Green Flame Rising (Exalted vs Dresden Files)

[DragonParadox]

Cup Running Over ​

13th of February 2007 A.D.

Thinking quickly you ask what you're pretty sure has to be at least one of the top ten questions one is not supposed to ask a cop: "How OK are you with lying exactly?"

"Rick's a cop and a good one at that, he won't have forgotten... a face?" The sentence ends on a question as you slip on a mask, another mask you should say, having put on a black mirror incarnation in the morning that is a duplicate of your face, just in case you meet someone sensitive walking their dog. Margret Smith though is distinctly not you, she's older, more confident and just a an inch or so taller, the farthest thing from the scared girl in that interrogation room.

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 17/18 (BMI)

"Margret Smith," you whisper hurriedly as you get out of the car. "I'm working on my PhD, we met through father Forthil and he decided to tag along when we found the missing peppers at the archdiocese. I'm originally from Saint Louis which is how I got into this whole thing, make this a detective story and it should distract detectives."

"You can do that with anyone?" Detective Murphy's voice is a harsh whisper as you cross the yard, aware she shouldn't keep talking about this and unable to let it go.

"Anyone I can picture," you explain, already affixing a restrained but warm smile on your face.

As the door creaks open, at least to your ears, you are greeted with the sight of Murphy's mother looking at her daughter, starting to frown and say something... then stopping herself at the sight of Father Forthil, She greets him first, giving you a chance to give her a unobstructed once over: tiny stud earnings and that look that most men think is what women look like without makeup when it really takes longer to put on than the alternative. She moves like someone who had picked her lane in life and by gosh she is the fastest, meanest driver in that lane.

"Mrs Murphy good afternoon, my name is Margret Smith..." The smile the handshake, everything goes down very well. You get invited in 'out of the cold' —admittedly you might have been a bit light on the illusory wardrobe, but it's getting harder to remember how cold you should be— and then it happens.

It's not that a three year old running with a poorly-covered cup is unheard of, you can still remember that one school photo day when Leech covered your uniform in orange juice and Mom had to pull a borderline miracle to clean it in time. But most kids are either clever enough not to try to run past an adult like that into a pair of strange adults or good enough not to try. Not this tyke.

"Aunt Karin! Aunt Karin, look what I can do!" He proceeds to try to blow a bubble of gum having just drank some juice, to predictable results.

Alas you you cannot save everything from a grape colored fate without introducing the Murphy clan at large to the concept of telekinesis, but you manage to grab it such that it only spills about a third of the contents onto the carpet rather all of it onto a frozen-in-place... you can't really call her Murphy here can you? Karin?

Contemplation aside you instinctively get a good grip on the squirming kid with your other hand and, handing off the cup to Father Forthil —"I've got this!"— whack him on the back to get the gum out. Thankfully it does flying all the way out into the yard.

"And that's why we don't drink juice and chew bubble gum at the same time, 'K buddy?" you say in autonomous big-sister mode, wondering all the while who the heck gave him gum to start with, never mind that and a juice cup with a flimsy lid.

Said kid whose face had briefly scrunched up for a cry looks vaguely sheepish... which is unfortunately more than can be said for the scream that comes from inside the living room: "What are you doing to my Liam!"

"Preventing a choking hazard Lisa!" Lieutenant Murphy had recovered just in time to announce in a very un-Lieutenant-Murphy-tone. You suspect she would have liked to say more but she manages to bite it back into curt politeness.

"Little fellow's right as rain, Mrs..." you trail off with a rueful smile. Your kid your rules, even if they are dumb.

"Boughton," she pronounces it like it's French, causing her husband to shift uncomfortably, though not her mother who's far too busy fussing over the now pouting toddler.

Settling down after that is a process, but you're not in a hurry and Margret Smith's not supposed to be either so you just sit through it, exchanging looks with Father Forthil while Mama Murphy moves on from fussing over her grandson to fussing about Murphy 'eating alright' then if she's still in 'that posting'. From the vaguely sympathetic 'harrumph' of a mostly silent and shockingly red-haired Sam Murphy who is sitting just far enough from both his sisters to make it very clear he wants no part of any argument between them, you'd guess that's a common occurrence. Finally you get to the reason why you're here:

"Father John Murphy you said, your great-grandfather's brother, oh I've got far better than that, I've got his journal, though..." Mrs Murphy trails off embarrassed. "It's hard to read in places."

"Might be gibberish, might be code," Sam interjects, obviously very happy at the change of subject. "I'm no historian, but I have done a course in handwriting analyses and that is not the hand of a man who writes gibberish so code's my guess. Though what a priest would need code for..." he glances over at Father Forthil like he's expecting him to admit that Dan Brown was right all along.

"I am as curious as you are my son," the priest admits, entirely honestly.

So you wait patiently over a cup of coffee, making smalltalk with Sam and the oblivious Rich, fleshing out your story, while Marion, as you find Lieutenant Murphy's mother is called, goes to get the papers.

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 16/18 (Subterfuge Excellency)

Rather than go straight for the journal you look through the handful of letters, most of it is very mundane, the kind of thing you'd write about to catch family up on your life in another state, but once 1869 rolls around they start to have an air of solemnity to them, at once heavier and lighter... a man settling accounts, you recognize, a chill running down your spine.

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 15/18 (Empathy Excellency)

Then comes the journal, you pick it up gingery and look at Sam for pointers on where you might find the 'code' and... it's spells, all of it is spells, taken safely apart so that the act of a magician putting down words that they've used to channel power before does not set the page on fire or imprint it with magic some other way. Father John Murphy had been a sorcerer if not a proper wizard.

What do you do?

[] Try to get them to give you the book, that is not safe just laying around here
-[] Write in arguments from Margret Smith's perspective

[] Snap pictures of every page so you can study it later, leave the book here

[] Write in

OOC: Molly is starting to appreciate how drama free her family is.

