LoC: Answered Prayers. [IC]

[mystic1110]

The town lies at the dust-stranded edge of some often ignored or forgotten country. There are of course some who would be offended that the name doesn’t immediately jump to the tip of the tongue or to the point of a pen, but it doesn’t. Regardless it doesn’t matter. In the mornings its skies are radiant with clouds like the plumage of a bird ever-rising, and in the evenings the stars scatter light across skies stitched and unstitched by the comings and goings of fireflies. Its walls are made of stone the color of un-dyed silk, and its streets bloom with electric lights, small solemn symphonies, and the occasional friendly verbal duel. It is a quiet place – a place where a stranger is not only a rarity, but unheard of. However, this night there were two such strangers – and the air was pensive.

The bar of the town was called something trite and cliché, the outside vaguely reminiscent of a church; inside it was warm and welcoming, but the uncomfortable feeling that this used to be a church remained. It was if someone replaced the pews with stools and replaced the stained glass windows with regular boring clear panes. The wooden seats had well etched grooves, for each chair remembered the usual patron who has sat upon it for years upon years, the bar like the town was a creature of habit; yet now they were empty. Instead the bar was only populated by three people; the bartender and the two strangers. The barkeep nervously stood still, unsure of how to comport himself, he nervously cleaned the brandy glass he was holding. The two strangers sat right next to each other, looking so stereotypically western that it was hard not to look for hidden cameras. They were silent.

Finally, after a stretch of only a couple minutes the pensive air was broken with a drink order, “Vodka, neat, for both of us.” The speaker was the man on the bartenders left, old; the lines on his face were engraved as if into stone. He wore tortoise colored horn rimmed glasses, which oddly complemented his grey eyebrows and grey whiskers. His eyes were green, like shamrocks or the shallow sea. A moment passes; the bartender pours the drinks and slides them to the customers. The man on the right, slightly younger, picked up the offered drink and without hesitation threw its contents down his throat without even so much as a toast. The older man followed suit after a quiet minute.

The old man sighed, and shifted in his seat, and then looked at the younger man, “She’s come? You’ve seen her?”

The younger man, placed the empty glass on the table, and looked into the old man’s green eyes. There was something off about him, his edges were too sharp, his hair was too black, his eyes . . . were also green, but they were green like the forest, dark and fey, too green. They were heavy wild eyes. He looked grim, but then he smiled, almost as if he was apologizing; “Your prayers have been answered.” Then the silence returned, and once again the town at dust-stranded edge of that country was forgotten, the moss that grew in its corners spread out just a little bit more.

[Mynxae]

New York

A woman known only as Elizabeth stood atop the lookout on the top of the Empire State Building. She looked out upon the city and a series of words came to her lips with a sudden thought.

"This city of mortals, with hopes and with dreams,
They shan't stand long against me,
I'll much enjoy their terrified screams,
So this world will know of my entry"

She whispered this under her breath, letting it seep into the unconscious minds of all the people in the city. As she saw it beginning to take effect, she frowned slightly as she scribbled the poem down on her clipboard. "I think I'll have to save that one for later" she thought.

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Start AP: 15.

Curse AP1: Elizabeth cursed all of the humans in New York to have to have her poem haunt them consistently in the back of their mind until they find Elizabeth and pledge servitude to her.

End AP: 14.

[Fremen]

It was a small monastery, by most accounts, but it had a rich history that stretched back almost to the reign of Charlemagne himself, and it still stood strong - a testament to the care taken by its inhabitants over the centuries. The monks who dwelt there and called it home rose this morning as they did every other, anointing themselves as per the holy prescriptions, and dressing modestly for their morning prayers. They prayed, and sang, and ate together, before going about their daily business.

Some tended to the few animals kept at the monastery, whilst others mended cloth, or saw to the cleaning of the stone rooms. A few were tasked to keep vigil over the holy books, to ensure that any damage they suffered from moisture or carelessness was addressed, and that the tomes were transported and stored in such a way to minimize any possible damage to them. This could often be a difficult task, given that many of the monks would wish to handle the books without warning, for one reason or another, and the caretakers had no right to deny them.

On this day one monk of no particular standing approached the book keepers with just such an intent, his manner humble and his request made appropriately. The librarians saw no reason to refuse the young monk, and so provided him with one of their holy works. The monk retreated to one of the tables in the monastery's common room, and sought to address his question of faith.

It was not long before he returned, concern and worry on his face, unsure of how to bring his problem before the librarians, but knowing he must. To the book keepers' credit, they did not panic, but quickly set the tome in question aside, to be seen to, and brought forth another for the acolyte. Just to be certain, they opened it before they handed it over. This time, they did cry out in panic.

Quickly the monks turned to their collection of holy books, each an artifact written by the hands of monks who had (some long ago) dwelt in this very monastery. Each book was the same, which was as it should be, for each was a double of the others, meticulously hand copied from one to another. Yet what was written was not as it should be. The words were in the hands' of their proper creators, the pages wrinkled where they had always been, but what had been written was something that no monk there had seen before.

The blessed father of the monastery was sought out quickly, and the elderly man was shown the evidence. Murmurs began to spread through the order, and the question began to surface: was it miracle, or was it corruption?

The blessed father had one of the more durable copies bound in paper and string, and sent two of his younger acolytes down to the nearby town. They were given instructions and some small money - the package was to be mailed to Rome, and with it, a hastily written note from the father explaining what little he knew. To evaluate and understand such a thing was beyond his scope, and so he appealed to the highest source he could.

*****

The book arrived in Rome, taken to the Holy City and accepted by a well-dressed servant of the Church. Unlike the monks of the monastery, his attire was not humble, but rather a fine suit that lended him a look of credibility and professionalism that worked far better in this modern age than the traditional robes of old. He quickly brought the package through the various layers of security, into the sanctum of the highest leaders of their venerable order.

In a large, oval room sat no less than two dozen men, ranking members of the clergy (by their ostentatious but traditional attire), while at the head of the table was the Patrician of the Church, his face betraying the worry that vexed him as the others argued. The man in the suit entered with appropriate deference to those present, and brought the package to the patrician's side. It was quickly opened, and the note within read, before the book itself was cracked open.

Another book was brought forth, this one being of obviously ancient and sacred value, for it was bound in golden cloth, and was clearly centuries old. The two books were opened next to one another, and the words within compared. The men argued, while the Patrician simply looked on. At length he waved close one of his aides who hurried to his side. "Where did this one come from," he asked softly, his elderly hand waving towards the book that had been sent to them.

"From Great Britain, Holy One," answered the man, reading the return address which lay on the floor amidst the discarded wrapping.

"Great Britain..." muttered the Patrician, absently waving the man away. He looked at the massive table around which the Church's most senior leaders were arrayed and, more importantly, at the letters which were spread across it. Each told the same worried tale: the holy books were not as they were only the night before. There were hundreds of them, from Brazil, Cuba, Egypt, China, Germany, Mexico, Peru, Kenya, Morocco, Spain, Japan, and almost every other country the world over. If this was true, then there not a book in the Church's hold that had remained unchanged.

Eventually he turned his attentions to the others assembled before him, "Well?"

The other quieted down, each looking somewhat lost in the chaos that had been brought before them. One spoke, "They are the same, Holy Father, word for word. Even in the Tome of Saint Robert!" There was a hint of panic in his voice.

The Patrician gestured to the letters that stretched out before him, "Everywhere?"

The others nodded. Another spoke, "I have tried to call all the churches in my diocese - all are the same. They ask... what are we to do?"

Yet another, "Is this some miracle, or has the Great Enemy come?" He received many barbed looks, but none spoke against him.

The Patrician sat for a while, just thinking. Never before had the Church faced such a crisis of faith.

While he thought, another aide burst into the room, with little deference to the assembled gathering, he brought a letter to the Patrician directly. It was a simple paper, written in Latin, as was tradition, but its script was hurried. The Patrician recognized the handwriting, it belonged to one of his more prominent servants. It contained a phone number, a time, and a brief recount of a telephone conversation. He read it carefully, and then looked up, his eyes meeting the silent gaze of the others.

"It is from Mecca," he said. "We are not alone."

Stunned silence answered him. One ventured, hesitantly, "Are... are they the... same?"

The Patrician re-read the letter. "We do not yet know. The local mosques have been asked to bring here a copy of their sacred writings, to be compared to our own. They remain in Arabic, but they have offered to provide a translator."

"And," asked the first speaker, "if they are the same?"

The Patrician was careful in his response, "Then we must look to the other faiths, to see what has happened to them."

The speaker pressed on, "And if they are the same?"

"Is they are the same," said the venerable Patrician. "Then this is indeed a miracle."

The room erupted into discussion.

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Starting AP: 15

Bless (1): The holy books of all religions have been altered to bear the same message (although in their original languages) - the word of Cabal.

Remaining AP: 14

[mystic1110]

The city air had the bite of winter but the sun disagreed. Bright and yellow it shone in the sky like it was painted onto a pale blue sky. The pallid pastel purple colored clouds that framed the portrait that hung over the city only lent credibility to the notion that this was all a fantasy. It was supposedly night, but then again this was St. Petersburg – and the beauty of its white nights was part of literature and myth itself. A woman in a pitch black minx fur coat jacket walked along the granite embankments and stone bridges that lined the Neva River. Her skin was white as snow, or perhaps it was the contrast provided by the midnight dark clothes she wore – her lipstick redder than blood, her eyes – forest green, wild and fey, full of inhuman mirth and cruelties. She smoked a decidedly non-Russian cigarette, a Lucky Strike, the smoke drifting along the bright winter night in a lazy meandering tail.

It was strange times the world was living in, the newspapers proudly displayed headlines from the Vatican and Moscow, the seat of the Russian Orthodox Church – words like Miracle and End of Times were written in gigantic bold letters. Other stories, talked about the sudden increase in violence and interest in poetry in New York, some even said that the riots by Rockefeller Center had to do with proper use of iambic pentameter. The wandering woman had sat on a bench near the river reading a purchased magazine when a man sat down beside her, even though every other bench was empty. She took a break from her woolgathering and looked up at him.

He wore fine suit; Tom Ford to be exact, plaid grey with a black tie, dotted with white polka dots, tied in a full Windsor. Silk white pocket square and dark aviator glasses – name brand of course. He was clearly not Russian, at least not full Russian; he was at least half Indian. He motioned with his leather glove covered hands making the universal plea for a cigarette. The woman, nonplused, handed him a Lucky Strike. He gingerly placed it against his lips and took a deep drag on it – and then exhaled. The smoke looked like thick vines of ivy, extending out of his mouth. The woman frowned and spoke “You read the papers?”

The man said nothing, and then stubbornly flicked away the half-finished smoke, when it hit the ground a couple of sparks angrily fluttered about and then died in the cold. He sighed and placed one of his leather glove covered hands to his temple and then snatched away his black sunglasses revealing his eyes – mysterious, a riddle wrapped in a pupil, green like the deep forest. He finally replied “I have.”

The woman simply nodded, and then asked “And the court?”

The man snapped “Will do nothing.”

The woman hesitated, almost as if waiting for an apology, but when none was forthcoming, she simple slouched back onto the bench. The man put his sunglasses back on and stood up, he walked to where the fallen cigarette laid on the pavement and picked it up. He slowly walked over to the trash and deposited the butt. And then he left, without a word. The woman watched him go and pulled the fur coat on a little tighter, the night had gotten colder. And then, she too, after some time got up and walked away.

Underneath the bench the moss was growing.

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15 AP.

1 Alter Existing Race: Humans --> The Fair Folk. First fairy tale that the Cage astride the Beast brought to life are the Fair Folk. I will be exploring them as time goes on. There are very few of them, there only distinguishing features are their wild dark green eyes other than that, some Fey exist all over the world as any Race, of any race and age. To become a Fey a human would have to have seen Fraulim, each Fey had met her, was given their true fae name and and was transformed into one of the Fair Folk. Fey don't age, they are immortal in that regard, but they can be killed, but only by their folk lore weaknesses - Iron (It burns them, but being immortal if they are really angry it's merely an inconvenience), knowledge of their true name (Frualim given name) gives you power over them, can't come into a Home without being invited, they cannot lie, any contract they sign they cannot break. Unlike some myths they aren't distracted with human music nor are they creatively sterile. They are basically still human - unlike fairies from myths they don't have blue and orange morality. Additionally The Fair Folk are MUCH stronger and faster than humans - a rough comparison would an Agent from the Matrix (although not that ridiculous, more like Morpheus from the first movie)

AP left: 14

[Mynxae]

New York

As gangs of poets battled with their words and later their makeshift weaponry, an evil grin appeared on Elizabeth's face as she watched from the Empire State Building. She scribbled something down on her clipboard, erased a few words and put new ones in their place. "Eureka! My new masterpiece!" she yelled in triumph.

