The Stormcrow, A Superhero's Tale Options

[Acadian]

Kaelin’s teeth did their job and freed Bill from that spirit. Quite a fight after that to destroy the spirit though. Once again, teamwork for the win.

Now what to do with the flail itself? Gadget’s idea of launching it toward the sun is a good one, albeit rather logistically demanding. Bottom of the sea encased in concrete sounds like it will work also and seems well within the means of the Alliance of Mages.

I wonder if Kaelin’s furry form will wear off naturally in time for if some sort of acrcane intervention is required to undo the transformation. That’ll be handy to know since January’s identity-managing wheels are already turning.

[WellTemperedClavier]

Apologies for running a bit behind. Time to catch up.

Yeah, the old Monstrous Manual had a bunch of were-creatures, by my recollection (I actually do have it somewhere, but I don't want to dig it out right this moment).

Didn't know that about the symbol for Mercury. Interesting.

Interesting conundrum. They have to figure out who they can spare for this... and it looks like Kaelin up and volunteered.

Ha ha! Well it looks like Kaelin's personality is intact.

Magic having a life of its own feels real. We don't have much control over what we create, and we lose whatever control we have once we let it out.

I like the descriptions of the colors.

Okay, so Harper's Hand got Alsaahiq. That means it's neutralized? Guess we'll see.

Nope, there's still a link. Figured that'd be too easy.

Hmm, not much luck for Okami here. Try, try again (with a different tactic).

Ah, good thinking on Kaelin's part. Since there's already a connection between the hyena spirit and the weapon, that might be the opening they need. And it seems like it is!

All right, something big is coming up here.

Zerg Rushes can be pretty effective. But it does seem like that whatever this animating force is, it's quite powerful.

Hm, putting the Alsaahiq in a crate gives me definite Raiders of the Lost Ark, vibes. But it might work if they bury it deep enough.

Huh, this is an interesting idea January has. Though I have to wonder if it'd be as simple as she thinks...

[SubRosa]

Renee: It felt anticlimactic to just end it with putting Bill in the rune and severing the connection between him and the flail with a hyena bite. So I added in the fight with the Hyena Spirit afterward to spice things up.

The Technocrat - Janos Heisen - has been to other planets, like Jupiter. So theoretically he could drop it in the Sun. Though it is a big ask. The bottom of the sea is an easier do.


Acadian: As always, it is a group effort to find success, hyenas and all. Janos Heisen could theoretically take the flail to the Sun. But I do imagine that would still be quite the road trip, even for him. Calypso can drop it in some ocean trench much easier.

I don't see the potion lasting too long. I was thinking about an hour or so. In the next book I will address it after January puts her super doppleganger operation in action.


WellTemperedClavier: I remember the old Neverwinter Nights 1 game had were rats. It was good pick, as they were all pirates and gangsters.

I decided to have Okami try and fail to sever the link with his magic sword, in order to show that it really did require something as specific as the bone-crushing bite of a hyena to break the curse.

A warehouse filled with other magical artifacts would be a fun place to lose the cursed flail. Hide it amid thousands of other crates. I always loved the ending of Raiders of the Lost Ark because of that. They dug up the ark from a lost city, and then buried it again in a mountain of minutia in some bland warehouse.





The blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand


Book 11.36 - Raven Sisters

July 18th

January stood within the Raven's Nest. She was clad in her Stormcrow suit. The rest of the Alliance was there as well, also suited up. So too was Xochitl, who was back in civilian clothes once more. In this case a pair of strategically ripped jeans and a tee emblazoned with a giant sunflower. Finally Cray was there, in the flesh rather than a voice in their ears. While he too was clad in ordinary attire, he was the polar opposite of Xochitl. Instead the middle-aged man wore a pair of razor-creased slacks, a dress shirt and tie, and a thin sleeveless sweater.

Just a few days ago the penthouse had felt empty, thanks to the negative space left behind after Blood Raven's departure. Now things had changed. They all stood in the quadrant of the three story loft that lay before the freight elevator. To one side was an iron staircase that curled up into the floor high above. To the left lay Cray's computer domain, which hummed with electronics and glowed with numerous blinking lights. To the right the formerly empty space now boasted a pool table, a dart board on one wall, and a pair of arcade games. Several photos from various past missions graced the walls here, such as January and Blood Raven at Ferndale Pride. The entire space had yet to be fully reclaimed, but the new furnishings were definitely a start.