 

[DragonParadox]

Between the Lines ​

13th of February 2007 A.D.

As soon as you see the writing you start to run the odds in your head, it looks complex and broad in application, not something most practitioners would be able to get much out of and it's been with the family for a hundred and forty years now, 'quiet in their keeping' as the very nerdy reference goes. Now that it's been brought to light someone might make it public only for it to come to the attention of the wrong crowd, but that's a lot of mights and maybes to be considering stealing something outright. Putting on a fake name and a fake face for a social call is one thing, this book means something to the Murphy family. Could I convince Detective Murphy? you think and the answer is obvious: If I tell her it's making them unsafe, but is it really? Father Murphy was setting his affairs in order, he knew what was coming and he didn't remove this journal from his family's keeping. You have faith enough in him and in the One who sent that message not to steal.

"Can I take some pictures?" you ask, not feigning the interested tone in the least. The journal is filled with philosophical musings that skip from Biblical allegory and commentary to pondering the historical questions of the day. Unsurprisingly for both an Irishman and a true man of God he has nothing good to say about the cause of the Confederacy, though he does go into a remarkably detailed diatribe for what's supposed to be a private journal. And there sure are a lot of rhetorical questions in there?

As Clippy helpfully classifies sentence structure and feeds the information into your ear-piece the puzzle in front of you finally clicks, this is a primer for teaching young wizards morality as much as magic and Father Murphy might have left it with his family because he was concerned one of his nieces and nephews or one of their children would have the gift of magic.

I bet if I'd have shown up here sixty years ago there would still be a spell on this made to draw the eye of budding practitioners, but now all that's left is ink and paper.

Part of you wonders if you should even share that thought with the woman sitting stiffly on the couch next to you through click after click, that she might have been born with the power to make more of a difference, to see the unseen and fight on even terms with the mosnters of the world, the primer had ever been in her house, but she just wasn't.

Unfortunately the nature of the journal also means that there is nothing in here relating to the place on the lake or the manner of his death. Admittedly that would be the last thing you'd want to heap on the shoulders of a wizard just starting out, but it does not help you.

"That certainly proved as impressive as I was hoping, more so in some ways," you say putting the phone away. "A fascinating man was Father Murphy and learned in many things."

Mrs Murphy sighs. "Aye, a great man gone too soon as most of them are, he was called to take the confession of a dying man on the 31st of October, the day of the Fire, he went and... just never came back, they weren't able to find anything of him afterwards so it was a long sad process to have his affairs settled. I heard from Colin's mother that it might have been the reason why her grandfather's sister Kate died. I looked that up once but the city just marked it down as consumption."

Two of four siblings dead in a short span of time in 1871, normally it wouldn't be suspicious on its own but with the Fallen involved... no Eschtamidel would have lost his host in the fire and would have had the Coin tossed across the world beside. Had there been more than one of them around? Or are you just seeing things in the tragic but all too common story of someone already struggling seeing their health fail in the wake of personal tragedy?

Regardless there is one other person to ask according to Detective Murphy her great aunt. So it is with some relief that you bid farewell to both Detective Rick, Lisa and Liam, silently wishing the kid to develop more common sense than his parents and get back in the car.

Do you explain to Murphy what that book was?

[] Yes
-[] Just mention that it's a spellbook and she should secure it
-[] Explain it's a magical primer

[] No, you'll deal with this once you get to the bottom of the mystery

[] Write in

OOC: No more essence used this scene because you are one mote off flaring and Molly does not like being right on the line unless she has to in case something like that Akuma shot back in Boston happens, she likes to be able to use her excelency in an emergency.

 

[DragonParadox]

Of Memories Kept and a Letter Torn ​

13th of February 2007 A.D.

No reason not to tell her, that the woman driving through the sparse February rain has doubts you do not doubt, everyone has doubts, but they would not be the kind of insecurities born of opportunities unborn that you'd worried about in there. That was more her sister's speed, the uncharitable thought pops up. "The book's a magic primmer in case anyone in his family were to develop a talent for magic," you explain. "The gift is kind of hereditary on a maternal line but not consistently so, the child of a wizard is more likely to be magical than most but not that much more likely. So it's not that uncommon I'd imagine to have some fresh mage rummage around through great-great-uncle's things and find something they can use, but maybe they shouldn't. Father Murphy took the danger out and just made it beginner-friendly, not just how to use magic, but when to use magic."

Seeing that both the others are interested in this line of reasoning you gladly continue. There are quite a few wizards who'd give you the stink-eye for it, but not Harry given that he hands Magic 101 leaflets to anyone who will take one. "It's not just for moral reasons, though that plays into it, you cannot do magic you don't believe in so understanding your own morals and the reasons why you hold those beliefs is as important to spell-casting as a good sense of balance is to martial arts." Which would make a devout priest a particularly skilled, or at least well grounded wizard, you leave unsaid, but understood just the same.

"It's odd that Father Murphy would be a member of the council of wizards, the White Council," Father Forthil says at last. "I haven't heard of an ordained priest holding the position." From the tone it's obvious he doesn't approve of it either, not in the sense of disapproving of magic itself but... Harry had once compared being a member of the Council to being a knight beholden to his vows and his peers. Anyone who has so much as cracked a book on the history of the Catholic Church knows how complicated clergymen swearing secular vows got.

Usum reminds you that the Pope is a monarch too since he enjoys pointing out inconsistencies and double standards in people's worldviews a little too much but you say nothing of course.

Great Aunt Mary does not live in Chicago, proper, she lives out in Beverly, technically Beverly Hills, though no one calls it that, presumably because they don't want to hear the obvious California jokes for the thousandth time. It's the kind of place where the wealthy once played at alms-rural-life, though it's not exactly in these days. Murphy's great-aunt had inherited one of said houses from her late husband who had been police commissioner some decades back. Her children and grandchildren are part of a wider Murphy family that is several hundred people large if you count the ones who married in. What would that even be like? you wonder, a little wistful, a little worried. The support sounds great to be sure, but you can just imagine some nosy cousin popping out of the woodwork, when you're doing some non-family approved things.