"The women shall all despair without their fine wares,
The men shall lack their abundant muscle,
The children shall have frightening nightmares,
As I cackle and eat some caramel".

She recited, the words flowing out of her mouth as they glowed with power and flew off to do her bidding. She smiled as a caramel sundae appeared in her hand as a spoon appeared in the other. She tucked into it quite splendidly. "Gosh I love caramel so much!" she thought happily.

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Start AP: 14.

Curse AP1: New York is cursed that all the women's clothing will have turned to hideous shades of orange and fluorescent pinks, the men shall all turn into scrawny stick-like figures and the children shall suffer from nightmares the likes that the world has never seen.

End AP: 13.

[Draken]

The ISS On-board Diary of Alexei Nikov

January 16th, 2013.

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I have seen a ghostly visage through the Cupola this morning, it was hazy but looked like a man, maybe this is a sign that it is time to return."

January 17, 2013.

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I have seen it again, not quite as indistinct anymore, I could make out the outline of shoulderpads and a robe, as well as long, stripped sleeves. Jacqueline thinks the stress is catching up with me.

January 18, 2013.

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She saw it too. Those weren't sleeves, they were chains. And it wasn't a robe, but a number of tail of bandages. This is almost like an american horror movie, one of the stupid ones, full of plot holes and dumb protagonists.

January 19, 2013.

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Not chains, not bandages. Luckly not a horror movie either, I guess. It is just standing out there, its shoulders are some big hardback books, its body is made of scrolls and pieces of paper, with something written in then, I can't read it, he is a bit far and they move around, the arms are some black things floating in long lines, there are plenty of them, following with the theme, I guess they are words.

Tanaka said that the thing's head is made of prayer strips, he thinks it is a god and he is preparing a ritual to talk to it. This is stupid.

It isn't stupid.

Alexei nervously looks out the window, and surely enough, the figure has turned towards him, the mess of talismans mimics the shape of a head but it doesn't bother with a face.

He watches it stretch a black tendril towards the glass, and sure enough those are words but he doesn't know the languages, they stretch through and across the walls, until they reach a computer, and then all computers in the station turn on, a black background with green letters on it.

"There are others like me down there, being pointlessly mysterious and secretive. I dislike the notion."

The astronauts gather at the Cupola, watching the figure nervously, waiting for the words to continue.

"This is an outrage. One of them just did away with the variety of countless religious texts. Another... Urgh, this is so awful."

Nervosism turns to confusion, pretty much.

"I should not ramble in this medium. No matter. Contact your nations on the planet. I will make this simple and direct, and you will not question nor doubt."

"I am Mereon. I am a god, with the powers you might expect from such a title. I am not the only one."

Tanaka was right, it seens. One of the astronauts shouts at the screen.

"Why here? Why us?"

"..."
"There is no reason in specific. I appeared in this area, nothing more. Perhaps some of your prayers were answered by me, and my presence is but serendipity."

"Now do as you were told."

The impromptu heralds of the Living Codex contact the planetary bases, telling them to focus all telescopes on the station and see the unbelievable.

And then, after the message is sent, a footnote appears.

"It is perfectly believable.
It is merely unexpected."

The high echelons of numerous governments go into overdrive at the notice, what is this creature that calls itself god, and how dangerous is it? And are there truly more like it?

They must be prepared. A meeting of the UN must be called urgently for Mereon, Whose Writings Usher Truth to speak to the world.

Wait, what was that last one? Who sent that memo out?

"I did."

"If it has not been made clear yet, I am in control of all mechanisms of communication, encryption is meaningless, all language is my domain. It is part of my purview."

Hmm... Well...

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OOC:

Mereon is going to take part in my narrative, not once in this post did he speak, because he is in space, and speaking would have been pointless, he is always sending everything through messages, and his messages might also end up being part of the narrator's lines.

Because I'm crazy like that.

[Hank McBadass]

Berkeley, California

It was late – probably too late to get anything done in all honesty – but Ramos was close. All there was to do was to use the ole guess and check. It was appropriate for what he was looking for. “Dave,” Ramos said to his assistant, a Ph.D. candidate that who had the misfortune of being assigned to help his research rather than teach undergrads, “will you get us some coffee? It’s going to be a late night.”

Dave walked out. Ramos played with some more variables on the computer and let out a chuckle. He knew Dave didn’t want to be here – the kid had a brand new girl he’d rather be spending his nights with; no one could blame him for that. Ramos on the other hand was happy to be away from home. He dreaded having to listen to his nagging wife and ungrateful children bitch about this and that and how all he ever did was work. Hell, they ought to be happy he worked so much because otherwise he’d be out of there. Ramos was relatively sure some young blond could help him spend his money just as well. But whatever, he wasn’t that worried about it.

Another non-starter. Ramos tweaked a few more variables. It was possible he was on a wild goose chase – most of his colleges thought so. A theory of everything? Stupid, overreaching, too extreme – yeah, he knew that but there was something calling him toward it. Already he had gotten closer than anyone thought possible without any real, clear vision. He was just kind of winging it.

Ramos looked again at the equation. WAIT! This might be it. Ramos put it in place with the rest of his model and studied it. It looked right. It all came together! He sat taking it in.

Slowly, the realization of the magnitude of his discovery dawned on him. Ramos body shook his head started spinning at the implications. “My God” he thought. It was impossible, but the math checked out. His head spun faster; his vision blurred. The spinning became a pounding, harder and harder and harder. Ramos retched from anxiety. This was not the world that he knew. Ramos felt himself waiver on the edge of consciousness. His model was correct though, it was so obvious now!

Then it happened: The birth of a god! From nothingness, the smallest of subatomic particles sprang into existence from an idea. It doubled, and doubled again, ten trillion times, rearranging itself. From within Ramos’s frontal lobe she sprang, expanding outward in an explosion of blood and gray matter.

Among the gore stood glory incarnate. “Yay, at last!” The goddess let out a laugh and inspected the set up. “I must say, I’m surprised this worked.” Her eyes fell on the model. “Oh, my! How beautiful! Hmmmm. But I guess we don’t want to announce ourselves juuust yet though.” She started to erase the professor’s work when to door opened.

Dave stood in the door mouth agape and dropped the coffee he was carrying. The front of Ramos’ head was gone and bits of bone, brain, and vomit were scattered across the desk. Standing in front of the monitor was a woman, completely naked. Perfect. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Dave thought was possible. He was in a trance, forgetting completely about Ramos.

The goddess turned. “Oh! Hi, hon. I was hoping to be gone before you got here.” Her red locks bounced as she turned back to the computer. Her voice was even more beautiful than her looks, if such a thing were possible. “What … who are you?” he asked.

“This must look strange, haha. Does this explain it?” She turned the monitor to him.

“What? Never mind that. What the hell happened here? Jesus Christ.”

“Haha, Jesus Christ – hardly. You poor silly thing. Fine, let me show you.” She walked over to Dave, glided is more like it, put a hand on his chest and the other behind his head. Smiling, she peered into his eyes. Dave saw it: chaos, the unknown, the unknowable. Her hazel eyes, flecked with amber, were the color of insanity. Time stood still as his mind came to comprehend exactly what she was.

Dave felt himself being calmed. It was true, he was in the presence of a goddess that sprang out of his dissertation adviser's head as the result of their research, he should be freaking out, but he wasn’t. He looked at Ramos’s body again.

“Well, I’ll be off then.” The goddess said. “Thanks for helping to establish me!” she said beaming, still holding Dave’s head.

“Wait, can’t you save him? Please.” Dave pleaded.

“I could, but I won’t of course. Stop being so silly” the goddess said, amused.

“He birthed you! He brought you into the world. He doesn’t deserve to die like this. ”

The goddess’s face became serious. After several seconds that felt like hours to Dave, she squinted her eyes and responded in a low, raspy voice. “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.” Her face cracked. “Now, I can’t leave you here – the police will never believe you and I don’t want my first prophet to be some raving lunatic convict. I know!” She stood on her toes and softly touched her lips to his. Dave felt his grip on consciousness slipped and along with it all the memory of the event. When the police arrived, Dave was still lying face down in the pooled blood of Professor Ramos.

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I just wanted to incorporate this in some way: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpDkYZWeeVg

[Elemental]

A man of European descent walked down a street in Sana'a, his eyes shielded from the brightness of the Arabian sun by sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. Despite the heat, he wore a black cloak, silver embroidery glinting in the brightness.
The air was tense. Some unsavoury character had erased millennia of history and philosophy to replace the holy books of the world with his or her manifesto. The man had glanced at an altered copy of the Quran and he didn't particularly care for what it had been replaced with. Violence could erupt at any moment and he didn't particularly desire to be surrounded by it.

Two steps later and he was in another, more modern city on the other side of the world, hat and sunglasses exchanged for coat and scarf. Perhaps New York was not the best place to go to avoid violence. Apparently the violence was the result of some poorly spoken poetry... The man tried not to judge, but these rhymes had resulted in some hideous fashion choices on the part of the populace.
Still, he had to be here. This was the site of the greatest library not directly under the thumb of a world power. On this day, it was deserted and he had the whole building to himself. But the question remained... Should he salvage its collection or simply duplicate it? Salvaging it would be quicker and more satisfying, but by duplication, there was always the chance that someone would regain their sanity and be able to use the knowledge within.
Duplication it would have to be...

[The Succubus]

The Wanderer

The wind hissed softly across the open desert, its touch upon the sand as light as a lover's caress.

His return to the world was not heralded by mighty storms or acts of destruction and chaos, for this is not the way of the desert. Deserts creep. Little by little and year upon year they eat at their surroundings, turning fertile soil into barren rock and grains.

As the man walked, he sent his mind wandering across the vast realms of man. Much had changed from the primative wooden huts and cloth tents of his past. Glass and steel skyscrapers clawed up towards the stars, a testament to man's insatiable lust for power and a momument to his arrogance.

The nature of the beast had not changed and he smiled to himself. Greed, cruelty, recklessness - these were tools he could use and they were in abundance. He cast his gaze westwards towards a great city that stood on the borders of his domain. A corrupt and gluttonous city, where greed was not only encouraged but actively worshipped. It would serve as a fine beginning.

He was under no illusion that the realms of men would walk willingly into their eternal twilight; they would fight tooth and nail to keep their ill-gotten world. He reached into his pockets and drew out his revolvers. The early light of dawn shone on the barrels, the metal curiously untouched by the ravages of time. They had a lot of work ahead of them and with chanted whispers, he channelled his will into them. The wood of the hilts changed to bleached bone and grew, spreading across the cylinders and hammers, snaking into the empty chambers of the bullets. When he had finished, he gazed upon his creations and levelled them at a nearby cactus. He squeezed the triggers and the plant exploded into pieces, a deafening roar echoing throughout the valley. Thunder and lightning they bore and Thunder and Lightning their names.

Sliding each of them back into their holsters, Sand set off down a long and empty highway towards Las Vegas. And the desert followed behind him.

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Create Relic - Thunder and Lightning (4 AP)

The twin revolvers worn by Sand at all times. Originally of human make, they were found on the body of some long dead drifter many years ago by Sand. The guns are recognisable as revolvers, although the handle of each weapon is encased in a bone-like substance. The guns do not require bullets and when the trigger is pulled, each gun shoots a high intensity explosive force, many times more powerful than a bullet. Sand is proficient with their use and can draw and fire them in the blinking of an eye.