Straight ahead of them was the black marble block that took up the center of the entire penthouse. Set against it now was a tall display case. Ensconced within was the original Stormcrow armor made by Gadget. Beside it was a low, wide case. All of the Abyssal-detection poppets had been laid out within this. These had of course been collected by January, disenchanted, and rendered down to nothing more than keepsakes of their hunt for the Hierophant. Above this was a large team photo of the founding members of the Great Lakes Alliance: Blood Raven, January, Lighthammer, Blackhawk, Gadget, Ôkami, and Cray.

Cray himself stood in front of another case that sat in the center of the marble wall. It was slightly taller than he was. Its interior was filled with velvet padding, with the distinctive outline of a longsword sunk into it. Cray leaned forward and set the hilt of a sword into the depression made for it. Then he stepped back and swung the face of the glass case shut.

The shards of Y Ddraig Aur now stood within the tall, narrow cabinet. Its blade had broken into three pieces, with long segments at top and bottom, and a narrow band in the center. The steel was gleaming black in color, polished to a high sheen. At one time the double-edged blade had been emblazoned with golden runes. But now the metal lay bare.

January had only to glance behind her shoulder to see where those runes had gone. Through the windows that lined the Raven's Nest's walls she could clearly see Belle Isle. Even two miles distant there was no mistaking the great golden light that now shone there, in the form of a dragon.

Those golden runes had been the blood of a dragon. The sword had been forged with it. That blood had called the astonishing being across time and space and universes to Belle Isle. The memory of that blood still remained there on Belle Isle, a beacon for the entire world.

The sword no longer roared as it once did in astral space. That draconic presence was now gone, transplanted to the island miles away. Yet even broken, the weapon still emanated magical power. January could smell it, without even deliberately sensing into astral space. Unlike the poppets, its enchantments were evidently not so easily snuffed out. Even with the essence of the dragon removed from it, and the matrix of its creation shattered, it still remained potent and powerful.

January wondered if breaking the sword and removing its former enchantment had bestowed it with a new one? The Scripta Mortis had spoken of this. Most magic items were deliberately enchanted. They were forged by mages such as Blood Raven or herself, who poured their energy into them, set it into a specific pattern, and then willed it into permanence. But sometimes artifacts were associated with great events. They absorbed some of essence of those experiences, and took up a life of their own. They were enchanted by the emotions and wills of the people around them, even without anyone intending to do so.

"The blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand..." Gadget murmured. Along with the others, he stared at the shards of the once - and still - mighty sword. January wondered if like that fictional sword her best friend referred to, Y Ddraig Aur might also be someday reforged and placed into the hands of a hero. Perhaps not by an elven king, but by a witch queen instead?

Would that queen be Blood Raven? Or would it be January herself? Or might it be Xochitl? Only time would tell.

"So she really is gone then." Lighthammer said solemnly. "I mean Blood Raven. She really isn't coming back if she left this here."

"She was a real pain the ass," Blackhawk sighed. "But I'm still sad to see her go. It feels like some of the magic is gone from the world."

"We make our own magic now," Ôkami insisted. The certainty in his voice was absolute. "She showed us our power. Now we use it."

"Alliance!" January declared. She put her hand out toward the others, palm downward. Gadget was the first to respond, and reach out to place his hand over hers. All the while he echoed the word. Ôkami, joined him, and Lighthammer, and Blackhawk, and Cray, and finally Xochitl. In the end they all stacked their hands atop one another in the circle.

"Alliance!" they announced in unison.

"So do I get my own suit now?" Xochitl asked.

"No!" all the others answered, again in unison.

"When you're a legal adult, we'll talk about it," January breathed.

* * *

This is Gilda Gadfly of Worldwide Network News, and I am bringing you both an action update - and a super fashion alert - all in one. But who has had a glow up you ask? Well none other than our beloved Crowgirl and her pals from the Great Lakes Alliance. Yes, everyone's favorite Allies are now sporting a brand new logo.

If you look closely at the footage of today's dust-up with the heinous Hyenaman, you will note that gracing the left shoulder of each is now a golden dragon. Clearly this is an homage to the now world famous Detroit Dragon - Y Ddraig Aur. In an interview that Stormcrow gave with a local reporter, she explained that this is not their official team livery. Rather this is a show of solidarity with all the people from different walks of life who came together to defend the planet. In support of this Puerto Rican superheroine Viuda has also been recently spotted wearing the same logo. It remains to be seen if other capes will adopt the badge as well.