The doorbell echoes too-loud for the neat little Queen Ann House that reminds you of doll-houses you had as a kid. There is the sound of tromping feet, the creak of someone leaning in to look through the peephole and then a girl around Lydia's age opens the door with a smile. she obviously wasn't expecting to see Lieutenant Murphy here, much less with company.

It's busy in here, you count five kids of which Sally the girl at the door is the oldest and five adults besides the lady you had come here to talk to, her children and their spouses. They all show various levels of interest in 'Margret Smith's' supposed studies, feigned or not, but in the end they direct you to Mary's room... up on the third floor. You'd wonder why anyone who's eighty-seven years old would choose to live on the third floor, but if a strong will runs in the family you can almost certainly guess why.

Mary Murphy pauses in the introductions at the sight of Father Forthil as if in thought and finally says: "A good evening to you Father but I think I still have a few more months in me."

The poor man is left unsure of how to take this to which Murphy gives her great aunt a chiding look. "We know that Aunt Mary. We're here to talk to you about some family history actually. Ms Smith here is working on her PhD..." she delivers the story decently well, but from the way the old lady starts tapping her chin you suspect she must have caught her in a fib or two in her childhood and still remembers those tells.

"This is something to do with work isn't it? Like your father's work, though Colin never brought a priest in to help him ask questions. It would have been mighty alarming if he has given what he worked on."

"Dad asked you questions about something?"

"Not questions no..." she pauses a moment, considers her grand-niece, then the other people in the room. Whatever she sees encourages her to continue. "When he needed something for a Black Cat investigation that would look odd to ask about officially he'd come to me and I'd speak with Connor to help get him thinking along the right lines. Men like to think they understand everything and when they inevitably, don't it makes them antsy. But a woman is allowed to be a bit dotty, adds to our charm you know... Are you seeing someone again dear?"

The way the conversation changes from reminiscing about her late father to personal questions gives you whiplash, but Karin Murphy is apparently accustomed enough to it to respond with:"I see a lot of people, it's my job to notice them."

The old lady opens her mouth, looks at the priest in the corner, politely waiting with hands folded in his lap and closes it. It's not hard to read the message in that smile. 'You really opened yourself for an answer there.'

"So what can I help you with?" she asks instead, turning her attention to you.

After explaining your supposed general interests again the conversation turns to Father John Murphy, in particular his death and the death of his sister Kate, odd that they came so close together on that ill-fated year.

"Interesting that you should mention those two names together dear," she muses. "I remember from my grandfather that they were very close as children, she cried a whole month when he decided to go into the seminary and then took the offer to go to America. She thought she'd never see him again. You see Kate's health was never good, consumption they call it, though they could hardly tell one sickness from another those days so take it with a pinch of salt. Her family thought she'd never make it. Then, and this is the odd bit, they found a doctor willing to do... something about it, I'm not sure what but I can just imagine the sort of fellow who would be off experimenting on poor Irish girls, but she seemed to get better. Kate was well enough for the journey, but after her brother died her sickness came back worse than before, it was the grief like as not."

"Is that everything?" you ask, the talk of sudden healing setting off alarms at the back of your mind. Though you want to hear everything before you form an opinion.

"There is one other thing that was strange, Kate wrote a letter to her brother as she lay dying, she was feverish and must have just forgotten... well when her mother saw it she ripped it up on the spot. Grandfather Edward asked her about it and she wouldn't say, must have been just rambling but people would get embarrassed about the most ridiculous things," she looks at you, presumably as a representative of the 'youth', the few years you added to your glamor of little note to her. "If anyone tells you that people were tougher-minded or stronger back in the old days that is all bullshit, pardon my French, they just didn't know how to talk about their troubles until it ate them up inside."

"This doctor though do you know anything about him?" you ask into the solemn silence that had fallen after that piece of advice.

She thinks for a minute or two, back to something she must have heard when she was a girl herself, though it seems pretty obvious from how she told the story that it was one she'd paid particular attention to. "Samuel... M, something with an M."

Samuel Maskelyne, the name of the Denarian who killed Father Murphy pops into your head, it could be a coincidence... it's not though, you feel in your bones.

What do you do next?

[] Check with Harry, see if Father Murphy had actually been a member of the White Council

[] Find the graves of John and Kate Murphy and ask questions
-[] Write in

[] Write in

OOC: We are getting close to cracking this mystery.

 

[DragonParadox]

An Eyeful of Sins ​

13th of February 2007 A.D.

Before departing the company of Mary Murphy you ask a question perhaps a bit too suspicious, but you've been caught off guard one too many times. How are the Murphy family currently connected to the unseen world?

All you get is Murphy's story like a lonely silver bell, a relief all on its own.

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 14/18

Before visiting the graves of Kate and John you decide to call and ask Harry if he knows anything about a Catholic priest being a member of the White Council. Their records are probably not as good as the Church, but they have less to record at least. I'll probably have to wait for that one though... The three of you are still a fifteen minutes drive from Rosehill Cemetery when the answer comes back, a text. Harry knows how to text now? The smile slides off your face in the blink of an eye as you read it:

Bob recognized the name, there are pieces missing because there are pieces of who he used to be missing, because of Kemmler. There wasn't just a member of the Council, he was a senior Warden. Kemmler looked for his soul for months, thought he'd become a ghost before concluding he'd moved on. Be careful.

Always am, you send back, though you cannot quite keep yourself from ending on a winking emoticon.

"Did anything we saw back there indicate that Father Murphy might have been the kind of man to linger on this Earth?" you ask the others.

"No," Father Forthil answers, startled.

