Maddox
Posted: Dec 4 2006, 09:13 AM
Hegemon
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Group: Sim Moderator
Posts: 1,160
Member No.: 43
Joined: 6-March 05
Cloaked in darkness, a long flowing cloak, and his own gloomy thoughts, the man hurried through the Louvre hallway, down a stairs, through an inconspicious door, another flight of stairs and finally through a long way of basement rooms. He knew it was midnight and snorted in amusement of the thought that it was as appropriate as in a fairy-tale. Or one of those modern gothic tales of horror. Never mind the fantastic, he mused, when reality is such more fascinating. And dangerous.
He didn't even spare a glance at untold stored treasures his country had amassed over the centuries. Even dating back to the centurions of old, as he passed a crooked banner-bearer on which "SPQR" could be faintly glimpsed. But his eyes did not notice the past, they were focused on the future.
Shoving aside a few large paintings on wooden back-frames he entered a non-descript room whose smell attacked his nostrils point-blank. He had forgotten his guest did not take well to the chilly dampness of France and the braziers heating and illuminating this room added their coal-smoke smells to the incense and other materials better left unidentified the occupant used for his craft. He greeted him in a language forbidden in some parts of the world and venerated in other. "You."
"What is thy bidding... Master ?" the elder man croaked.
"I am in need of your craft tonight. A divination... what services are required to assure T'zaron His due ?"
"Such... request is expensive, Master. It needs must be of great power. A life... full of promise and untarnished... by lust."
"I am aware, High Priest, of what must be sacrified. Arrangements have been made. It is to us to collect. I cannot use my worldly powers to hide The Truth to unbelievers, on the other hand, my followers are unaware and do my bidding still. The waif is awaiting in innocence of her worthy destiny, gazing at the masterworks of old in innocent wonder. A mysterious smile is mesmerising her, we need but visit the Smiling Lady Mona Lisa to collect her."
"Then let us hasten Master, your advise and the need of our Overlord are urgent."
Lisa Delarue was indeed mesmerized by the enigmatic smile and wondering how an orphan should be in the most famous museum of the world in the middle of night. She was warmer then she could remember ever in her life, well-clothed for some reason, and well-fed too. This night was straight out of a fairy-tale !!
At first she thought she was to be abused, like the stories of her dormitory-mates had warned against. But the men were strangely courteous and gentle. She was not touched at all.
Two men, she heard, came from behind. She counted their steps and turned around, smiling like the ancient painting she had admired. It was an ephereal smile, like a saint's, full of the innocence of a 10-year-old who had never had real fun in her life before and spent an evening full of it already.
"Master, she is full of life, the ideal... not a blemish to be found..."
"I know, that is why I chose her. You might say I had an interest in her ever she was born," the cloaked man whispered in the Language: "there's no thing like blood calling to blood."
The wizened man looked at the other in grudging admiration: "You selected a sacrifice worthy of Our Overlord indeed !" Then he switched to strangely-accented French and turned towards the child with the full charm of the heavy-set jolly white-bearded man dressed in red that he was: "We have a surprise for you child. There'll be no end to this evening... of joy." Eyes bright, Lisa took his proferred hand and followed him into the darkness, trusting. Meeting The Eye.
Later. A world of hurts later, the trance of power slowly gave way to the vision of future and the elder man found the force to utter: "Paris burning...", then coughed hoarsely. He reached for a goblet in order to quench his parched throat. The liquid clawed itself downwards to his innards and he felt the invigorating energy of power retreating back into the abbyss it came from. He would hurt like hell afterwards, he knew, but his body was still exulting in the memories that had coarsed through it. "Paris burning, but triumph befalls to The Eye, and from the ashes The Great Empire Of The World shall be forged and the hand that wields the hammer will wield the power." He looked up towards the cloaked man and saw him horrified. "Such is the price of greatness, Master. A sacrifice is always asked for. World power... a world city." He didn't add: on your shriveling body fool. The greatest price is always the hardest to pay... and impossible to survive.
Far away, on an ice-cold mountain, the shrivelled husk of a woman opened her eyes and muttered: "Now that bird is far from his perch. And he just rode a strong gust front indeed. That is power I can use..." She closed her eyes again. Her attendants looked in fear as they felt her gathering Power on the Moonpaths, her gnarled hands clenching the Phurba. None dared follow her.
The old woman set with a terrible purpose to the task. No time for mistakes, for the old bird was cunning in his own way, weakened that he was by his workings. "Come here little bird," she crooned, "and see power... You know... it's here...". She dangled it out, alluring, and felt the stir of interest, lust, greed. "Oh yes..."
The cloaked man was puzzled when his minion suddenly started, stopped their conversation, and closed his eyes while holding up a hand to stall his question. He noticed the other was going into a trance again. But knew that this could happen when one Worked the Craft. Sometimes additional things needed doing, unforseen. He concentrated himself and tried to glimpse what it might be, but knew that his own knowledge and feeble skill wouldn't be able to show all. Still...
AGONY. The searing white-hot headache that overcame him almost made him break contact. It was a surprise but he noticed with interest that the High Priest was in far greater pain. And losing whatever fight he was into. Through his opened eyes he saw the older man going into convulsions, while his Inner Eye perceived him being sucked dry, like a pig's bladder being drained, he seemed a mote caught in a maelstrom of all-devouring fire... then... while his own feeble presence was swatted away like a gnat in a storm the Terrible Purpose that had caught the older man waxed wroth with its spiritual remains.
The crone exhaled, smiled: "Aaahhh.... prrrreciousss...."
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Maddox
Posted: Dec 25 2006, 06:13 PM
Hegemon
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Group: Sim Moderator
Posts: 1,160
Member No.: 43
Joined: 6-March 05
We are displeased , Master of Dark workings.
Not only did you waste the life of a high priest to see your own ruin, but you are failing in your mission to give US the power and glory we are entitled too.
Why aren't your armies destroying the godless? Why is your fleet not sinking the ships that bring men and material that are used against US?
WE ARE DIPLEASED, but you will return to the main temple as soon as the worldly means can do it for you.
I Hear and Obey Arch priest.
the messenger, dressed as a minor diplomat, shakes his head, eyes unglaze and his voice, less thundering and echoing, now is a gentle baritone.
I believe the message is clear Monsieur. I'll return to my embassy.