Of course we all saw this new fashion upgrade in the Allies' latest public outing - their second and final encounter with the new supervillain Hyenaman. As you may recall, their first battle with this Laughing Hyena was at the Big Tire, located near Detroit's Metro Airport. The crafty carnivore escaped that encounter as the heroes were obliged to save the landmark from destruction. This time however, the Allies were victorious, and were able to capture the horrific hyena in the middle of the Ann Arbor Art Fair.

They whisked the villain off to their secret headquarters, only to reappear a few hours later to give the full story to local news reporter Priya O'Neill. As it turns out, the Hyenaman was the victim of a magical curse, placed upon him by an enchanted flail known as Alsaahiq. This is what caused him to turn into the Hyenaman and go on his berserk rampages. I could not make this up myself folks. With the assistance of some magical super friends who wish to remain anonymous, the Allies were able to break the cruel curse, and free the man from the hyena.

Michigan Attorney General Dana Essen has announced that no charges will be pressed against the Hyenaman, and his identity is being kept under wraps. As I am sure we all know, this is in accordance with the Shepherd Act of 1925. It states that individuals cannot be held liable for actions taken while under meta-human influence. It's the same law that makes testimony compelled by meta-human power inadmissible in a court of law. It was of course named after a supervillain calling himself the Shepherd, who mind-controlled his victims into committing crimes and then perjuring themselves in court after being arrested.

In related news, there was no sign of Blood Raven during either this final battle with the Hyenaman, nor the original encounter days before at the Big Tire. In fact, she has not been seen in more than week. Her last public appearance was at the press conference that she, Stormcrow, and Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitaker gave after the Battle of Belle Isle. This has led some to speculate that the Raven may have retired, or at least taken a well-deserved vacation. If that is the case, then have a Mai-Tai on me Raven, you've certainly earned it!"

[Acadian]

A welcome respite from the recent combat escapades.

I’m glad you spent some time describing the changes made to the Alliance’s nest since Blood Raven’s departure. And with a circle of hands, all for one and one for all! But no capes for minors – Sigil will just have to be content with a cool callsign for now.

Gilda’s report was great. It is very clear that, even if she doesn’t realize it, Stormcrow is getting quite adept at actively shaping her public story instead of just leaving the media types to ignorantly try to fill in the gaps like they historically did with Blood Raven due to her eschewing them. They’re going to tell a story, so might as well have a hand in shaping it. A nice bit of depth and worldbuilding you worked in regarding the Shepherd Act of 1925.

[Renee]

Interesting that she's keeping the poppets. They make good references, I suppose.

The magic within the Flail is also similar to Y Ddraig Aur, in the sense that it's not possilbe to just make its spellbound essences go away.

Wow, listen to Blackhawk rant for a moment against her mentor! Even if it is true Raven is a pain.... that's pretty bold.

Xochtil wants a superhero suit!

The crafty carnivore escaped that encounter as the heroes were obliged to save the landmark from destruction. This time however, the Allies were victorious, and were able to capture the horrific hyena in the middle of the Ann Arbor Art Fair.

Notice that journalistic pattern: CC EE HH AAA. I forget what that's called, it's a certain type of literary device. Motel Money Murder Madness. Crafty Carnivore Escaped that Encouter... Horrific Hyena.... Maybe she's doing this subconsciously, or maybe she wrote it that way.

Then again, maybe I'm overthinking. But I notice patterns like this.

Ah, the Shepherd Act. So this alludes to all that legal-speak we were discussing a few chapters ago. Those under the influence of meta-fantastic influences aren't responsible for their actions, at least in this case. Looks like Billy might be off the hook, at least Criminally.

[SubRosa]

Acadian: The final scene in the Raven's Nest was a late entry. It was only after the entire book was finished I realized that I needed to start filling up that empty space left behind by Blood Raven's departure. That is what the entire book is about really. So I had to figure out how to do that, and I finally came upon the idea of using trophies, mementos, and the like. Team photos will be added soon as well, probably with one from the aftermath of every battle from now on. Given how the Allies tend to ally with others outside the official team, that will likely include a lot of others. I might go back and add some in now that I think about it.

Definitely no capes for minors! Child Soldiers is not the route anyone in the Allies wants to go down.

January is definitely stepping into the role of super influencer. Or at least making a conscious decision to shape the narrative. The media is going to become a battle ground in the future in fact.


Renee: The poppets are items of past quests. So they make good display pieces.