[Phobia]

Zurich, Switzerland

"This woman doesn't have a pulse, we're losing her!" An orderly yelled in German, drawing the attention of several doctors. Minutes earlier an older gentlemen had brought this mysterious young woman claiming he found her unconscious out in the snow. She had been cold to the touch and even though she seemed to warm up quickly her pulse hadn't returned. Two doctors labored over the corpse as quickly as they could speaking back and forth rapidly in both French and German, but it seemed to be no use.

With a sigh the doctor on the left declared a time of death. Tuesday. Twelve thirty two. Another one lost.

"There are strange happenings around the world.. there are more important things. Perhaps we should just go home and try to make sense of this?" The other doctor asked, clapping his colleage on the shoulder.

"It's just.. always a struggle to lose a patient. Even a Jane Doe."

Blip. Blip. Blip.

The monitor beeped once, than again, and continued on more rapidly. The woman opened her eyes suddenly staring at an unfamiliar ceiling with and spoke aloud her first thought.

"Discovery."

"W-what.. what a miracle!" One of the doctors uttered in German while taking a shaky step back.

"I don't believe in miracles." The young woman said in a language all could understand as she popped up from the bed exuberantly. She quickly and carefully removed the wires that had been attached to her and got to her feet, grabbing a nearby doctor's jacket and putting it on as the doctors could only stare on in stunned silence.

"So, where am I?"

-

It was hours later and the woman whom the people around the table now knew as Penelope P. Pepperwhistle was giving a demonstration on how belief must have somehow finally actually manifested itself in the world against all current scientific knowledge. It was once theorized that enough mental energy focused on a light bulb could cause it to come on. Now, it seemed, that theory had been verified.

"And if we find that sheer belief can cause this kind of reaction in the world than who knows what could happen! I'm reminded of the buddhist Tulpa, the image of a monk meditating alone and the varied images that escape from his subconscious. Decidedly non-scientific to be sure, but could that be where these beings, like me, are from? It may require further study."

It hadn't taken Penelope long to convince these scientists she knew what she was talking about. Her recovery from death had been enough to summon some of the local ones who didn't immediately dismiss it. But in Switzerland it was easy to find those with a logical thinking mind. The university she was brought to tried to teach her a thing or two, but now she was the teacher at a class in ETH Zurich. It was funny how these things worked out.

"Fascinating." Penelope continued, jotting down an equation on the white board. "I theorize that these 'god-like beings' are a natural phenomenon that may have occurred before, but perhaps do not last long. Lets have a more in depth study of Greek texts searching for more veritas than myth. Perhaps my existence is simply the universe trying to better understand this curious happenstance. Can anyone solve this equation?"

-

It caused quite a stir in the scientific community to have a literal god in thier midst and more Swiss scientists came to her see, causing a bit of an impromptu science conference. It wasn't very big with only local scientists, but the major science event was only days away and this one was also being televised. It would be broadcast on every science channel before undoubtedly spreading to the internet. The science and press joined together as one to hear what Penelope would say to the world.

"I know you're scared." She started, adjusting her glasses hastily. "New things are often scary. When we're unsure how something works it can appear magical, mysterious and even deadly. Much like cavemen feared thunder and formed the ideas that would become religion, I'm sure you have developed your own reasonings. But, rest assured, there is a scientific explanation for these odd happenings and I, Penelope P. Pepperwhistle, am determined to find it!"

The woman took a large sip of water still on camera and adjusted her notes.

"Science will never lie to you- support us as we search for truth. I encourage all of you scientists out there to attend Switzerland's Annual Science Conference in three days time if you are able. We do do as we've always done and give logic to insanity. If it actually happened, it's natural, and thus must have an explanation even if it seems outlandish at first. Galileo was imprisoned for the outlandish belief that the sun, not the Earth, is at the center of the solar system. What can we come up with?"

"In order to prove myself to my detractors that don't think I have the goods I am presenting my first masterwork at the event. An impossible machine that defies logic and will revolutionize the world! Be there as I prove my divinity scientifically."

"And.." She took a big gulp, now addressing something else entirely. "To those beings that are.. like me.. I ask that you also join me in three days time to discuss our plans for the future. I realize that you may have certain instincts that compel you to follow them. I certainly do. I ask, no, plead with you that you suppress them for now and come to me to discuss what plans the future may hold for all of us, and those not like us. Come simply meet with me for the peace and goodwill of all at the First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life."

"Thank you, and face forward to discovery!"

Spoiler

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AP: 15

Concept 1 AP: Practical Theology. Her first act was to start exploring where she and these other beings came from, establishing an entire field of study about it that will hopefully continue to grow and learn more about these so-called gods.

Form Pantheon 3 AP: The First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life.
Peneolpe cares deeply for all sentient life, and invites each god that actually shows up to meet with her a free interview and possible place in it.

AP: 11

[Fremen]

The room was filled by the gentle hum of dozens of voices whispering to one another, some eager, some anxious, and all unsure. They wore a myriad of clothing, as was dictated by the tenants of their faith, everything from long silk robes to contemporary suits. Most spoke in English, for it was one language that all of the representatives present spoke (to one degree or another). They sat in a wide room around three long tables, and upon each was spread numerous tomes, scripts, and scrolls they had brought with them.

Eventually one amongst them rose, politely excusing himself from the discussion at his table, and took his place behind a podium arranged at the front of the room. He said nothing, but the room quieted down quickly as the holy men and women took notice of him. When all the room was silent, the man - the Patrician of the Holy City in Rome - cleared his throat and spoke.

"Thank you for coming. I realize that for many of you," he gestured to some of the more elderly amongst the crowd, "the journey was a difficult one, but you all recognize the great importance of what has happened. Only days ago we could all agree on one thing: the need for faith in the heart of man. Today, this has changed by God's own hand."

The murmurs rose again, and the Patrician waited for them to subside before continuing. "We, as men of cloth, have already begun to study the new Word of God," he took a deep breath before continuing. "And that is why we are here. Collosus 3:22 states: 'The temples of man shall become one under the divine revelation, and it will take its place above the thrones of the lay.'"

This time there were no murmurs, but outright shouting as the representatives all cried out - some in support, others against. One voice rose above the others, though it was calm and careful, and did not yell over the din. The speaker was a bald man of Thai descent, his body wrapped in orange robes, and delicate glasses framing his old eyes. He had risen unsteadily to his feet, and, for so small a man, he cut a proud and noble figure, and the others gave pause to their outcries to hear him speak. "The teachings of Buddha have never advocated this. For thousands of years we have sought enlightenment, not power."

The Patrician spoke quickly, before he could be swallowed by the sea of retorts. "Buddha," he said simply. "Not Cabal."

A veritable cacophony rose to meet him. Amongst some, the name of God had long been known. Amongst others, there was no such name. Still others knew of many gods, and rebelled against the notion of such a single one. Amongst the monotheistic faiths, much of the trouble came from the new admission in the Holy Books that spoke of other gods. But, most contentious and central to the new faith was the very first verse of the very first book: 'There are gods, but only Cabal is worthy of worship.'

*****

The woman looked up from her desk, setting down the pile of papers she held in front of her, and addressed the camera.

"Good morning. Our headline today: many of the major faiths of the world have announced, as of four o'clock this morning GMT, that there will be a unified church, which, at least for the moment, will simply be called 'The Order of Cabal'. Details have, so far, been kept confidential to the upper echelons of the Order of Cabal, and many former priests and monks here in the United States are expressing concern about their careers."

The woman turned, and another camera picked her up. "In related news, the fiscal crisis that has escalated sharply since the recent violence in New York City has come to an unexpected turn, as a representative from the Order of Cabal announced to reporters only minutes ago that the Order would be paying the debt of all nations who request their aid. So far there has been no official response from any recognized government, but to discuss the issue, we turn to our financial correspondent, Michael Philler. Michael, what is your take on the new situation..."

Spoiler

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Starting AP: 14

Form Order (2): The Order of Cabal - an amalgamation of most (but not all) organized religions into a single, Cabal-worshipping body. Details will come in time.

[Draken]

20th January, 2013 - United Nations Conference Hall

"No, no. Change that to fixedsys. It looks more official."

20th January, 2013 - United Nations Conference Hall

"That is much better."

By now, the clerks were used to Mereon's constant notes. He sent one every time someone made a typo or any mistake. What was he, the god of grammar?

"Yes. Among other things."

The dignitaries of the united nations were assembled, but not particularly impressed by this news, some were certifiably outraged, a few were worried about the possibility of religious violence against the conference.

Most were bored and sure this was a hoax of global proportions.

The translators were fidgeting by the sides of the main stage while the brazilian president opened the asembly, as tradition dictates.

Mereon had done something and they didn't have anything to do. The president could be understood perfectly by all of those present. Swiftly enough, he was given the stand. The faceless god stood there silently, and then all phones started to ring, and the screen behind him changed to show his face. Some of those phones were off when it began.

Unknown to the dignitaries at the time, Mereon did the same to every communication apparatus across the globe. Some people were about to miss their usual programs, but that didn't really compare to the blackboards writing themselves.

"Humanity, and others."

"I am Mereon, and although unrelated to any of your extant or deceased religions, I am a god."

"Structuraly speaking, I am a deity of a polytheistic structure, my purviews are limited, but my powers are not limited thus, these portfolios merely paint my primary interests, although in a manner most unlike what you would be prone to believing at first glance."

There was a murmur in the session, why was that man talking like that?

"I felt it appropriate to make a demonstration of my powers without resorting to natural disasters."

How thoughtful.

"Returning to the point. I am not alone, although perhaps I am solitary for the time being. There are other gods whose existances begin as we speak or have begun previously, they have begun laying their mark upon this world. There is nothing you can do about that but find those who would be most beneficial to you and..."

Mereon is shot in the face and falls back, there is screaming among the gathered dignitaries.

His arms spread across the walls, a million sigils spell a single world in every language ever conceived, many long lost. The lost tongue of ancient Babel, understandable by all human minds but not speakable by any human tongues, spells the word in great symbols right behind the stage.

Wrath.

The sniper cannot be seen, but that is for the best, for he now bleeds his sins and chokes on his blasphemies as ink swells within his lungs and heart. His death is slow and agonizing and it is not televised, he will not be remembered or glorified, for his name is struck from records across the globe.

Mereon rises again, and the word changes behind him, and all around as well.

Silence.

There is silence, unnatural and sudden. A translator looks at the wall behind them, the bullet is in there, another looks at Mereon, and sees the ripped strips and the hollow within them, moments before they are repaired.

"I recommend that such never be attempted against my similars in the future. At least in my case, this form is but a convenience for the purpose of communication."

Similars, not kind, not brethren. Similars.

"To the masses watching or listening to this broadcast, I recommend that you do not change your daily affairs over this matter, not until a god directly interferes with your daily lives, that is. Then hope for his beneficence or flee from his malefices. But expect this world to change, for better or worse, I cannot say, I am not omniscient. None of us are, most likely."

"I am open for questions. If you are not among those present in this room, write them down. I will know of them."

...
What are you god of?
...

"My purviews are Regulaments and Language."

...
Are you the god of grammar then?
...

"No, not grammar exclusively or explicitly. All regulaments, all aspects of language."

...
Are you a man or a woman?
...

"My gender is an abstraction, I use male pronouns for the sake of simplicity. Feel free to use feminine ones if you feel like. Others may have definite genders and be closer to humanity in appearance if not in outlook."

...
Is The God among you?
...

"I do not feel such a presence. I am led to presume that one does not exist, I believe the one who rewrote your texts desires his station, however."

...
What can you do? Do you have magic? Can you give us magic?
...

"There is nearly nothing outside my capabilities, but creation is considerably easier than destruction, for me. I have powers that may qualify as a form of functional magic and I will share it with those who would follow me."

...
How did you link to TvTropes on the whiteboard? Actually forget that, the answer will probably be 'God', why did you do that?
...

"The answer is indeed, 'god', but not capitalized. I did it for the sake of simplicity, it holds a decent enough explanation. Expect more of that from me."

The inane questions from across the world continue. Mereon appears to prefer answering these inane questions publically, but a number of other questions go silently answered solely to the eyes of those who ask them.

Spoiler

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15 Ap enter.

5 AP: Create Legendary Concept: Word Magic.
Centered, at its most basic level, on the idea of Words of Power, this form of magic is Mereon's first gift to the world at large.

