.
Furthermore, Grevane alone brought a company of dead bodies turned zombies to the ritual site on college grounds, which would have been there in the aftermath, along with Grevane's body and Sue's skeleton.Its really not the sort of thing that anyone even slightly clued in would miss. Any more than they missed news reports of Cassius' dead body at the museum.
My two cents.
2) Dresden was announced as regional commander immediately afterwards.
Lotsa people would have put two and two together.
Even if its not why Luccio did it.
:doubt:
There are real and tangible costs involved in putting cyberdevils in people's phones and receiving the necessary permissions to do so in the first place.
1)We see Mortimer Lindvist in canon.
He writes books and does seances. He doesnt make a living from exorcising real estate.
Its just not a significant problem in the setting. Hostile ghosts exist as a combat threat, but as an economic one? Nah.
Especially given that thresholds are a thing around residences.
2)Dude.
Its literally a short story that Dresden was hired to remove the curse on the Chicago Cubs. If ghost hauntings were an issue, real estate agents would routinely hire priests and monks to bless houses against spirits.
3)Correction: the sources Dresden has access to are spotty about the Thousand Hells. Subtle but important difference.
Knowledge is power in the Dresdenverse. If you think that thirty something year old Dresden has seen half the books out there, I have a bridge to sell you.
4)Furthermore, you dont need to be able to classify a spirit to peg its origins.
See the random malks in Undertown who immediately pegged Molly as something from the Thousand Hells.
Or our being able to recognize raksha on sight without knowing anything else about it.
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1) Molly is an infernal exalted, a fountain of corrupt essence whose soul is so large that it overflows from her body; who has specific charm that push her influence on other beings, and even beings that aren't the target of can notice the specific charm.
Cyberdevils are so insignificant they can't be VEE-ed.
These are not the same thing, and are not equally noticeable. And despite that, people still can't detect what Molly is or where she comes from. Just that she's major league bad news.
2) Contracting with a fey is a form of binding. The distinction should be impossible for anyone that's not Molly to discern. They won't know she hasn't previously cut a deal with them.
... How is this evidence of them not being a problem? They are explicitly noted here as dangerous - something for minor practitioners to stay away from. I don't follow the logic at all.
1) Not all real estate agents are spiritualists, or believe in magic, or care if their clients die in five years time.
2) Chicago Cubs are a significantly bigger business than some apartment where, for example, electronic breaks after a year and a day.
Further correction: the knowledge Bob has of Thousand Hells is spotty and wrong, as shown here:
Notice how it's specifically designed to be helpful to White Council. This at the very least indicates that Dresden and Bob both believe that White Council is not in possession of this information.
Random malks knew that the history of our exaltation. They knew that we took it from Arctis Tor, and that it was a treasure of winter:
It's quite plausible that they have seen it before, and it's very unique in feeling, I am willing to bet.