Blood Raven was never Blackhawk's mentor. Blackhawk is the Canadian super with magnetism/metal powers. She's not a magician.

Xochtil is kind of like Luz from the Owl House. Very quick to act, a little slower on thinking about what she is doing. Thankfully for her, she has a lot of other, old people around her to curb her reckless impulses, and give her a chance to just grow up.

I do have a specific pattern of speech that I go for with Gilda. I don't know if there is a name for it. It is just something I associate with tabloid reporting, with a desire to punch of everything to make it seem more lurid. So there is usually an adjective before every noun to pump it up, like a canny canine, or a heinous hyena. Gilda is not so much reporting the facts, as she is using them for entertainment.

The Shepherd Act was a law that I knew had to be around for a long time. I just never had the need or opportunity to include it directly until now. Given how mind control is a part of any super universe, it stands to reason that the law would have adjusted to account for that fact that people can be forced to commit crimes, and lie, and the like. Likewise, it also protects people from someone reading their minds and attempting to use that in court. Because a telepath might be lying about what they actually read in someone's mind.

So Bill is off the hook for criminal charges. He was quite literally not in control of himself when he was the Dogman/Hyenaman.









This Book's story was inspired by a real world Broken Arrow incident

B-52G Pic

Mk 39 Nuclear Bomb


B-52 interior walkthrough - starting at the bomb bay

Same video - starting at the cockpit's lower hatch


B-52 Cockpit layout




Book 12.1 - Broken Arrow

January 24th, 1961

Rook slid the Ravenwing behind the B-52. The bomber was gigantic compared to his tiny craft, especially since he currently had its stealth mode engaged. Normally the size of a small plane, now the corvid-shaped flier was the literal size of an ordinary bird. While it would be completely visible to the naked eye or electronics, it was naturally quite unlikely to elicit any undue attention. To the outside observer it was just a bird after all, the same as millions of others that filled the skies every day.

With just a thought Rook banked hard. That sent the Ravenwing into a loop up and over the tail of the massive bomber ahead. This avoided the quartet of machine guns that sprouted from the rear of the plane. Even though the crew was not likely to pay attention to him, there was no reason to tempt fate after all. With another telepathic command relayed from his command helmet to the ravencraft, Rook's vessel evened out its flight, and slid its belly down toward the top the bomber's fuselage.

It was all going according to plan. That ground crewman he had bribed at the Air Force base had been right on the numbers with the flight schedule of this particular plane - call sign Keep 19. Now here he was, just a few feet away from a pair of nuclear bombs, and his destiny. They were well-guarded back at the airbase, and everywhere else the military stored them. But they would never imagine anyone would be capable of stealing one in mid-air!

All he would have to deal with would be the flight crew. But they weren't real soldiers. Not like his father had been - God rest his soul. No, these were pilots, button-pushers and switch jockeys. Like those smug bastards with their clipboards and glasses who had declared him unfit for service.

Rook would show them who was fit. He had built the Ravenwing with his own two hands. Never mind that man who had provided the titanium and aircraft aluminum, and actually did all the cutting and welding. That was just to build the airframe. The real work had been the enchanting that he had done. His power, his will, bent to remake reality in his own image.

It had taken him years. Recovering the primordial air from the top of Pikes Peak had been an adventure all on its own. Not to mention the bank robberies he had to make to fund the physical construction. But after all the trials and tribulations with the neural interface and the shrinking system - especially the one that had left him stuck the size of a bird for an entire week - the actual enchantment of the craft had been easy.

Weaving the primordial air into the hull of the craft had gone exactly as the Scripta Mortis had explained. The same had been true of James Frazier's notes on using sympathetic magic to infuse it with the bones and feathers of living rooks. Well, crows too, and magpies, and even a few common ravens. There was no need be too picky when it came to corvids after all, they were all pretty much the same in the end.

It had taken him years, but the Ravenwing finally flew high in the sky. At 31,000 feet, it was higher than he had ever soared on his own, twice the height of Pikes Peak in fact. And at over 500 miles per hour, it was much faster than he could ever even think of doing by himself.

His creation was born from the sky. It was a literal part of it in fact, thanks to that primordial air. It was the very building block of the element of air, its very essence in purest form. It was no wonder that alchemists had sought after the primordial elements since time immemorial. He still could barely believe the power it had infused within his bird-shaped plane.