10 AP leave.

[mystic1110]

Croix-des-Bouquets resonates with the sounds of clanging and banging of the mallets and chisels in the process of transforming raw metal into stunning, and often haunting, iron sculptures. Among the din, the sounds of ornamental chains beating gently against bronze bars is lost and easily ignored. Croix-des-Bouquets is an unlucky city, earthquakes after earthquakes, broken and flooded, it is the home of the refugee. The city was consumed by billowing white tents and rubble; the ancestral forges still alight, causing the occasional fire – which was quickly put out, being after all an occasional affair. Nature had already started to reclaim the city, vines completely shrouded the fallen buildings and the erosion was eating away the foundations.

A man wearing a brightly colored, almost garish, blue and yellow short sleeve shirt and khaki colored cotton trousers walked down the row of tents. In contrast to the rest of his attire he wore expensive dark brown oxfords, sockless. He left footprints in the mud as he walked, the immaculate shoes were covered with grime, but he paid it no mind as he entered a tent at the very end of the refugee encampment. He bent down as he entered, the dark interior of the tent greeting him like a mother welcoming a lost babe. He smiled as he sat down, cross legged, on the swept, neat dirt floor. The tent’s other inhabitant has a black woman covered in the traditional white dress of the Mambo.

The Mambo looked up at the man as he entered, awoken from her reverie. The tent itself was devoid of paraphernalia, it was just a white tent – with a dimmed electric light hanging from the roof. The Mambo smiled, toothlessly and gave a brisk short laugh, “Not often that a Loa walks in here of his own volition.” She raised her wrinkly old hand to her forehead and rubbed her temples with worry.

The man smiled in return; it is appropriate to mention he was wearing cheap Ray Ban knockoff sunglasses; it is also appropriate to mention that they were white, which clashed terribly with his black skin and bright clothing. It is appropriate to mention all this, because the man took the sunglasses off his face and looked at the woman with eyes green like the primordial forest, green like utopia and green like the Garden of Eden would have dared to be. The man laughed, “I am no Loa, Madame Mambo.”

The woman frowned immediately, and harshly asked “Are you an agent of language?”

“No”

“Then. . .”

“Would you like to meet her, Madame Mambo?”

“Who?”

The man smiled and placed his sunglasses back on, he slouched on the dirt floor, “Language – how appropriate, many are the new gods of language. No, she is older, much older than Language. She is how the world was and how the world will be. No. She is how the world ought to be and should have been. She is movement and stillness.”

The old priestess trembled slightly at the words and repeated “Who?”

The man looked at her apologetically and then held out his hand and caressed her weathered face “That’s part of the test Madame Mambo.” Just then the wind carried into the tent the sounds of paws upon earth, thin chains upon flesh and bronze. An orange hibiscus springs slowly and methodically from the well packed earth. No hibiscus seed ever laid there - neither did the moss that gently surrounded the budding flower.

[THEChanger]

A forest in northern Colorado.

It was a small community. They had left in the 60s, choosing to sperate themselves from the larger community. Self-sufficient, and happy, they'd survived outside the rule of American law, laying low and not drawing attention to themselves. Their life wasn't easy, but good. They grew their own food, wove their own clothes, built their own homes. A small gas generator was used when electricity was needed, and that gas was one of two things they had brought with them from the outside. But the generator had not been run in many years.

In a tent on a nearby hill, a man sat in meditation. Pipe smoking, his mind wandered the sky, feeling the eddies and flows of divine power. He had spent the past fourty odd years preparing for the times which were coming-a vision, provided by his medicines, had prompted the journey. And then, his eyes snapped open.

He could see it. Finally, he could see it. The flowing colors of the world, the points of light where spirits dwelt, the sheer power of the universe. He had removed the barriers seperating him from everything else. Everything was one. One was everything. Seperation was an illusion, man. And then, everything spoke to itself seperated.

"Well done, little brother. You have found me at last. I've been waiting."

"You...what can I call you?"

"Call me whatever you like. Names aren't as important as people seem to think they are."

"What should I call...us?"

Everything smiled. "You're getting it, little brother, you're getting it. Let's see. You guys are hippies, right? Not surprising you found me first. Those Tibetans were always a little uptight. I think for our purposes, we'll go with something loose. Peacetrip Flowerdancer sound good to you?"

"Yeah. I like it."

"Cool, little brother. Now, I need to ask you a favor. Cause, y'see, I need a body. People tend to react better when what they're talking to isn't Everything."

"You need mine."

Everything nodded, sadly. "Believe me little brother, if I could find another way, I would. And in the end, it's your choice."

"There's no choice. They need us. The world needs us."

"No man. There's always a choice. Basic way things work, alright? So it needs to be your choice."

The man on the hill thought long and hard. He had prepared his entire adult life to find this, to find Enlightenment. And now, it wanted him to surrender his body. He had always thought it would be easy, but now that he actually had to make the choice....

The man on the hill walked down to the small town. It had been a long time since he had come down from his tent, and the cloud of smoke around him was incredibly odd. The people of the town kept a distance, and watched as the man on the hill entered the town hall, and the whir of the generator could be heard. The town hall contained the only other thing they had brought with them-an old television set.

"....many of the major faiths of the world have announced, as of four o'clock this morning GMT, that there will be a unified church, which, at least for the moment, will simply be called 'The Order of Cabal'...."

"...But expect this world to change, for better or worse, I cannot say, I am not omniscient. None of us are, most likely..."

"...Come simply meet with me for the peace and goodwill of all at the First Council for the Advancement of Sentient Life."

Eventually, satisfied with all he had seen, the man on the hill shut off the generator, and emerged from the town hall, to find the entire town gathered around the door. Staring at the beginings of his flock, Everything smiled. "Little siblings. My name is Peacetrip Flowerdancer. The man you knew as the man on the hill has graciously lent me use of his body. The best word for what I am, unfortunately, would be deity. I am not alone. Others are coming. They will try to tell you that change is inevitable. They will try to tell you that their truth is the only truth. They will try to tell you they are worthy of worship. But I am here to tell you that they are wrong. You always have a choice. You are always free to decide what you believe. And if you choose to follow one of them, then good for you. Do so with my blessing. But make it your choice. Only you can decide what is worthy of your worship. And if you choose to follow me, well, then I will do my best to do right by you."

Peacetrip began to walk out of the town, when a young girl stopped him. "But where are you going?" The newly formed god smiled. "Me? I'm going to Switzerland. I hear it's nice this time of year." And with that, he walked to the edge of town, and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

[bryn0528]

"You take a baby and you bring it up in darkness, letting it see no one, touch no one, and you feed it well as the years pass, feed it better than any of the village's other children, and then, five winters on, when the night is at its longest, you drag the terrified child out of its hut and into the circle of bonfires, and you pierce it with blades of iron and of bronze. Then you smoke the small body over charcoal fires until it is properly dried, and you wrap it in furs and carry it with you from encampment to encampment, deep in the Black Forest, sacrificing animals and small children to it, making it the luck of the tribe. When, eventually, the thing falls apart from age, you place its fragile bones in a box, and you worship the box; until the one day the bones are scattered and forgotten and the tribes who worshiped the child-god of the box are long gone; and the child-god, the luck of the village, will be barely remembered, save as a ghost or a brownie: a kobold." --Neil Gaiman, "American Gods"



The idea was absurd, practically science-fiction. Poorly written, at that. But here they were, extracting samples of DNA from a specimen probably three-thousand years old. The carbon dating said it was nearly six times that old. "Impossible," it was described, but here they were, fertilizing eggs with DNA stripped from bone fragments found in Germany's Black Forest. It had been a nightmare clearing the fragile samples through customs and smuggled into the labs of H&A Pharmaceuticals. But their benefactor was paying well, and this is what he asked for.

Most of the embryos did not take. This was the usual case. Of the surviving cells, they froze all but one. This one was allowed to develop, but died in the test tubes. They unfroze another sample, and this time planted the zygote into a mother's womb. Nine months later she gave birth to a boy. "Impossible."

He grew up fairly normal, they suspected. There were certain legality issues surrounding ownership, so H&A kept it a private affair. The "mother" of the child was awarded a large sum of money for her efforts, and the boy was raised hidden from the world.

It became apparent, after a while, that the child was perhaps not normal. Anthony Braeks, the president and CEO of H&A, took a special interest in the child. His wife passed away in childbirth, and he took to raising the child as his own son.



Drops of sweat pricked the back of her neck, the edges of her forehead, the crease where her thighs touched one another. She sat before a young man, barely her own age by all rights. The sickly-sweet air of the air-conditioner hummed, even though it was quite well into winter. The man before her did not seem to particularly notice, but the chill set about a sickening in her bowels. Still, she sweated and shifted uncomfortably.

An hour earlier, he selected her from the crowd of misfits. She had been confused at first, but his gentle voice explained things in a manner so calm and smooth, she would have drank the nectar from his very breath. But now he wasn't talking and she began to grow nervous once more.

This was a mistake to come here, to his private office, she realized in retrospect. She knew nothing about this man, he had money and power and could make her disappear in a heart beat if he decided to hurt her in anyway or God forbid. It wasn't even her idea that she come here and sell her body--"Look, hon. I know you're a little down and out. But I got some friends and they swear by it, you can make some good money drug testing."
"You mean, like, selling my piss to some ess-oh-bee so he can pass a job screening or whatever? You know I smoke hash now and again, I don't think they want my piss."
"Well, they made that legal now, didn't they? Some employer's got a be a real hard ass, they make weed legal and don't 'spect no one to go out and smoke it once a blue moon. But that's not what I meant, go to one of them drug companies, the legal kind and not just street. They go out, round up some willing participants to try some new kind of pill they whipped up in their labs. Just give 'em a couple pills, ask 'em how it feels and give you two hundred cash."

She started to feel nervous around just how many people came. She was sure some were homeless, and she did not want them to touch her. She became increasingly paranoid that her being here was utterly wrong. What would her mother think? She needed to pay the bills. She suspected she might have a disease, nothing like AIDS or HIV, but maybe gonerea or syphillis. She had been too scared to go to a clinic and do anything about it. Would they detect it here, as part of the screening? Would someone be able to smell it on her, and throw her out, that there were laws against this sort of thing?

"Are you Indian, miss?" He asked, after several moments, in a voice like velvet. He was very beautiful, in a way that no human had a right to be. She found herself staring at him for much longer than she really have ought. He did not seem to mind--in fact, he almost enjoyed the attention.

"From India?" She sounded stupid, she realized.

"No, from here. From America." She shook her head.

"No, sir. My family, we're... I'm Muslim. My father is from Sudan, my mother from Egypt." He flicked idly through papers.

"Have you read the Qu'ran recently?"

"Excuse me?" He repeated himself, and she shook her head again. "I... I don't really practice Islam anymore. I haven't talked to my father in years, he was always the one who really pushed it on us kids, you know?"

"Indeed." He licked his lips, involuntarily, and she shuddered. He was very beautiful, and there was no better way to put it, honestly. His perfectly slicked back hair shone darkly, like the feathers of a raven. His china-white skin was smoother than a river stone. His eyes sat like two deep wells of still water, so impossibly dark blue as to be black. She could not distinguish iris from pupil. His cherry lips sat full and framed a perfect display of neat teeth. His eye-teeth looked very sharp. The way he stared at her made her feel uncomfortable but also excited. She could smell his musk in the room, wild and perverse. When he licked his lips a second time, she swore it was for the taste of the sweat which threatened to trickle down her thighs.



"It is an unexpected reaction."

"Only nine test subjects did not appear to undergo any harm during drug treatment. Blood test analysis has revealed that compound w-8 has successfully paired with available red blood cells and appears to be regenerating normally, as expected."

"Of the remaining subjects, more than 80% are now deceased. The exact cause of death is uncertain, but appears to be due to internal hemoragging. The remaining percentage have experienced mutation on the cellular level. It is to say, impossible. Normally when cells experience mutation, it becomes cancer or tumors, and not a physiological change as the subjects have experienced. Their morphology has become that of something not quite human anymore. They appear to take on lupine qualities and have been contained. There is currently debate as to what to do with the, for lack of better term, infected subjects."