"Yeah, me neither, good relationship with his siblings, had some warning to put his affairs in order, but apparently yes he was a member of the council and an evil necromancer... that's a bit redundant, but this one was particularly bad tried to look for his ghost for some reason. He could have just been barking up the wrong tree, but..."

"It's a bad habit to fall back on 'perp was stupid'," the detective offers in the tone of one who had given that advice before. "It's true a lot of the time, but that should never be your go-to or you'll miss evidence when you least want to. You're sure he's not around anymore?"

"Positive, the spirit claimed he moved on and he would have had no reason to lie, I'm not entirely sure he would have had the capacity to... there's the entrance."

Even at night, and it is getting properly dark by now there is something quiet, soothing about Rosehill, its neat and ordered stones, its plaques shining in the moonlight peeking between wispy clouds. It's less the kind of place one would set a Red Star movie, more like the ending scene of a sappy rom-com with photogenic headstones... at least at first. The deeper you go the older the headstones get and while none of the graves are missing the hand of time will not be denied, cracks run through the two graves set side by side, green growing through them.

Looking at the headstone above an empty grave, still mourned by his kin you ask: What are the details of the plot that lead to your death?

Lost 1 Essence -Now at 13/18

Like a flash of thunder in your mind you see an all too familiar Enochian symbol, the mark of Lasciel.

A thin pale girl sits up in bed wearing no adornment but a crucifix speaking quietly with a smiling man, hair just turning grey at the temples.

"What has God ever done for you? You did not ask to be born broken, gasping for breath when other children were laughing, stumbling when others were climbing trees, a burden to all those you love. You could be great, beyond the censure of a jealous Father who would chain his children away from all that they desire and all that they could be."

Slowly, almost gingerly she takes off her crucifix and sets it aside.

A piece of silver flashes between them and something... green?

....

You see two people, a man and a woman sitting together on a pier by the lake, through not any shoreline in Chicago. The man is wearing a priest's cassock, the woman almost unrecognizable for the life that had been poured into her, all the more striking for wearing a maize colored dress like the sun at midsummer. An emerald pendant, you see it clearly now swings like a green star on a chain where once the crucifix had been. The color is too bright, unreal... a thing of elder days, the Grace of Embers stolen.

She leans to whisper something to him, some secret amusement. Isn't she a little too close. What's she doing with...?

There is no turning aside from the scene, your Crown, your Exaltation can no more understand why you would not want to watch this than the burning heart of a sun would understand why mortals shiver in the cold. All you can do is sit there, a cosmic voyeur pinned to the pattern of ages as Kate Murphy tries to seduce her brother with the no doubt helpful counsel of the Fallen Angel Lasciel. It goes farther than you ever wanted to see, though not as far as you had come to fear. But then the chain snaps the emerald rolls away. As you... and only you watch the earth beyond the pier first shivers then roils and cracks like living flesh. A root, if roots were stone yet moved like tentacles grabs it and pulls it into the earth.

The look of horror in John Murphy's eyes when the glamor that had been clouding his sight lifts is not one you'll soon forget.

You snap back to the sight of a gravestone above an empty grave. At least now you think you understand why Kemmler would have thought he'd have left a ghost.

Sending Embermane to break open the island was never plan A for the Denarians, you realize, it was an improvised plan B when corrupting the priest by... trying to reenact the greatest hits of the Borgias —OK, that works, mental distance, that's the key Molly— had failed. Presumably Kate had not taken very well to her mentor in all things demonic killing her brother as part of the same summoning that also killed him. So she abandoned the Coin and died of the same illness, merely arrested and not cured, by the bargain she made.

You turn to her grave and ask what was in the letter, already knowing what you'll hear.

The letter contained a confession, an apology that could not be spoken in this world.

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 12/18

"Molly," Father Forthil's gentle voice summons you back into the present. "What's wrong?"

I believe the precise metric is a shit-ton is wrong, your brain provides a regular old intrusive thought, not the demonic kind. How do I explain what I just saw? Should you, does it help anyone if I do?

Regain 2 Essence -> Now at 14/18

How much of the tragedy she saw does Molly explain?

[] All of it, they've been with you so far, you trust Father Forthil and Murphy deserves to know if anyone does

[] 'Just' that Kate was a Denarian and she brought the Grace you are after to the Island you are looking for only to be discovered

[] Write in

OOC: This has been your schedualed reminder that the Fallen are just awful, some of the Worst Things in the setting, but in a much more visceral and insidious way than Outsiders.

 

[DragonParadox]

Reasons in Dark Places ​

13th of February 2007 A.D.

"I think we need to talk about this in the car," Molly Carpenter said quietly, still looking like someone who had seen a ghost, which for all Karin knew she may have. This was a graveyard and she had just been talking about a 'necromancer' looking for the soul of her great-great-grand uncle so maybe his sister was still around.

Maybe she's not the only one, a small unwelcome voice at the back of her mind piped up, unwelcome because she had dealt with that part of her life, she had and this was not the time to unearth the dead, no matter what magic bullshit was in the cards. Her right hand moved on its own to the jacket pocket with the pencil to just get all this down some place where she could look at it, spirits of fire, the names of demons and islands in Lake Michigan. But that's a paper trail and as Agent Leo had pointed out 'some spooks can read your mind, all of them can read plain English'. There was a whole complex categorization system for what kind of notes were recommended for what kind of entity as far as the Special Collections Division was concerned. At the very highest level some wag had simplified it to 'if it can survive an air strike no personal files.' Fallen Angels definitely qualified.

Once they were back in the cruiser Molly took a deep breath and said: "Kate was a host, a Denarian, that's how she got healed, you could still feel the echoes of it and I think her mother buried the ashes of her letter with her which considering... well considering. Look I don't need to tell either of you that the Fallen are vile, but Lasciel, that's the Fallen whose Coin Kate was given, is the kind to take the things that make people virtuous, that give them strength through adversity and twist them, instead of just breaking their will the way her more brutal peers do."