Rook pushed a thought to deploy the landing gear. The Ravenwing responded by lowering its two clawed bird's feet from the underside of the craft. He eased down closer and closer to the fuselage of the gigantic bomber underneath him. He was about to make contact, when he realized that he was still miniature sized.

That would not do. He would automatically return to full size once he exited the craft. But he was going to have to get those bombs into the cargo hold of the Ravenwing. That was not going to happen if it was the size of an ordinary corvid.

He concentrated on changing the size of the craft. He had manual controls. Straight ahead of him in the cockpit were the standard six pack of flight instruments, such as airspeed indicator, altimeter, and so on. One of his hands gripped the control stick that rose up from the floor between his feet. His other hand rested near the manual throttle knob on the left side of the cockpit. More switches and levers lay at either side of his pilot's seat, and along a panel over his head. But they were just a backup, in case something went wrong with the telepathic interface.

But so far, the mind meld he had created with his craft was flawless. He was the plane, and it was him. He could feel the air flowing across its wings, just as if he was standing outside himself. He could see from the plane's eyes, again just as if they were his own. The roar of the B-52's eight jet engines filled his ears, competing with the buffeting of the wind at this terrific speed.

The Ravenwing responded to his telepathic command and sprang up to full size. The wind rocked the expanding airframe, and Rook had to fight to keep his flight path steady. He nearly slammed into the fuselage of the bomber underneath him. But he was able to trim his flight just before a wingtip sliced through the metal roof of the B-52, and soon enough he had his full size plane once more in a steady flight path.

Even with the Ravenwing at full size, the bomber under him was still massive in comparison. The B-52's wingspan was nearly twice that of the Ravenwing, and its length was over three times that of the corvid-shaped craft. Rook could not even guess at the mass of the big BUFF, except to be sure that it easily dwarfed his own nimble ravencraft.

But he was the predator, the raptor in the skies. Keep 19 was nothing but lumbering prey. It was a sleeping elephant that was about to get a very rude awakening.

That came as the talons of the Ravenwing's feet dug into the roof of bomber's fuselage. The enchanted steel claws easily punctured the airframe of the mundane aircraft, and dug deeply into its skin. He could sense it through the neural network. He could feel the hull of the B-52 give beneath his great talons. He curled them inward in a vise-like grip, and locked the Ravenwing to the plane below. He could feel bursts of air jetting out of the cracks in the damaged fuselage, and flowing past his claws. But he paid that no mind. It was nothing compared to the turbulence that already hammered his plane.

Now he did turn his gaze to the manual controls that surrounded his one-man cockpit. To either side of his flight chair lay short rows of basic instruments. A handful of toggle switches bracketed each. He flipped a few. That locked the landing gear in place, and left the plane on a straight and steady course. Finally he hit a switch above, and heard the cargo bay door behind him slowly hum open.

Rook raised his hands and pushed the massive, corvid-shaped flight helmet up from his head. It slid up on the mount that connected it to the steel frame of his flight seat. Glossy black corvid feathers covered the now bared head-rest of the chair behind him, while leather padding sheathed the rest of the seat.

He slapped free the buckles that strapped him into the chair. Then he clambered to his feet, careful to avoid bumping his head against the flight helmet, which was now locked to the top of the chair. He stepped back, and squeezed between the two narrow seats that sat behind and to either side of the pilot's chair. Each of these hugged the walls of the fuselage, and left a narrow corridor free between them. Made for future passengers, they lacked the telepathic helmet and manual controls of the pilot's station.

Thankfully he had always been a slender man. So sliding out of the cockpit was really not that difficult. In a moment he stood at the base of the Ravenwing's head. A small round hatch led down through the hull below at his feet. A few feet beyond was a similar hatch, only this time in the ceiling overhead. Farther back in the aircraft lay the cargo bay.

The ravencraft widened out dramatically here, just as the body of a living bird would. Bare metal frames and stringers revealed the bones of the craft, as they encircled the fuselage from side to side and front to back. The floor however, was flat, but for a few inset depressions containing rings and brackets to tie down cargo. The space within was just large enough to fit a small truck, with room to spare on either side.

That should be plenty of room for the bombs. After all, how big could they be? He had never seen a nuclear bomb before. But if they could fit in planes, they couldn't be that big and heavy after all, right?

The walls of his craft were not bare. Nestled between the structural ribs were jump seats, a folding cot, and numerous lockers and storage containers. He had heard they were putting radar ovens in some ships now, for heating up food. Apparently they used microwaves. Maybe he would be able to steal one of those someday?