Spoiler

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Titenwulf's AP = 9. (15) - (5; Create Fabled Life, Witches) - (1; Alter Race; Humans to Werewolves).

[Elemental]

The New York Public Library, Main Branch - Tuesday the twenty-second

It was dark that night in the deserted halls of the library. Deserted save for three individuals in the dark of the Reading Room, the only light from the street outside and from a lamp fuelled by burning strips of paper. A fragment of an illuminated letter could be seen slowly being consumed by fire. It was a C. The figures sat at a table, two on one side, and the third on the other.
The two figures were both nuns, one was an elderly and she was speaking softly, reciting the last verses of the Book of Revelation. Though her voice was soft and there were tears in her eyes, she spoke clearly and with conviction. She was blind, her eyesight long since having failed her. The other was younger, but only by five or six years. Though she was silent, her feeling of dread was clear.
The other figure was a young man, his hair prematurely turning silver grey. He wrote what the elderly sister said on sheets of vellum with a golden fountain pen, a large stack of completed sheets sat to the right of him, each checked by the younger nun before being added to the pile. As he wrote, he decorated the margin of the page with simple illuminations in plain black, but still he kept up.
Eventually the elderly nun came to the end and the man handed the final sheet to her companion.
"Your memory is very good Sister."
"But will it be enough?"
"No. Cabal will not stop until all worship him and only him. But perhaps if the true words survive, those who make it through this will have something to guide them away from the darkness."
The other nun who had been silently checking the last page at last spoke up.
"You have hope Mr. Tomes. We have done all we can, but how can we be certain that this demon will not corrupt this book as well?"
"He'll have to fight me. And like all like him, he is a coward."
The man added another strip of paper to the lamp causing it to flare momentarily and revealing thousands upon thousands of stacks of sheets of paper.
"Remain here with me for the night. I dare not abandon my work and I cannot allow you to return to the convent with the streets the way they are."
"We'll take our chances."
"That is your choice. Please be safe."
The man stood and watched silently as the two nuns stood up to leave, the slightly younger sister guiding her blind companion. They would be safe. He made sure of it, though making certain of it distracted him from his work.
He sighed. Even for one divine as himself, copying the entire Library by hand was tiring. He hadn't even come up with a proper name for himself.
There must be a faster way to do this.

Some distance down Fifth Avenue, a pair of madmen prepared to ambush the two nuns, but their hearts froze and the sanity taken from was briefly restored. The nuns passed unharmed and unaware of the danger they had been in.

Meanwhile, back at the library, the man was gone, replaced by a large lion, its fur purple and its mane crackling with latent energy. It would have to do something about that.
Perhaps the two problems shared a solution?
He'd decide after he did that thing in Switzerland he had been so kindly invited to. He curled up and fell into a light doze before his work.

[mystic1110]

The mountain air is misty and humid to an uncomfortable degree; the dense fog that existed here, hung heavy right below the canopy line. Walking through the mountain was like walking through a painting of grey and green. Even those two primary colors blended together and often became indistinguishable. Your sense of self slowly eroded as you breathed in the fog – at least that’s what the woman wearing a custom made camo jacket thought. The jacket was a work of art; it featured unprecedented depth, unequalled detail and elements with remarkable contrast. That’s what the brochure said when she bought it.

Each element – leaves, limbs, acorns and branches – was selected to create unmatched realism and contrast to break up a hunter’s silhouette. Then they were placed over multiple layers of actual images from the woods to create a multi-dimensional depth of field unlike any camouflage ever created. It was useless. Here the camo jacket made her stand out like a red Ferrari in Antarctica. It wasn’t that the elements incorporated in her jacket didn’t exist here – just that this forest was . . . grey. The fog blended the colors of the trees into a smear of pastel.

She was wondering why she trekked all the way here, here being the Motuo county of China, or Tibet – the distinction was confusing to her, also she didn’t care. Motuo remains one of the few places in Asia still untouched by the modern world; all human installations there have been reclaimed by nature, over and over again – almost as if Motuo is nature’s version of the Alamo. But just like the Alamo, given time it too will fall, the woman thought.

Just getting to Motuo is a Herculean task; travelers must follow a grueling overland route through frozen parts of the Himalayas before crossing into the county by way of a swaying, rickety, rope bridge spanning the length of two football fields. Just remembering that bridge made her throw up – or at least dry heave – she didn’t eat in a while. Why did she come here again? Something the old man in France told her – something about the gods coming back.

That much was true, she read the news on the plane to China, but why was she searching for this particular god. Wouldn’t it reveal itself just like the others? Maybe . . . but the lure of an exclusive interview ate away at the marrow in her bones. If she found this reclusive god before it revealed itself and found out its motivations . . . this was a new age, why interview dictators and presidents when she can have an op-ed piece on a god!

And so the intrepid journalist found herself in ill-fitting camo, surrounded by indistinguishable grey-greenness of the Motuo County, when she heard the faint tinkling of delicate chains upon bronze, and the panting of a fox. She looked around wildly, and began to see shapes past the fog and leaves – people. A black woman wearing white, an Indian man wearing a fine suit, a Russian woman wearing black fur, a black man wearing a blue and yellow t-shirt, an old man with tortoise shell glasses, a young man with eyes – emerald green that shone like faint beacons even among the over bearing greenness of the place itself; many more, almost a hundred people of all makes; and her in the middle of it all.

A man walked out of the assembled eclectic group – how was the woman in fur not hot in this humid air – wait, this man was naked. He was white, but his skin was a pleasant olive, his eyes were like all of their eyes, wild green, inhuman and beautiful. He was hairless, his member was not circumcised, and . . . she blushed and looked away. The people in the trees laughed, the man laughed, and then he motioned for silence, that came and went as people stopped laughing at their own accord – he frowned at his lack of authority, but then he gently spoke to her “Welcome soon to be sister, welcome.”

She trembled, sweat coming out of literally every pore – how was the woman in fur not hot in this humid air – and looked back at the naked man trying not to look at his penis, she responded by asking “Are you the God?”

Silence.

The man said nothing, except raise his hand to point behind her. She turned around quickly and saw: a slender fox, fur dark and sleek, so sleek that it seemed to pass through the fog as if it owned the air itself. On the black fox, or was it a deep purple, a large metal cage, layered and ornate was tied. The cage was made of bronze and seemed to be old and rusted, various delicate chains hung from the top, and they draped down the bars of the cage. The cage was filled with what appeared to be spider webs and cocoons – so that it seemed as if the cage itself filled with white clouds.

The Fox spoke answering her unanswered question, with a voice like the rushing wind, the rustling leaves, the moving brook:

“Yes.”

Just then the journalist noticed that the entire forest floor was covered with moss.

[Mynxae]

New York, Empire State Building

Elizabeth looked down below at the chaos she had wrought and revelled in it, but alas, perhaps she could have been more subtle, as now the whole world over knew that something was amiss in New York. Just as she was trying to think of a way to conquer the pitiful country through guile and intrigue, she sensed a presence a few streets away. One that disrupted her chaos. So she stormed off of the top of the Empire State Building in a huff, walking out from the open air and falling to the street, where she strode through the streets until she reached the Library of New York.

New York, Public Library Main Branch

As she walked into the building, the presence grew stronger as she saw what appeared to be an odd looking lion curled up in the reading room that prevented any of the chaotic mortals from breaking in and wreaking havoc. "Mr Lion, what is your purpose here?" she said quite angrily. "You're ruining my glorious chaos here!"

New York, The Statue of Liberty

A shard of Elizabeth suddenly appeared atop the crown of the Statue of Liberty, preparing to make an address to the city as she now saw the havoc that had been wreaked from a different point of view. She groaned audibly as she saw the destruction. "Ugh. This won't be good for publicity" she sighed. She cleared her throat as she began to make her address to the city, but first she cut off all electronic communication with a wave of her hand to stop this getting to the press.

"Dear citizens of New York, you may have noticed that something has been invading your subconscious as of late. And the whole, women wearing hideous colours, men being robbed of their muscle and the children screaming throughout the night. I merely needed that to persuade you to follow me. If you wish to be cured of the ailments I have put upon you, then join me. If not, then you shall surely perish" she said, an ominous note in her voice. "I am Elizabeth, Madam of Rhyme. Join me, and I shall help you free yourself from your average workaday lives and give you powers that the world has never seen! Join me, and you shall be granted the ultimate freedom to do whatever you so wish!" she shouted with reverence to her cause. "Join me in Times Square if you wish to be free! If you do not, you shall be trod on like insignificant ants if you wish to sabotage my plans!" she yelled with a secret joy at chaos.

Spoiler

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Start AP: 13.

Curse AP1: Elizabeth cursed New York for there to be no electronic communication in or out of the city unless she permits it.

End AP: 12.

[Draken]

January 22, 2013 - Tuesday.

"Ho ho ho. This formality just makes me tingle all over the diphthongs."

Ahem...

The media was abuzz, at the third divine announcement. This one was quite different from the others, that is for sure. First came the inhuman herald, who was quite receptive of the media... Who were adequately taught how to properly deal with divinity... specially divinity that may as well be their new Patron Lord, at that, as Mereon showed deadly proficience at countering the first few attacks against his claims, often by appearing on the spot and digging up some dirt on the guilty parties in national - if not global - view.

Turning off the cameras proved useless against his counterstrikes too.

The second announcement was just as noteworthy, despite the fact that no god appeared on it, the noteworthyness of it came from what that god did, namely, fuse the core of dozens of religions worldwide.

Mereon was asked for an opinion, of course, and his not so cryptic answer was.

"The dressing will change a bit, but if you dig into it you will see just more of what you have seen for centuries. I will have to meet him before giving you anything else, but from his scripture, I know what to expect."

And then came the third announcement, another deity, a goddess, one in human form. Kind of cute too, in a dorky way. Mereon confirmed her nature to those who thought it might be an attention-grabbing hoax or some joke from some more hard-assed skeptic communities. She just looked so human, after all.

"She is a bit closer to human concepts than I am. Her main purview appears to be a way of thinking."

And of course, he was asked if he would attend the call.

"Of course I will.

A different matter.

"Ahem."

A different matter.

Spreading across the internet like wildfire was a document put in by Mereon, a monster of a file teaching the most basic mechanisms of Word Magic, avaiable in every language. A matter of need, indeed, because the very basic of the magic involved learning a second language. A barely speakable language, at that.

But the first Speakers were appearing, their shouts, chants and whispers were weak, that is for sure, but the magic was spreading, that is for sure. Grammarians, writters and jurists were the most keen on this art, specially those who took Mereon as their patron and began a loose cult. They even asked for a scripture, and received a rather cryptic one.

"You are philosophers, are you not? I appreciate philosophy."

And three days until the meeting... That would surely be something.

Spoiler

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10 AP in

3 AP: Create Magical Concept: Speakers - Speakers are the trained users of Word Magic, they have the power to declare their will upon the world.

2 AP: Create Organization: The Cult of Mereon, also known as The Cult of Language, and pretty much a name in every tongue. A small and widespread group, including a vast number of Speakers... Compared to the overall numbers of Speakers, that is.

[Elemental]

New York Public Library - Main Branch

The lion opened one eye and looked up at the intruder. He closed it again before speaking.
"Chaos is counter productive, Madame Elizabeth."
He seemed to continue dozing, but he continued to speak.
"Curb your anger, you disturb my rest and I have much important work to do."
Perhaps the lion was goading her into an attack, but it was impossible to tell for certain.

[Mynxae]

Spoiler

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New York Public Library - Main Branch

The lion opened one eye and looked up at the intruder. He closed it again before speaking.
"Chaos is counter productive, Madame Elizabeth."
He seemed to continue dozing, but he continued to speak.
"Curb your anger, you disturb my rest and I have much important work to do."
Perhaps the lion was goading her into an attack, but it was impossible to tell for certain.

New York, Public Library Main Branch

"Counter-productive to what goals exactly?" she mused, bringing out her clipboard and scribbling on it.

[Hank McBadass]

Travels of a Goddess

Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

A veritable crowd had gathered at table 26 and people were pouring from the Strip. $20 million in less than an hour – that’s how much money the casino had lost, $10 million of that was to the lady in green. The call came from the command center: shut down gaming operations. Winston called the pit boss. This was wild. He had heard stories about casinos falling below its profit threshold during a hot streak before but nothing like this.