"Is this strictly something we need to know Molly?" the good Father asked, though it was Karin he was looking at.

"I appreciate the concern Father, but I've never known these people, they're names I barely heard of and stories I learned today. Go deep enough in history and you will find bad apples up any family line." And not so far either, she thought, recalling some of the things her uncles and cousins had said about cops in the family who had not honored the badge and the uniform. Some of those stories had been told seriously, some as little jokes, but she still remembered all of them. Granted that wasn't service to Lucifer himself, but Karin was enough of a Catholic to figure that it was all a matter of degree. Given repentance God would forgive all sins save one.

With one more deep breath the girl explained plainly: "Lasciel got Kate to try to seduce her brother under a glamor that's anchored with the thing we are looking for, in shape it's a bright green emerald by the way..."

Karin could see the realization in the priest's eyes at the same time she had it. "You saw it?" Leaving the 'it' intentionally vague. To be entirely honest Karin was not sure how she'd take seeing something like that in first person personal, but she knew from Harry that things seen in visions stuck with the wizard and while Molly Carpenter wasn't exactly a wizard she was an eighteen year old girl who thought she could fix the world. Seeing something that nasty that she knew she couldn't fix since everyone involved was long dead was sure to leave a mark.

"Yeah, that's how Lasciel works, but when that failed Eschtamidel decided to do it his way. Plan B was apparently to use the fact that the Grace was still on the island to get the mutilated spirit to rage in a storm of flame towards it. He got Father Murphy somehow, sacrificed him... and the rest you know."

"Eternal rest grant unto Them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace," Father Forthil said quietly, solemnly to himself. "May Their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen."

Through the prayer Karin bowed her head, as much as being the driver allowed at least, but her mind was still racing, still trying to put the pieces together. Kate must have been remorseful once her brother died, enough to have thrown away the Coin and god knows where that was after all this time, but they couldn't just assume the, literally, damned thing had lost interest or that it had never lead another dupe to Chicago in the last hundred and thirty years. The last pieces on the board here in Chicago were the island itself...

"You said this island had some kind of presence, or spirit that snatched up the magic emerald?" Karin asked.

"Keep it, it's a jail, that's what it would default to, not to mention that it probably does not belong in this age of the world either." There was obvious relief in that answer that she had not taken the revelations about her family any worse than she did. To be fair if Karin had been a bit more like her mother she probably would have. Not to mention Lisa... Briefly, very briefly, Karin tried to imagine her sister in her place dealing with the fact that Fallen Angels are walking the Earth. The snort of silent laughter and spike of guilt for going there were both familiar feelings, easily put aside on the job.

"Alright so the island isn't going to do anything, spirit or no. That just leaves... 'Embername', the moment he does something unusual it will be a sign that someone is messing with the emerald which means they might go to the island and interact with the spirit jailer. That would be the Fallen Angels' chance to strike. I'm assuming that they'd have some way to monitor the situation with spells and it's not like the fire spirit will be scouring his area for 'bugs', he's just wallowing you said."

"I... didn't think of that," the girl admitted her gaze going far-off, though not in a seeing-magic kind of way. "We are going to have to go over and see if there are any scrying foci in his demesne."

At least that's a skill that still works, Karin Murphy thought grimly.

"When it comes time to go to this island I'd like to come along with whoever else you bring, see this through," she added just as the car slit to a stop at a red light.

What does Molly reply?

[] Yes, Detective Murphy 's proven very useful once and if it comes down to it protecting her isn't that much different from protecting Harry

[] No, there are some places regular humans, no matter how impressive shouldn't go

[] Write in

OOC: This felt more interesting from Murphy's PoV so I did an interlude. Hope it works.

 

[DragonParadox]

Visitors Young and Old​

13th of February 2007 A.D.

Telling her it's dangerous would be a slap in the face you know, if Karin Murphy had wanted 'safe' she would have taken up another line of work so you nod. "As soon as I know where we're going I'll give you the number of the boat... Do boats have numbers?"

"They have a registration number but not..." she stops and looks at you suspiciously. "You're not planning to raise a magic boat out of Lake Michigan or something?"

"Nope, just curious," you return glibly.

For his part Father Forthil is doing his best not to smile, though the twinkle behind those wire rimmed glasses proves stubborn.

Thomas has a boat you think, he was talking about taking his girlfriend on the lake. Wait isn't it his birthday tomorrow? You should do something about that.

***​

14th of February 2007 A.D.

Midnight comes upon you still planning. Magical 'bugs' aren't like the technological ones, they cannot be seen by the flash of light in a hidden lens, nor heard by knocking to listen to echoes in a false wall, they might be built into the very fabric of space woven in the threads of time, a mental box in some unsuspecting observer's head just waiting for the key. Worse, all of that goes double for the Otherworld, there the assumptions and precedents of the everyday flow like wax under a flame, mixing and rearranging. So that leaves two options. Either a wizard risks opening their Sight and getting an eyeful of whatever nastiness the Fallen thought to pack in there or you get Tiffany to guess at the schemes of her other self and with angelic sense perceive a Fallen Angel's workings.

But Tiffany is knight-sitting, if you call her away, especially for this of all reasons sirs Lyr, Madon and Gwair are going to want to stick their oar in. No doubt they could be a great help, but is the city of Chicago ready to play host to the last three of Arthur's knights? Is it ready to play host to three more like me?

The sound of a message from Harry... no Mouse. Just my luck. No awkward middle of the night texts from a guy for me. Huh...

"The Warden candidates have arrived alongside Warden Ramirez. To start with a late night run. They can just do that...🐶"

Aww... Of course Mouse can't just go running whenever he likes people would get worried seeing a dog that big out on his own, but something tells you no one had informed those Warden trainees that they would be ringing in Valentine's Day with some night-running around a strange city. But that does mean there's another wizard around who could look around for any threads leading back to Lasciel before you start making moves on the island.