Wind filled the interior of the cargo bay. That forced him to take a moment to grab hold of one of the titanium stringers to hold himself steady. Several canvas straps and their attached buckles whipped past him. Before he could even think about it, they rocketed out the back of the open cargo hatch at the rear of the Ravenwing, and vanished into the sky.

Damn it! Rook silently cursed. He had been planning on using those to tie down the bombs. He fumed for several long moments. Then he pushed on. He would just have to improvise. After all, no plan survived contact with the enemy. That was what his father had always said after all.

He would know, given how he had died.

Rook took a moment to check his suit, and make sure his helmet was firmly set around his head. This was not the flying helmet built into the Ravenwing. This was the smaller, form-fitting headgear that he wore with the Rook suit he had enchanted. It covered his face and protected his identity. But right now - and more importantly - its enchantments provided him with a never-ending supply of air to breathe, even at this high altitude.

The black fabric was interspersed with leather padding, and real rook feathers fringed his neck and were sewn into the wing-shaped cape that hung down his back. Well, normally the cape hung there. Now the wind inside the cargo bay whipped it around his torso, and threatened to pin his arms to his chest.

Not that he needed wings to fly. He could do that with magic. But sometimes you just had to look the part. He was the Rook after all, master of the air, and greatest supervillain of all time. Or at least that was what everyone would say after he pulled off this heist.

Two nuclear bombs, that would make him famous. He didn't even know who he would sell them to. The Chinese? Israel? India? It did not really matter in the end. The money would make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But more importantly, he would go down in history as the man who seized two hydrogen bombs in mid-air.

He walked carefully down the length of the cargo bay. The metal ramp had swung down to meet the fuselage of the B-52 below. Above him stretched out the tail section of the Ravenwing, too small to contain anything but some basic control systems and a pair of small storage tanks for drinking water.

He clambered down the ramp and into the open air. He did not fly. He had a suspicion that hitting the air at this speed might just fling him right off the plane. Instead he willed his feet to lock to the metal skin the airplane under him. His magic flowed through his body, and made his desire reality. Now no matter how forcefully the wind plucked at him, he remained firmly set upon the plane.

He took a few steps along the fuselage. Once good and clear of the Ravenwing's cargo hatch he called up the magic he had invested within his suit. This time it manifested as a single, long claw that stretched out from his forearm. It was black as onyx, and its serrated edge gleamed in the sunlight. He dropped to one knee, and plunged the arcane weapon into the roof of the B-52.

Metal screamed in torment, and the enchanted sword sliced it in twain as easily as a hot knife through butter. He sawed through the skin of the massive airplane, and created a long cut across the fuselage. Then he turned the blade, and hacked out another long slash. Twice more he cut through the hull, continuing back the way he had started, and finally across the width of the craft once more.

Finally a large, rectangle of metal peeled free of the fuselage. Rook had to dodge aside to avoid being struck by the door-sized hunk of plane. It went pin-wheeling away through the air, only to clip the high vertical stabilizer of the B-52 an instant later. Metal disintegrated under the hurtling plate of debris, and the entire tail fin was sheared off in an instant. The hull plate went flying on and vanished into the sky, taking with it the entirety of the vertical stabilizer and rudder of the massive airplane. Left in its wake was nothing but a jagged stump, which revealed the frames and stingers that poked up from the damaged skin of the craft like broken bones.

The B-52 lurched beneath Rook. Only the magic that locked his feet to the fuselage kept him from being thrown off the plane and out into the open sky. He rocked there as the wind buffeted him, and the bomber began to roll to one side. Then something bright and shiny came flying out of the hole he had just created. He recognized it as a clipboard as it struck him in the face with the force of a charging rhinoceros.

Stars filled his eyes, and the world spun around him. He shook his head in an effort to regain his bearings. Soon the world began to come back into focus, and he realized that the B-52 had evened out from its roll. But now it gradually pitched downward as it dropped to a lower altitude. Whether that was intentional, or because it was slowly crashing, Rook could not guess.

His head throbbed from the force of that clipboard. It felt like Mickey Mantle had hit a home run right into his face. But he did not have time to think about that. He had to move. He leaned down and dropped through the hole he had created within the B-52. Once inside, the gale-force winds that had constantly buffeted him above vanished. Now it was merely a roar in his ears that emanated from the hole overhead, that fought with the noise of the eight jet engines nearby to block out all other sound.