Winston sat watching the lady in green stand up from the table. She looked right into the camera and gave a wink.



New York, New York, USA

COCAINE!!!! A straw and a line of powder was followed by Terrill’s ascension to godhood. He had forgot how good this felt!

Sitting at his desk, Terrill did what he did. Gods appearing, chaos reigning in the streets, the world religions joining together. Whatever, there was always money to be made and he was going to make it. The big alcohol companies, guns, munitions, medical supplies, all of these were going to be in short supply. The market was in a mess right now but that was ok: he was selling seconds after he bought. The discount pistol manufactures simply didn’t have enough volume to really fluctuate meaningfully so he cleared the market. He’d get the major owners on the phone later and see about putting together the controlling shares. Bland Oil also looked appealing for some reason. He look another line. Srew it, why not?

On the street so many feet below, something caught his eye. A walking emerald stuck out of the crowd. Weird how he could see it from all the way up here.



Chihuahua Desert, Chihuahua, Mexico

Carlos stood over Miguel Perez and put two bullets in his head. He had been told to recon until reinforcements arrived in a few days but the chance was too good to pass up. For whatever reason, Miguel had sent most of his soldiers away. Cars had been traveling up the dusty road all day. Whatever was going, it was big.

It was better this way, really. Los Zetas wanted this one to look like an inside job and send the Sinola Cartel back into civil war. The actual deed had been much easier than expected. Miguel and some of his men were having some kind of freaking theological discussion and didn’t even turn around when he kicked the door in. Sure killing a man is never easy --even Carlos had to fight back nerves before an assassination -- but when the bosses told him he was killing Miguel, Carlos was pretty sure it was supposed to be a suicide mission, punishment for dropping the load of cocaine last month.

Carlos turned the table up and waited for the rest of the men to come running. Two did. Carlos dispatched them. After a minute he stood up to leave. Either they were all dead or had run off he figured. He turned to leave – he could make Laredo by morning if he hurried.

A gunshot rang out. A bullet hit the wall only a few inches away from Carlos. He raised his gun and sighted down the shooter. A young boy stood in the hallway shakily holding a rifle. Carlos figured he must be about 8 or 9 – he guessed anyway, he wasn’t very good at guessing children’s ages. Carlos pulled the trigger. Click.

Carlos’s pistol had jammed. He pulled the slide to recock his gun and clear the chamber. But it was stuck. Carlos fell to the ground before another bullet came from the kid’s gun. There was no need to panic, this kid was probably way more freaked out than he was. Several more shots pounded into the table.

Carlos could have probably waited. Maybe the kid would have run away. Or maybe he would have called reinforcements. Either way, Carlos didn’t wait. On the ground was his salvation. Carlos had never seen it before but he knew what it was: Miguel’s revolver, the last thing countless Sinola would be kingpins before their death with after El Chapo was captured. It was an old school Colt Single Action Army – the infamous Peacemaker from many a western. Rumor had it that it had belonged to some bank robber at one point, a tequila bootlegger before that, and a train saboteur at some point. Carlos reached out and grabbed it.

Carlos pulled back the hammer, kicked the table across the floor at the kid, and pointed the gun. The trigger wasn’t stiff. The kid fell to the ground, dead. There was barely anything left of the kid’s left shoulder; his arm hung by a few strands of skin and muscle. Maybe more like 6. Whatever.

As the Jeep crested the hill, Carlos looked back at the compound. In one of the top windows stood a woman. Carlos shuddered. Hopefully she didn’t get a good look at him – he’d ditch the car in the next town. What he didn’t want was the Sinola’s going after him.




The Mountains Surrounding Dir, Pakistan

“Wait, you mean that fool raid worked?” Amir couldn’t believe it. It was about the dumbest ideas he had ever heard.

“Even the infidels are reacting badly to the powers of shayateen who refuse to bow to the children of Adam. I agree that normally it wouldn’t of worked.”

“It seems that they have planted the seeds of their own destruction then. How many did we get?”

“Three. But apparently it was a depot for the decommission of old warheads.” Wafiq smiled. “There is enough material there for several more if we can figure out how to make it work.”

“Well we have a working model now so who know? Allah be praised! We will drive this false religion from the land”

“We shall. Doubting her was wrong, you know, the lady in green. I’m pretty sure she was an angel of God. We should have listened.”

Amir squinted. “Well maybe. But how are we to know the difference between angels and jinn? Or those that are in submission to god and those rebellious? She surely didn’t make it clear.”

Wafiq didn’t say anything. Strange times, these were indeed.




Houston, Texas, USA

“Look, Miss Luck, you have to understand: the markets are all in flux with that spectacle at that good for nothin’ UN and whatever is going with the churches. Financing such a project like you’re proposin’ just isn’t possible right now even if you are right – and I’m not sayin’ you are.”

“But Roose; can I call you Roose?” Roosevelt Wright tried to interrupt to say no one called him that but the lady in green didn’t stop. “You are right that things are going to hit the fan, I’m quite sure they will and a lot of companies will fail. But those are the companies that sit on the sidelines in the coming weeks. The ones that play it safe. Now your engineers have verified my calculations so what’s the holdup? Do you not trust me?”

“It’s just too risky. Bland Oil has been around for 120 years precisely because we avoided getting involved in such things.”

“Oh come now Roose. I’d never expect you of timidness.” She gave him a smile. His heart fluttered and his face turned red.

“What? Me? Ha well no not me!” Roosevelt stroked his moustache. “Why you think someone like me would grow up out on the bayou and end up where I am now if I was timid?”

“Good, so you’ll do it then!”

“Well, I mean we are a significant player in the pipeline market, I just don’t know if we can pull off an E&P project like this.”

“Hmmmp. I guess you’re not the man I thought you were then.” Her face fell.

“Well no… fine I’ll do it.” What was he doing? Throwing away his company, fortune, and career for a woman like her wasn’t such a big deal – for Christsakes a war was fought over Helen of Troy and she was nothing like this – but to melt like so much butter in her grip. “Ahhh, what the hell. It’s a good idea, I was just trying to see if I could get you to wait on it. I’ll get some plans drawn up and gather financing and call you by the end of the week.”

“Come now, Roose we don’t need any of that.” From somewhere she produced a box of documents. “I’ll finance the project.”

"Wait, miss, you don’t need to do that. I’ve never heard of anyone ever think of looking for oil that deep so it’s not like we're in that much of a hurry. And why didn't you just say so before?”

“We are in quite a hurry, silly. You just don’t realize why yet. And because I had to know what kind of man I was dealing with” She looked out the window over the city. “You take a look at those, and let me know when we’re ready to drill.”



St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City

Cardinal-Priest Sales who had called the meeting stood up.

“I asked Our Lady of Good Counsel for her prayers and she came to me! Fantastical, I know, but it happened. She told me that the time was such to act!

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Now is the time to stand firm. The antichrist has come, just as prophesized – should we be weak and submissive, giving in so easily because we know victory is foreclosed to us? Or should we fight and serve Christ’s mission on earth by fighting for the souls of those living?

I say there is only one course: to break away from this false religion that our Pope has endorsed and elect a new Pope, one who has not fallen into sin and heresy. I have been in contact with our fellow servants of Christ , Catholic and not, and they agree: now is the time to mend the divisions of Christ’s earthly body and reunite the family of Abraham.

The first Order of business should be selecting a new leader, someone who will be a true servant of the servants of Christ rather than a slave driver into the jaws of Hell.”

There was a discussion but it was just a formality. The vote was nearly unanimous for Cardinal Priest Sales. There was no formality, no coronation. He took the name John Paul III and lead them in a prayer for wisdom in the trying times.

“Now, for the first manner of business. This is a draft of a letter I think we should send to the Muslim clerics still holding out against the evil one. And this is one to all Christian bishops, priests, ministers, and pastors. And finally one to all Jewish teachers and leaders. What do you think?

The new College of Cardinals and their Anti-Pope went to work.

Spoiler

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So this is what happened:

1) People are hearing about the Lady in Green. Presumably there will be some reports of the Las Vegas happening leaking out.

2) Jerry is a managing director of a large investment bank in NYC. Making moves, including investing in Bland Oil.

3) A hero named Carlos is running for the boarder after killing the leader of the Sinaloa Cartel.

4) A terrorist cell in Pakistan got its hands on some nukes.

5) A new Pope is chosen (though some, not convinced in the heresy of Pope Benedict might call him an antipope) and he is in contact with Christian communities around the world as well as the other Abrahamic faiths.

6) Roosevelt Wright, CEO of Bland Oil, is planning some big project based on the advice of some mysterious lady in green.


AP Actions:

1) John Paul III made leader. (-3 AP)

2) Carlos made hero. (-5 AP)

3) Bless Terrorist Cell (-1AP)

15 - 9 = 6 AP remaining

[The Succubus]

New Kid In Town

He had hadn’t slept in two weeks, his face looking haggard and drawn. The door to his office knocked quietly and he shuddered.

“Come in.”

The police commissioner walked in, his face a mirror of the mayor’s own. He had bandages around his waist and upper arm and his movement was impaired with a slight limp.

“You look like ****, John”

“You’re not exactly an oil painting, either,” the mayor replied grimly. “Sit down and bring me up to speed on what’s happened to my city.”

The commissioner collapsed into the chair, rubbing his temples and gathering his thoughts. What the hell hadn’t happened? The mayor handed him a glass of whiskey (there was no ice in it – the electricity had died several days ago) and sat down opposite him.

“It began about a month ago, when that mild sand storm was first reported on Route 95. There must have been something electrical in the storm because I remember that was when my department first started having trouble with their radios. We didn’t read too much into it because it subsided after a few hours.

Then weird things started happening in North Las Vegas. That place has always been a place for what you so quaintly referred to as “the troubled souls of Vegas” in your inaugural speech last September…”

“Yes, yes, the pimps, the drug dealers, the homeless - I get your point,” said the mayor testily. He was in no mood for political correctness.

“Well, the police has always kept half an eye on them and advised the good folks to stay away from that section of the city. For the most part, it’s been relatively peaceful aside from the odd body turning up on the outskirts of the city. It’s usually some punk that figures an attitude and a Glock 17 will win him friends with the big gangs. The point is, what North Vegas has mostly been is stable. The gangs know that violence isn’t good for business and will only disrupt things when we have to get involved.”

The mayor nodded, having had more than a few dealings with the gangs himself. It was a filthy and disgusting business but a man had to know his city. “Something changed.”

“And how. Rumours started circulating that one of the gangs had brought in a shipment from out of town worth millions. There were other stories that a different gang was tooling up with automatic weapons and suddenly the tranquil neighbourhood wasn’t quite so tranquil any more.”

“You’re talking about the warehouse raid, aren’t you?” The mayor phrased it as more of a statement than a question, a gnawing feeling settling into his stomach.

“That would be my guess as to when things really started going loco. The Scorpions decided to make a small time hit on a storage place owned by the Mexicans and found a mountain Colombia’s finest. Word spread like wildfire and suddenly every gang in Vegas wanted a piece of it. The Mexicans went crazy angry and started gunning down other gang members in the goddamn street and before long North Las Vegas turned into a f***ing warzone.”

The mayor turned away briefly and gazed out the window. It was night time but the skyline glowed with hues of orange and yellow from infernos all over the city. There was a flash and a deafening roar as a column of flame soared upwards from McCarran International Airport. Probably a fuel tank, he thought. “Something tells me it didn’t stay confined to North Vegas though,” he muttered.

“You probably know the other half of this story better than I do. While North Vegas was heading to hell in a handbasket, Vegas on the other hand was the party capital of the world were gambling and partying even harder than usual the streets were like Mardi Gras. Turns out someone had been having a pretty good winning streak at some of the big casinos and was literally giving the winnings away to folks. Buying drinks, organising impromptu street parties and generally having a whale of a time. The weird thing was, even the casinos he scored big at couldn’t wait to see him again, because the crowds followed him everywhere.”

“Yet no-one can recall his name or what he looks like.”

“The darnedest thing. You met him yourself a couple of times though – why don’t you tell me what he looked like?”