Who do you take with you to search for any divination foci Lasciel may have left behind?

[] A Wizard (Guaranteed to work, but does involve the risks of using the Sight on the Work of the Fallen)
-[] Harry Dresden
-[] Carlos Ramirez

[] Tiffany (Includes the three knights she's been teaching)

[] Write in

OOC: This is a bit of a spoiler since you do not have communication though the Nevernever but for the sake of avoiding another vote just to go over and check yes the knights have learned English in this time, because they are cheaters who cheat, not as much as the Celestial Exalted, but enough in this case. No rolls for this one, I know it's a bit short, but I need a vote for this and it would not have fit in the last part since that was a Murphy interlude.

 

[DragonParadox]

Of Dead Nodes ​

14th of February 2007 A.D.

"Kemmler's little helper is back..." Not the words you had been expecting to hear waiting in the bus stop right across from a Wendy's and especially not almost in your own voice inside your own head. "Check this out..." An experience that is not seen nor heard felt nor smelled nor tasted unfolds in your mind like an algorithmic flower. You are seeing the world from Iris' point of view, you realize, the Internet to be precise and it is definitely not the Information Super-Highway of cheesy 90s shows it is the constant stream of data packets sent and confirmed, waves of meaning crashing upon the razor sharp shore of nul-space that is a firewall infused with malicious purpose.

There's a flicker of amusement at the brutal intrusiveness of the construct. SUTRA powerful enough to build defenses this layered and strong wouldn't make them this obvious. But as the protections unspoiled Iris realized her target had already fled, that is had never been in the system at all, just projecting from a bio-organic support... not bio... that did not make sense! An Error message you discover feels like a ten minute migraine compressed into a fraction of a second.

"Ow! You could have warned me!" you snap rubbing your temples.

"Oh, sorry," Sophia looks a little embarrassed. "Figured you wouldn't notice, your pain tolerance is a lot better than mine."

"Turns out Anti-Bob was using a Black Court Fledgling as a relay to get into government servers and play ghost in the machine. He's been playing with Gard for some time and we're not sure why, other than him being a petty asshole. The best guess we have is that he's been stalking a bunch of people on Uncle Sam's dime, testing their protections and Gard was just the first one to get the right kind of help."

"What, what happened to the vampire?" Somehow you manage not to shout that one aloud.

"Oh he wasn't a danger to anyone, starved of blood and mortared into the wall of an office in DC, like a very creepy antenna. Anti-Bob jumped in there through a wire some so-and-so had run through the vampire's skull which is both clever and gross. As soon as he was in there a third party picked him out long distance. And let me tell you Nevernever 'Physics' or not..."

"Not an easy lift," you conclude grimly. "Did you call this in to the library?"

"Yeah, that's who found the corpse, Von Trier was not amused, even though I did keep everything that could be traced back to Harry out of it the fact that the bad guys got into a building with sensitive servers, took down a wall and left a 'present' was bad enough. Black Court elders and hacking is apparently worse. Told them to keep a piece of Antenna Vamp for divination purposes, the body was fresh enough that they can do that.."

"When did all this happen?"

"Got off the phone with her ten minutes ago, then you called me and it felt like serendipity," she answers with a smile, your smile.

"You know..." you sigh. "It's a lot more fun when we surprise other people."

Dad and Harry had just shown up, the latter looking curious, the latter worried at whatever expression the two of you are wearing.

"So just to be clear we are not about to have Undead Y2K Two: This Time It's Happening?"

"Not as far as I can tell, though I... suspect a bunch of people were a lot less paranoid about this kind of slow probing than Gard is. Whatever this operation's doing besides spying it's been doing for months."

With that stomach-clenching thought you say 'Hi' to Lydia as well.

"The hikers..."

"Fine thralls probably, we haven't tracked them yet."

One good thing about the timing of this, whoever's behind this plot sounds like they belong in supernatural Super-Max.

Before stepping into the Nevernever what do you want to do about the Black Court hacking plot?

[] Warn Lara Raith, she has government contacts, tech savvy and a reason to make getting to the bottom of this a priority

[] Ask Von Trier to FedEx you a piece of that Black Court Fledgling, you would like to do your own divinations on it

[] Write in

OOC: Good news, you found Evil Bob. Bad News: Evil Bob found the internet and made friends.

 

[DragonParadox]

Wizard in the Wind ​

14th of February 2007 A.D.

"Thank you for the warning, I shall see to it that this incursion is dealt with appropriate severity." There's something about Lara's voice, her choice of words, it's not that she's less emotive, anger still rings loud and clear, but it all sounds crisper and more purposeful. There's no reflexive warmth to it, that's it. You knew it was bullshit and she knew, you knew it was bullshit, but she still did it the most time you spoke and one could hardly expect otherwise. A vampire of the White Court not trying to get under someone's guard socially would be like a cat not rubbing itself all over the furniture. And there's Lara sounding a lot more tiger than cat. Something for later.

The Library itself is a lot more straightforward. Yes, they will hang on to a piece of the corpse to divine by. No, there hasn't been any indication of people compromised in DC, but it's early days yet and tricky at that since Homeland Security are new and 'unused to how things are done' which is to say testy about their jurisdiction and people. Von Trier does not say any of the words, she doesn't have to.

"And here I thought Homeland Security just had a worryingly broad remit to spy on us..." you sigh.

Dad had taken the news the way he takes all bad news, resolved and ready to help. Harry on the other hand looks like he's about ready to fly to DC, though you can't say his concerns are entirely unwarranted. He doesn't find the idea that some of the Library's agents like Von Trier could be full wizards particularly comforting which...

Also something for later.

***​

The six of you make your way back to the blasted plains under the swirling haze of ashen breath, the groans of living mountains no less mournful though thankfully none of them seem inclined to turn their attention to the interlopers... in the same black and silver car that had carried you around Wales freed from having to pretend it is at all concerned with such mundane details as cracks in the ground, soot everywhere and chasms spewing steam and fire.