He was on a narrow catwalk that stretched along the right side of the fuselage. It ran back toward the stern of the plane. There the compartment he was in ended at a bulkhead, with a yellow hatch that lead into the now broken tail section of the plane. At the other end of the bomb bay the catwalk likewise ended at another bulkhead, with a similar door that lead forward to the cockpit.

Rook ignored all that, for immediately beside him hung his prizes. Two massive bombs were slung there in the belly of the airplane. His eyes goggled at the size of the things. Over ten feet long apiece, and about three feet around, each bomb was a plain cylinder with a rounded nose. Four short tail fins sprouted from their widened rears, seemingly too small to be of much use. Each bomb was painted olive green, with several lines of writing in bright yellow paint near the nose that listed out their specs. The part that said Mark 39 was the only thing that made any sense to Rook. The rest was all just gibberish to him.

How was he going to get these up into the Ravenwing? Cutting them free from their bomb cradles would be simple. His claw would handle that. But they were far, far larger than he had expected. They had to weigh tons, literal tons, not figurative ones. Even with magic, he could never lift that much.

Maybe he could rig up a winch to pull them up one at a time? He stared up at the hole he had created in the fuselage overhead. He would have to make that a lot bigger as well.

That was when the forward hatch swung open. If it had made any sound, Rook could not hear it over the roar of the wind overhead. A man wearing a flight suit came into the bomb bay, with the name "McCown" stenciled over one breast. He was young, probably Rook's own age. A flight helmet covered his head, with the visor pushed up to reveal his dark eyes. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose, with a hose that led to a metal bottle that was slung at his waist.

The crewman's eyes boggled at the sight of Rook. It was the same as when he had robbed those banks. People saw the suit, and it terrified them. They knew that they were dealing with a real live super, not just some ordinary thief. That was all it ever took for them to fold up and do whatever he wanted.

This man - named McCown apparently - was no different. He took one look at Rook and turned around to flee through the hatch. Without thinking Rook went after him, and plunged into the compartment beyond. But McCown was too quick, and Rook found himself bogged down in the tunnel that led past the now-retracted landing gear of the B-52. Hoses, pipes, conduits, and all manner of components protruded out into the passageway, making it a tight fit. Even worse was the searing heat. Even though they were insulated, the thick pipes that ran about the space radiated scorching temperatures, and turned the entire chamber into a blast furnace.

But he got through it, even if not as adeptly as the bomber crewman had. Once he was past it he leaped out into a small compartment. A square hatch was set in the floor at his feet, and Rook guessed that was the normal way into and out of the aircraft. To one side was a plastic cup stuck into a pipe that ran down the side of the fuselage, and it took a moment for him to realize that this was an ersatz urinal. Behind it was a metal ladder that led up to another level of the crew compartment overhead.

Beyond the ladder a pair of ejection seats faced away from him, toward the nose of the B-52. They sat before a confusing array of control panels that ran clear across the compartment from one side to the other, from the ceiling to waist level. Rook had no idea what all the screens, dials, switches, and readouts were for. But they certainly looked complicated.

Two more crewmen rose from those chairs as Rook entered. They each had .38 revolvers in their hands. They looked like the ones the cops who had pursued him after his bank robberies had carried. They may have even been the exact same model for all that Rook knew. He had never really cared much for guns. He was a mage after all, and above such mundane contrivances.

McCown - the first one he had seen - stopped at the ladder going up and also produced a sidearm. He was shouting something through the open hatch to the compartment above. But Rook could not make out the words. His ears were filled with the rushing of his own blood, and the pounding of his own heart, much less the all-pervasive drone of the plane's eight massive jet engines.

Then McCown awkwardly jerked his gun forward. Rook acted on reflex, and threw out his left hand. From it an arcane shield sprang in front of him. It was an oval disc that covered him from head to toe, and gently curved back toward his sides. The gun sounded like thunder in the confined space. But the golden light of the arcane shield stopped the bullet with no difficulty.

Rook felt it impact the shield, and send a shiver through his hand. He heard the bullet ricochet off the barrier, and an instant later one of the crewmen from the two electronics stations clutched at his chest. Blood sprouted from where his fingers splayed against his flight suit, and he lurched forward.

That sent him directly into McCown's back. The force of his body pushed the airman off balance and sent him forward as well. It was like a bizarre game of dominoes. McCown fell directly onto Rook, and the supervillain had to brace himself to avoid likewise falling back from the impact of the airman's body.