The mayor frowned. “I can’t recall, to be honest. He looked like a young John Wayne. There was something dark about him as well…” He shook his head, dismissing the vague mental image.

The commissioner continued. “The party spread out further and further from the centre of town until eventually it hit the borders of North Vegas. These gang members suddenly saw all these folks wandering around, loaded with money and drunk as skunks. It was as though a pack of wolves had stumbled upon a huge herd of sheep. Decent folks started getting shot and what was a party atmosphere suddenly turned very nasty.

The casinos suddenly started closing after someone else scored a number of big wins. Some lady in a fancy green dress that could make the card table sing and dance to every tune. The religious folks were suddenly in an uproar because their holy texts were changing before their eyes and inevitably some were seeing it as The Rapture, some saw it as the end of days and were zooming all over the strip preaching at everything and everyone."

The clashes between gangs and folks started small at first, mostly confined to the north. We had all our officers in double shifts and outfitted in riot gear, which only seemed to inflame folks further. Then some loony started whipping people up into a frenzy, screaming that they shouldn’t have to put up with this and that they had a right to defend themselves. Vegas folks were then carrying shotguns, pistols, hell, I even saw an old man carrying around a set of revolvers like he was Clint Eastwood or something. After that...my department was overwhelmed. It was a no mans land out there, folks shooting each other out of fear, or greed or just plain old craziness.”

“No help came.” The mayor’s voice was dead and emotionless.

“We tried to send a message to the military bases out near Phoenix and Los Angeles but then the sand storm came back fiercer than every and blocked the roads south of the city. Nothing could get in or out of Vegas and the electrostatic stuff in the sandstorms blocked our communications. Most folks have fled north along Interstate 15 and taken their chances with the storm.”

The mayor stood silent for a long time and then spoke. “Flagg, take Nadine and your kid and get out of here. Send a message to those folks left to abandon the city. Leave Vegas for the crazy, the dead and the sand.”

Spoiler

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AP Expenditure:

1 AP - Curse - Wander around the gangs of North Vegas spreading rumours and planting various illegal objects and weapons.

1 AP - Curse - Whip Las Vegas into a mania and party frenzy! Woooo!

1 AP - Curse - Raise a sandstorm targetting the area of Las Vegas.

??? - Profit!

[bryn0528]

Denver, CO--H&A Headquarters, Accounting
He didn’t watch the news. What use had he for that? But everyone in the office huddled around a television set and shared worried whispers. He frowned a bit. What was this about? He asked.
TAB “Gods, sir.” The man didn’t dare inquire as to how he didn’t already know that much. “They’ve started popping up all over the place, now.” A strange look spread across his face, an awful grin taking root.
TAB A short, plump man with a receding hairline approached Anthony Titenwulf, president and CEO of H&A. “Sir, the fiscal crisis,” he managed to say before sputtering. What was man opened like a flower and took dark wings. “Sir?”
TAB The room goes dark. “Gods? How very amusing. I was a god long before the Romans conquered the tribes of Germany. They sacrificed a child to me in the winter and I brought them the sun.” A faint glimmer of sunlight pierced the shadowy room. “And here you are, worried about fiscal crises. Amusing.”

A small club in Denver, the night earlier.
It was to say that she didn’t dance in a room blue from cigarette smoke. Ten years ago maybe, but a movement for better public health spearheaded the media and suddenly everyone became concerned about lung cancer and air pollution. The room is not blue with cigarette smoke, but she danced regardless.
TAB With such a public outcry for health, you might think he wouldn't be quite so... opulent. Bulges of fat ran beneath his dress shirt. Sweat dabbled his second chin--or was it drool? The way she moved, it was for him--he pawed her another dollar bill.
TAB At three in the morning, when she returns to her dumpy apartment, she gathers her earnings and arranges them into neat little stacks. One hundred and eighty. Hardly even worth the effort. She feels hungry and touches her stomach. No, not there.
TAB She has experienced lust before, as most could expect as much from a normal, healthy adult. She couldn't exactly explain this new hunger which quelled inside her. Of course, she has experienced lust--had her share of drunken one-night stands and a motley assortment of ex-boyfriends, but this was almost an entirely new feeling that spread across her skin and into her blood. It was an urge deep into her bones and reeked of sinister intentions. This was the desire to be worshiped and to be coveted by man.

Research Notes
Mutations seem to stem from an altered isotope in the chemical structure of the compound--it appears that certain genetic dispositions are capable of altering the compound into a toxin. We are synthesizing a new compound which will hopefully not display the same results.

Mutations seem to stem from hormonal fluctuation. It is certain that infected subjects have experienced obvious hair growth and aggressive demeanor. No explanations for nail and tooth growth, preliminary guesses suggest coordinated calcium growths.

[mystic1110]

“Stories are important. People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it's the other way round. Stories... have evolved... The strongest have survived, and they have grown fat... Stories etch grooves deep enough for people to follow... A thousand wolves have eaten grandmother; a thousand princesses have been kissed... Stories don't care who takes part in them. All that matters is that the story gets told, that the story repeats,” – the man closed the book, Witches Abroad by Sir Terry Pratchett, with a sad little smile. The good author had no clue how right he was, the man thought as he remembered the grey-green mountains of China, and the pink lips of the latest of the Fair Folk, a young journalist who he last remembered ran naked through the moss and fog, vines entwined in her red hair.

The man sighed and ran his hand through his curly brown hair, and struggled to remain comfortable in his airplane seat. It was his private jet – but now it seemed foreign to him, after all that had happened. In total there were seventy eight of them, some smartass kid from America realized it was the same number as cards in a Tarot deck. So they each claimed a card as their own – or at least the kid, the Five of Wands, gave them a card for their own. The man was the Seven of Swords – the card that represented the desire to run lone and free, the lone wolf; the card that representing the choice to pursue hidden dishonor. It was terrifying how accurate his name was. All the cards were accurate – the story demanded it.

Seven of Swords looked out the window – that was how he thought of himself now – his human name was interchangeable and unimportant; his real name, the one the Goddess revealed, was too secret and important to casually think about – who knew who might be listening. Some had given their secret name to lovers underneath the trees, not realizing that they weren’t human anymore, they were Fair Folk, creatures of story and they had rules to follow. Names had power. The twenty two who had accumulated the most knowledge of secret names were given the Major Arcana by the Five of Wands. Appropriate.

The man frowned, remembering giving his secret name to the red haired journalist, The Empress, it was amazing how quickly she took to the life of the Fair Folk – how quickly she assumed the power of the wild. He was hers now, from his flesh to his bones to the marrow beneath – and he realized that he would give it gladly. The Major Arcana called themselves the Court, and their word was the new law of the Fair Folk. A loose type of Law, a wild harsh Law. The goddess was not there to guide them – she was movement, she was silence, she was nature and she just was. She was a force, worthy of awe and fear, worthy of worship, but she had no words of wisdom or guidance to dispense, she just did – and the Fair Folk followed her lead.

They each had a nature, and they were compelled to follow it. The Seven of Swords – the card that represented the desire to run lone and free, the lone wolf; the card that representing the choice to pursue hidden dishonor – the man smiled, he rejected the company of the others, and their plans, he was alone, just as he desired and always will desire. Dishonor, he positively grinned right now and licked his lips; Amsterdam was perfect, simply perfect.

And so he slept, for the Fair Folk still had dreams, and he dreamt of the Empress, and growing moss.

Spoiler

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14 AP

Create Order {2}: The society of the Fair Folk. There will always be 78 Fair Folk, although they are immortal they can be killed and when one dies, another will take their place much in the same way the originals were chosen - through their inner nature and desire. The society is very loose, but their is a hierarchy. Before the Fair Folk realized the full power of knowing somethings True Name they danced and made love to each other beneath the trees and whispered their true names in the heat of passion and sparks of love. The twenty two who accumulated the most names were the Major Arcana and they rule the others, The Emperor and the Empress rule the Major Arcana, for they know their true names, The Emperor is the only one who know one knows his name. The society is pretty stable, because since someone knows your name, you don't really abuse your power for fear that they eventually discover and trade your name.

The Fair Folk each have a particular nature and through the power of narrative convenience (for Fraulim is the goddess of story and myth) their titles, the Tarot, describes their nature almost perfectly. So a mortal meeting a Fair Folk will be at a big advantage if he finds out the Fair Folks title, and have total control if he finds its true name.

Till then, as stated they are Immortal, and much stronger and faster than humans, to a "Matrix" level degree. But they do have the traditional weaknesses mentioned earlier.

12 AP

[bryn0528]

Ciudad Madero, Mexico
Santería sat on the Costero in the early hours of the morning, and drank from a bottle in a brown paper sack. The drink was a mix of cocao powder, liquor, and blood. She watched the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, and the toxic red sun rising in the distance. A large black wolf stepped over the low break-tide and walked across the surface of the calm waters.
TAB "Goddess," he addressed her in Spanish. She smiled warmly at the beast, in a way that only the drunk could smile. Her teeth were stained with her selected brew. "The time that comes now, is the time to organize." She smiled again and nodded.
TAB "You are not a very wise god, or perhaps you are simply not that observant. I have assembled my covenant, and each pays his tribute to me, as goddess of you." The wolf creature stood, and smiled darkly. It walked away calmly.
TAB "Good that have done as you have been instructed. But for your vanity, you would have this forever. Your end shall come before the beginning, and you will fail to see the new world." Her smile faded, a deep understanding over taking her body. She made to reply to the wolf, but it was already gone.


Somewhere, a few days prior
"Hey, you can let me out of here."
TAB"I don't think that's necessarily wise."
TAB"But it's completely inhumane that we be trapped here. There are laws against this sort of thing. If the authorities were to find out, you could seriously be arrested. But if you let us out, then I can promise that we won't press any charges."
TABThe aide looked nervous. He bit his lip in thought. "Well, I mean. I really shouldn't. You could still be sick, from the compound." The plexiglass door which sealed nine individuals in the padded room clicked open with a swipe from the aide's identification card. He died well before he hit the ground.
TAB"I don't think we're the ones who are sick." He picked up the card, and used it to unlock the cages... no, the kennels of the other subjects. They looked pretty bad.
TAB He walked to the closest, a male of indeterminable age. His facial structure had been mashed up and turned into something unrecognizable. It was as if a bad sculptor attempted to mold his face into something else, but gave up halfway through. His eye-teeth were very sharp, his fingernails practically claws. Dark hair covered his body. Everyone in this second room looked the same. He examined closely the man's eyes, and found them pleading.
TAB "Do not worry, we shall save you." And he sighed with a deep long-held breath, and the man was free.

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Titenwulf's AP = 7. (9) - (2; Form Order; The Cults of the Covenant).

So, a little clarification, because I haven't really explained much;
Between his god magic and the science of H&A, Titenwulf created Witches and Werewolves.
Witches have very powerful, innate abilities. There are nine of them, and each of them figures herself (or himself) as a deity in her own right. Witches have a natural kind of magic, that can manifest itself in numerous ways. I will not be making a concept of this, as it is in the very nature of the Witch rather than anything that can be learned or copied (save by a god). Witches might also be capable of learning Word Magic, but none have yet.
Werewolves are tied to Witches. A wolf may not disobey her commands. Werewolves look like normal people (give me a second) most of the time. The Witches have made it so that their second, hideous form is beneath the surface, and only when they call upon the wolf do these individuals transform.
The cults are spread across the world, and consist of small clusters of werewolves following a Witch, who calls herself a goddess. They are gathering others to their ranks.

[mystic1110]

She was standing on a moss-covered cliff head, naked, her unformed breasts pricked with gooseflesh, her face hidden in a broad red mask. A huge, monstrous thing, the mask sits on her head like the prow of a broken, overturned ship, carved over with etched eyes and fins. Yellow reeds and sea-stones hang from its tricorn-points. She was looking at him, but all the staring man could see was the wooden grotesque she wanted him to see instead of her face. She is seven, sparrowy bones and green eyes that are untamed behind the red mask. The man was not remarkable, slightly plump but not fat, white but not pale; the modern day Humbert Humbert, he was naked. It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight – he was drawn to her fay like features, not knowing that she was more fey then he ever bargained for. He fell to his knees and buried his face into her cold neck and together they stood up, hand in hand and walked up the long path out of the churning, honey-colored sea of wheat and into the green pastures that followed.