Lost 3 Essence -> Now at 7/8 (Open the Way and Carriage of the Ankou)

Dad looks like he's fighting the urge to tell Lydia to put her head back in the vehicle so hard you and other-you, almost burst into giggles just looking at each other, but before anyone's power gives out Lydia jumps in her seat and swats at her face between her eyes. "That feels like Tiffany, but deeper, more complex, a stairway descending down and down into the marrow of the world, but I rather suspect it shan't be easy getting there..." she motions to the peak that is Embermane, to the very top. If you're going to put bugs on someone might as well be on their person I guess.

"I'll handle this," your father says quietly getting out of the car on the other side. For a long moment he just stands there, looking up at the mountain incarnate until its sixteen eyes are fixed on him then in a strong clear voice: "I am Michael Amoracchius's bearer and I would have words with you Old One."

"What words?" the voice of the spirit is like the sound of an avalanche roaring down hill.

"True ones," in one smooth motion your father draws the sword, ringing in clear tones of steel and drives into the earth, sanctifying his own words that none mortal nor immortal might doubt them. "I and those of my company have no quarrel with you, only with the ones who harmed you. We would break their works and undo their will. Know that there may yet be eyes in their service upon this domain. We would see those eyes blinded."

There's no nod, no words of acknowledgement, the fiery eyes just close to open on the other side of the mountain.

"Now what?" Sophia asks.

"Now we climb," Dad answers, but Harry says what might be the most worrying words a wizard can say.

"I want to try something..."

Something that might require me to catch you? you want to tease him but don't. It's fun watching Harry do magic.

Swirling his staff through the air above his head he calls in time with the motion: "Ascendere Fieri!"

The first thing you notice is a ripple in the air right above his head then a tugging at his arms and back that grows stronger in time with tighter and tighter circles until, about six seconds after the start his feet leave the ground.

"Oh..." Sophia claps. "It's like a hot air balloon only with an envelope of force instead of string and canvas."

"How are you planning to steer it?" You call up, rising in turn, though not too fast.

For a moment you think that horizontal movement is not a solved problem yet, but then he takes one hand off the staff and waves a second spell into the first: "Vento Servitas."

As mechanisms of flight go it's not sleek or elegant and probably not as safe as many wizards would prefer they be, but for someone as young as Harry you have no doubt it's a coup.... even if it isn't something he can use around Chicago. Thus floating and flying, by will and by magic the six of you end up about three quarters of the way up Embermane's stony flank looking at half a dozen strange black stone buds. Looking more closely you realize those are in truth closed wings closed up tight and what you had taken for stone is in fact... "Silver, spirits of tarnished silver, the Fallen would have an affinity with those given the nature of their vessels. On the one hand they are fast enough to get the news to their mistress I bet, but if that is all they do I'll eat one of those boulders down there."

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 17/18 (Occult Excellency)

"I could heal them of their bonds raise them up," your other self notes.

"That's going to open you up to..." Harry looks to Dad. "Does the Church still have her Coin?"

"The disposition of coins once recovered is not shared with the Knights," he answers and not for the first time you wonder why the people with the literal holy swords are not in charge of managing the whole effort.

How do you deal with the tarnished silver spirits?

[] Sophia tries to perform Break the Bonds on them

[] Discorporate them before they can react

[] Consume them, leave Lasciel nothing to guess at in the aftermath of this plot

[] Write in

OOC: A reminder that Harry is also improving his repertoire and not always in the direction he did in canon since he has new inspiration.

 

[DragonParadox]

Warped Reflections ​

14th of February 2007 A.D.

After checking to make sure the spirits aren't the sort to do evil even without compulsion you give your other self the nod only for her to.. hesitate. "We can do this," it feels weird to say that aloud since the 'you' that is speaking would not have needed it. But then her magic is not yours, Song of Perennial Hours Intrinsically Ascending does not bear the crown and sword, she has your memories but not your power.

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 16/18 (Crown Question)

Hers is the song of the rain pattering against the leaf and the sleepy caw of the amber-wing seeking its nest with a full belly, the ever-changing chime of the twin-sou crab as it scurries between the world of light and the world of dark, never quite at home and yet at home everywhere. No queen is she, but a healer, a mendicant, a seer, able to understand and in understanding empathize and in empathizing let loose. "How can a liar make true things?" Horrified you watch as the winged spirits do not take flight but become even more spindle-shaped, threatening to burrow inside Embermane seeking some dark purpose, but if Sophia is shaken she does not show it. "She lied to you, you are not bound."

Spoiler: Dreams of Sanctuary

The six spirits rise as one on uneven wings sharp as knives that form a circle, though the configuration of their bodies is such that the air should not hold them it does. As they start to spin, faster and faster and faster you see a black surface polished like glass, a scrying mirror shattered in their binding and in that mirror the only thing reflected is the Sword your father wears, a shard of light painful to behold. They are trying to say something... maybe even succeeding, but of course the spirit in the sword does not and cannot speak save at the most dire of times, for it was not made to give counsel, but leverage.

So, gingerly, you reach out to turn the mirror, trying to get it to face you, either you will do. But it stops on Harry, still floating in place. "How am I supposed to know? What do you do?" He pauses for a moment.

"No don't..." you try to warn him, too late. Of course the spirits, so long bound, would have heard: 'what are you for?' And that is how you end up getting hit center mass with a three-foot tarnished silver mirror trying to take off Harry's head. Thanks to the armor it doesn't hurt, but you play into it anyway, stumbling backwards as if in pain. Even if they are not good at talking, which depending on where Lasciel got them they might not be, spirits do have a sense of empathy and an understanding of what it means to take a hit for someone else. Unlikely they will have seen the Fallen do that.