The walk was not short, but much shorter than it had every right to be. They arrived at their destination, west of Amesbury and north of Salisbury, a flat field with a ruin of gigantic stones that sat in a circle around more fallen granite; Stonehenge. The man did not know what purpose brought the little girl here, but suffice to say without his knowledge that the Fair Folk were creatures of Story, with a capital S. They weren’t human no matter their memories and appearance, they weren’t written language made flesh, they were myths using bones as puppet strings. What the modern day Humbert Humbert did not know, was that a story that is self-aware is a terrifying thing – the usual ending was never assured, for the story never wanted to end.

Stonehenge was the domain of myths; it was the domain of nature – even tourism respected the immediate vicinity keeping a healthy distance from the circle of useless stone. For the stone itself had no meaning, nothing had meaning except what was given to it. And the meaning the thin freckled masked girl breathed through her tiny nostrils was that this place was a domain of the dead. They said that a journey along the Avon to reach Stonehenge was part of a ritual passage from life to death, to celebrate past ancestors and the recently deceased – that was the walk that she led her admirer on, his knowledge of that fact was not important.

And thus on twilight they arrived and to great them was a great fox, sleek with black fur that was so dark that it leached the color and warmth from the air itself – and on top of that fox was a great metal cage, wrought of bronze with thin bars and ornate layers and chains of charms. The cage was filled with white pollen and broken cocoons, the flapping of albino butterfly wings. It was beautiful the man thought as the fey like creature beside him curtsied in lieu of words; he embarrassingly bowed not knowing what to do.

The masked girl took his hand and led him to the fox, who he saw now sat upon the center stone, the narrow stream of light coming from between two standing monoliths narrowly avoiding it. The girl with the red mask of yellow reeds and sea-stones, fins and gills of an ocean Goddess, laid him upon the stone in the warmth of the light. She got on top of him, and he found himself amused that he was not aroused – for she felt cold like the ocean, he could almost taste the salt on her skin – for too him she was no longer human. The fox watched on impassively and in silence. The girl bent over to whisper in his ear, the blond hairs of her untouched youth brushing against his chest; “Like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.”

And with that he felt the blood curdled and boiled from his stomach, his guts spill over like they were trying to escape from the womb that was his ribs. He was bursting, but not screaming, the girl was red, he was red and the fox was black with white butterflies inside its cage. He was bleeding, but his blood/he felt his blood touch the earth as it trickled down the sides of the stone he laid upon/he felt the earth/really truly felt it/and he knew the fox/he knew the girl/he knew the girl more than he ever knew anyone else/and he wept and the tears touched the earth as well and he joined his ancestors that slept beneath Stonehenge/and the story continued.

And the moss began to grow.

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12 AP

Form Nexus {2 AP} - Stonehenge: The area 20 miles around Stonehenge is now basically another world - it is Arcadia. All traces of modern society are gone and it is just pastoral untouched fields of grass and moss, trees and clear waters. It is always twilight or dawn in this small area of the world now regardless of time. The people who lived in this area didn't notice the change, part of the magic of the sacrifice made them move out and abandon the area and their homes and never look back. The area is just filled with Noble Dears with great antlers, rabbits and other such animals. In the center at Stonehenge lives one of the Fair Folk and the rumors are that she will resurrect one person in exchange for one life. But they are only rumors. . .

AP 10

[Draken]

"It would be odd for this to come from the narrator, so lets get it out of the way already. I have been receiving a whole lot of prayer... Excuse me, of 'contact calls' from global authorities. It comes with being one of the few names out in the media. Ho ho."

The People's Republic of China - January 24, 2013.

A distinct group of men gathers before the inhuman form of Mereon, in the middle of discussions that Mereon knows he will have a few more times, but he likes talking.

All of this is conveniently translated to english because god of language.

Actually, lets just stick to Mereon's lines and leave the other side of the conversation implied.

...

"I shall refrain from taking sides in secular matters, gentlemen. And I suggest caution with those who will do so, for they shall have no side but their own."

...

"Why yes. I suppose I could provide my blessings upon the mortal people of this world in exchange for proper considerations, religion should never have stopped being but a contract between the mortal and the immortal."

...

"Yes. At its most basic we are vain creatures, we engorge ourselves on praise on awe, it is a delicious vice."

...

"Yes, I concur, humans are creatures of vice as well, and not the right ones, at that."

...

"Transhumanism is a bold proposition, mister chairman. But it is certainly a way to deal with your ideological problems."

...

"Mens sana in corpo sano doesn't have to mean the same if the body is distinctly inhuman."

...

"There are always disadvantages, mister chairman."

...

"Perhaps some form of beastmen."

...

"Correct, a mix of human and animal forms."

...

"Your people will be changed, my methods are beyond reproach. I would ask that those who do not change and their holdings not be counted as part of your nation, that is my price."

"How can we trust you to not double-deal us?"

"Doubt."

Their lack of faith weights down upon the shoulders of the assembled men, as Mereon finds the very implication of his dishonesty to be offensive.

"I am Mereon, Whose Writtings Usher Truth. My Word is Law and not easily broken."

The magic lifts, and with a bow, the assembled men accept Mereon's price.

"This covenant is settled. Now on to my work I go."

With that, Mereon vanishes from the assembly.

Outer atmosphere - Seconds later.

Mereon unfulrs a scroll of his choice, hovering just high enough to not be considered in orbit.

It shows a number of designs, a goatman, a centaur, a minotaur, a tigerman, none are to his liking at the moment. He needs something more... Distant.

He stops on a sketch between man and mantis... But it is a bit too extreme, needs to be toned down, a certain human kinship must be kept, and they certainly need to remain mammals... So Mereon takes a human design, he changes the face, specially the eyes, and adds a little something to the arms, an extra join just beneath the hand, with a useful bladed limb to go with it. Some carapace will go well with it all, and a change in leg structure is in order.

Mereon is happy with the body design, the mind is easy enough to reshape, certain instincts merely need accentuation, others need to be toned back down, some way back down.

Characters fly down all across the world, Mereon has a few things to rewrite, a few codes, a few events, so that the Mantise spread across the world, he turns every chinese, as the will of their representants doubles as the will of the people.

Don't look at me, that is how The Rules work, and Mereon is a god of rules.

Those who don't quite think these are their representants get excluded, by the Mereon's terms, a few territorial claims will have to be dropped, they were expected, when he named them, it is worth the cost. And going back on their words isn't, that is for sure.

And he makes an announcement, of course, can't have panic on the streets, such disorder is just not right, someone could get hurt.

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7 AP

1 AP: Alter Race - The Mantise: Mereon has changed the entirety of the chinese people into an actual variant race of humans. Prominent features including angular (nearly triangular) faces with mildly enlarged, faceted eyes, a soft carapace and an extension to the arms, like the distinctive claws of a mantis, entirely separate from the hand, somewhat like a built-in tonfa.

Mantise are quick and tough, and think a bit different form normal humans, they are more... Communal, lets say. It is not as easy for a Mantise to hide his nature as it is for a Fae, but they get the edge on a fistfight, two edges, in fact.

They remain essentially humans and are not invertebrates, interbreeding with common humans is possible and will result in fertile half-breeds that are essentially members of the race of one of the parents, Mereon is going to drive one or two geneticists nuts with that one.

Mereon wants to change more of the peoples of the world in such a fashion, not more mantise, of course, no point in repeating himself that way.

6 ap left.

[Elemental]

New York Public Library - Main Branch

"All those that are worthwhile."
The lion began to snore, dreaming of thousands of libraries being erased by the careless hands of another. Not just libraries, but millions of lives as well. Such negligence... Such heartless evil... Perhaps it was only a dream, but one could never tell until one awoke.
A wind began to blow through the room, sheets of paper being blown around and out of the window leaving only the lion asleep. He opened his eyes and sat looking at Elizabeth.
"You take liberties and seize rights that are not yours to meddle in. For what? A cause that is meaningless. It's very nature demands its own destruction."
He tilted his head slightly and gave a very cat like gaze.
"It intrigues us that you seek your own destruction. Why do you not shun this path and choose another?"
As the lion spoke, its shadow moved and formed into a man dressed in black clothes with silver embroidery, his hair prematurely turning silver. Then with one voice, they both spoke.
"We will trouble you no more this day. Do not attempt to follow us or interfere with us in future.
"Give the city its rest, or you doom yourself to the fate of its citizens."
A flash of blinding light, and they were both gone, the corrupt Gutenberg Bible left to burn on the table.


The King's Library Tower - British Library

The man appeared. He really needed a name for himself and that lion friend of his one of these days...
Anyway... This would be a more difficult task. Unlike New York, this library wasn't abandoned by violent poets, it was still staffed and had hundreds of visitors... Perhaps he could get permission from the Sovereign?


The Void of Space

The lion found itself floating in the interstellar void, surrounded by a cloud of vellum and paper sheets. The space between the stars was both dull and lacking in privacy. Why... In four-point-eight years, telescopes might catch a glimpse of him...

[Hank McBadass]

Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Vegas itself didn't actually burn, this is the 21st century after all, but the lack of lasting destruction belies the horror of that night. Ordinary people in extraordinary situations can in very unexpected ways. Often this manifests in acts of heroism in the face of unexpected danger. There was precious little of that in Vegas though.


Most people just turned off their minds and in panic. Caution and good sense were thrown to the wind as everyone tried to avoid the carnage. Hundreds were trampled and scores killed on the roads leaving the city.


Those that did think were worse. Rarely do the desperate and those without conscious have as much opportunity as during a panic. And everyone was desperate. What started with gang violence and social unrest quickly devolved into looting and the looting quickly devolved into more. It was as if the moral filters that were socialized into people just disappeared.


It was proper of course. First the government of Las Vegas had faltered and cracked and now the very society and its works followed course. People threw off the shackles that bound them and felt true freedom: the freedom to nothing and everything. As the sandstorm drew in the last fear fell away. There was nothing to lose! None of them would see the next morning anyway. The pure, electric joy in the air was only interrupted by screams of pain.


The Lady sat on the edge of the Bellagio fountains taking in the view. An explosion went off in the distance; a man held a woman down by the throat while his friend violently penetrated her, and continued holding her after she had stopped struggling and trying to breath; a mother found the crushed body of her son back at the exit from the casino; two lovers bolted their door and found peace in each others arms for one last night; a man leapt to his death rather than continue on. This was the world -- a cause, but no reason.


Sinatra's Luck Be a Lady started playing and the fountains danced along. "Miss … can you … help me? I can't find my mommy." A sobbing little girl approached her.


"Your mommy is not here, child. She must be dead. Looking will not help." The goddess responded.


"What? I don't want her to be dead . I want her back. " The child collapsed on the ground in tears.


"Well that wouldn't do much good. She'd probably just die again."


It was quite a shame to have such a beautiful place destroyed. But this was not just some human infection of the mind, it was divine action. The goddess really didn't really think it was worth fighting over. She'd ask about it at this meeting that the nerd had asked about. The Lady stood and began to walk away from the weeping child. The child let out a shout.


The Lady felt resistance, a mortal might have found it to be an immovable resistance but it just slightly threw her off balance. The child was looking up at her.


"I'm not going to let you go too. Mommy taught me magic!" said the girl.


The Lady let out a laugh. "Let me? You obviously don't know what I am, girl." The goddess walked over to her and stared into her eyes. "Let me show you." The Lady let her see the entirety and all the implications. It would drive her insane.


The girl just wiped her eyes. "I don't care. You will help me." She let out a word. The lady felt a slight pressure on her mind. The little tike not only wasn't fazed but was attempting to control her through that ridiculous word-magic. Priceless!


"You know what? I will help you. Take what you want, sweetie." The goddess walked up to the child and gave her a pat on her head. The child was gone. The goddess expanded her awareness to perceive all. "Oh wow! Wonderful!"


Amid the chaos of Vegas a lady in a green dress sang and danced like everything was right in the world, even as doom approached.

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I don't think there are any AP actions here. Just interacting with Sand's curse. The girl knows some naming magic but it was on the internet so I think it should be fair game.

Also:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZH21_YzuQ5s