Lost 1 Essence -> Now at 15/18 (Empathy Excellency)

The sound of what you can only describe as electrified wind chimes rings in your mind overplayed with confusion and dread. Oh... they thought you were some kind of Denarian, hence trying to talk to the Sword and then the wizard. After clearing up that misunderstanding they explain that they would rather like being a scrying mirror again and 'would the wise one like that?'

Harry lives with Tiffany, something tells you that would not work out.

What do you sugest?

[] Lydia could keep them safe behind their wards, though she's unlikely to need a scrying mirror which might make the spirits within grow discontent

[] You're sure someone in the Order of the Cauldron could use a helpful scrying mirror even if it feels a little dark

[] Try to convince them to come to Sanctuary (Charisma Etiquette 7 Successes Necessary)

[] Maybe things can work out with Harry and Tiffany (Charisma Etiquette 10 Successes Necessary)

[] Write in

OOC: With all the times Harry rolled social dice in this quest he has to botch sometimes. And yes the Spirit Mirror counts as a Creature of Darkness.

 

[DragonParadox]

Looking Back in Shades of Black ​

14th of February 2007 A.D.

Truth be told you are not all of one mind about the mirror, there's a part of you that hesitates at tossing them into Sanctuary like a dragon gathering baubles to be studied and picked over by sages and engineseers, but at the same time the spirits in the mirror have been touched by evil, a tarnishing seen even with the naked eye. The mirror sees most clearly those who the bearer hates so for the Fallen all the world is in sharp relief, but for a mortal practitioner it would be most useful keeping an eye on enemies and those who mean them harm. There's plenty of the latter out there unfortunately, but still the question turns this way and that as you return to the tunnels under Chicago, until you just turn to ask: "Dad, what do the Fallen do if you steal their stuff? This is like if we stole a webcam off her?"

"You're thinking of leaving it here?" He gives a professional kind of nod to the very weary figure of Augustus FitzClarance.

"Thinking of giving it to Olivia, her mind's already honed to far-sight, being able to extend that reach would allow her to stay safer while doing more, but not if it's likely to put her on a list."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just looks back at you sadly. "Everyone you know is already on a list sweetheart, everyone you care about doubly so. No mortal man can truly know their mind, but if you want my guess the reason they haven't moved already is that Nicodemus hasn't settled on how to approach you and his Fallen is... respectful you could say about his process, likes to play at it at least."

"That doesn't answer my question about the one who left this mirror," you point out.

"There's a better person to ask about that."

***​

So you do, though it takes a while to get to Caer Sindi again you catch your one hour of sleep on the boat so really it's all upsides.

"If the girl gets hurt as a consequence of you handing her the mirror would you feel bad about it." Tiffany pauses barely long enough for you to nod. "Then if that happens she'll lie and say it played a part, or was the whole reason, whatever she thinks you will believe and will cause the maximum amount of distraction."

"You mean suffering," Lydia points out. She had insisted on coming along when she'd noticed how worried you were. Presently she's petting one of the hounds who had chosen to stay behind, the spirit still unsure of what to make of her friendly demeanor in spite of their rejection, but more willing to lean in.

"That too," Tiffany nods "If you want my advice give her all the tools you can. Tall poppies get the blade and she's risen quite high indeed."

"What do you make of the rest of it, the island, the priest..."

"I don't," she cuts you off with uncharacteristic bluntness. "I don't make anything of it at all, not the faintest ring of the farthest bell, which by process of elimination means it is very important and you should watch your step." She looks away for a moment, long enough that you're sure she's done before adding. "I know I'm the best healer you know, if you want me to come along to help I will, though not without some concern that I'll be the reason you need a healer."

"I think we're fine just the six of us." Though as it turns out six might be seven.

***​

"It's got a certain ambiance you have to admit?" Olivia's dressing table is the kind of minimalist white with just the slightest bend to the legs in the direction of elegance, futurism by way of IKEA, literally. Set in the midst of that now is a mirror of tarnished silver, its frame carved in the ravens' wings the face of the glass itself so black it shimmers with false colors like the patina atop an oil slick. Without words it asks the mistress of the household what she would see.

Your friend thinks about it for a while then brushes her hand against the glass. "My father, Rahul Deol."

Where her fingers had been the image of a thinning balding middle aged man sporting a very impressive handlebar mustache spins into being worryingly clear and sharp and crisp.

Olivia gains Blackglass
Once accepted by the spirits within the user may pay 1 Temporary Willpower or take on 1 Level of Bashing Damage to perform any of the following:

• Scry on any being to which they have an arcane link at least as strong as their True Name within a range of Path Rating*4 or Arette*6 hundreds of miles so long as they are on the same plane of existence
• Remotely scry on the mirror as a focus from any range so long as they are on the same plane of existence
• One's immediate surroundings within Path Rating*4 or Arette*6 hundreds of feet so long as they are on the same plane of existence

Should the base means of clairvoyance require the expenditure of any resources this instrument also requires it. The user and all others observing the image may add +1-3 dice to all perception rolls performed with the aid of the mirror proportional to any negative intimacy the user has towards the target.

She sighs. "Here I was hoping there's some kind of ward, anything, just a hint on where else to look."

"I'm..." you start, but she's already shaking her head.

"It's nothing... thanks for the new friends, even if they aren't very talkative." The mirror gives a faint all pervasive vibration in the air, as though the room was filled with invisible bees. "In English, I meant in English. Can I come to the magic jail? Ooff, that sounds weird, but I figured the spirit of that island would know where one might find the being at the end of my family tree and what it could mean that someone bound part of my power."

What does Molly think?

[] Sure Olivia can handle herself

[] No, you already have too many people coming, you can just do the asking yourself

[] Write in

OOC: For the record that looked like a +1 die bonus , not a strong negative intimacy, but still a negative intimacy. The Write In is in case you want to take someone other than the people you took to the Nevernever+Murphy, that is who the six are.