He felt something hot and wet on his right hand. He looked down and saw that his sword had buried itself in McCown's belly. Blood now gushed down the length of the claw, and washed over Rook's hand and forearm. He stared down in horror. It was so incredibly bright, and red, and hot.

Rook heard screaming as McCown fell to the floor, hands clutched about his stomach. Rook was not sure which one of them was making the sound. The act of falling down pulled the claw from the crewman's body. More blood erupted from the now-opened wound. It washed the deck now, and splashed Rook's legs crimson.

Rook stared in horror at the sight. He had not meant to do that. He had not come here to kill anyone. They were supposed to run away, and do what he said. Why were they fighting back? They weren't supposed to do that. Didn't they know? He had never killed anyone. He had never even stabbed anyone with the claw before. It was for cutting through walls and vault doors and the like. Not people.

But here he was, two men writhing on the floor, covered in blood. It wasn't his fault! None of this was his fault!

* * *

[Acadian]

I think Renee may have been referring to alliteration, where one intentionally runs words together that begin with the same letter like canny canine, heinous hyena, Gilda Gadfly or blond Bravilian bowgirl (hee!). And it does seem Gilda tries to incorporate quite a bit of that.

*

Alternate history! This Rook supervillain certainly has some magical talent, but his intended heist exceeds his ability to both plan and execute. Admittedly his concept is stunningly ambitious. Much more research and preparation may have improved his chances but it certainly seems like this is not going to turn out well for anyone.

You’ve shown us a great deal about this Rook fellow while moving his action sequence along at a good clip. Nicely done!

[Renee]

I see Xochtil as pretty balanced in this way: probably an introvert in school where maybe some students don't 'get' her because she's "that weirdo". Maybe she gets teased. BUT... she's also more extroverted when she's around those she trusts. So she's very eager to do stuff, but also maybe too impulsive sometimes. But overall, I'm trying to imagine how her life would've been if she hadn't met the capes. Like, maybe sort of lost. She's got this talent, but wouldn't know what to do with it 100%.

There is a name for whatever that is with the repeating-pattern words; I remember studying it in English class. Maybe it's a poetry thing, I dunno.

Acadian says alliteration.

alliteration
[ uh-lit-uh-rey-shuhn ]SHOW IPA

noun
the commencement of two or more stressed syllables of a word group either with the same consonant sound or sound group (consonantal alliteration ), as in from stem to stern,

Yeah that sounds about right. Does Gilda write her own reports? Or does somebody else?

-------------------------

Rook is controlling an invisible plane with his thoughts??? Crazyness. I bet that takes a lot of discipline. You know, think the wrong thought, like a fear which crosses anyone's mind just occurs to Rook (what really happened to Amelia Earheart?), and then the plane would be doing something he doesn't want. Or... maybe it's got software to ignore such thoughts.

That's something to think about though. With voice-activated devices, we have to be pretty deliberate about what we say to make the device follow our commands. But our actual thoughts are all over the place. You'd be considering everything you want the plane to do but ALSO the pilot would have to consider what could go wrong. How would the plane know the difference?

Alright, I see. Not software, but magic. Still, though. The mental landscape is quite a tumultuous one. Even going to the store in a car, it might cross a driver's mind how she would just love to smash into the driver in front of her (who just cut her off without a blinker). This doesn't happen of course, but what I'm saying is what if we had to not think about such things, otherwise they'd occur?

Ah, he's stealing a bomb. Wicked. This Book is already quite different from the others in a way.

Wait, he shrunk himself? What the.. Ah ha. He seems to be a Master at Alteration.

This guy Rook comes across as diabolical. So EVIL he's almost a charicature. Wouldn't surprise me if he laughs like Muu-huu-ha ha ha ha!!!

But he was the predator, the raptor in the skies. Keep 19 was nothing but lumbering prey. It was a sleeping elephant that was about to get a very rude awakening.

My gosh, the arrogance! ... It is pretty cool how he feels everything the plane does, though. 🦅

But sometimes you just had to look the part. He was the Rook after all, master of the air, and greatest supervillain of all time.

Omg, really dude?

He's doing this for money, yet he hasn't got a buyer yet. He's doing this for fame, which he assumes will come to him. I have a feeling about this guy Rook. Like he's ultimately another Hierophant. Very talented, sure, yet doom to fail in the end because he's too blinded by his ambitions. I dunno. Just a feeling. It's obvious he hasn't really thought this through. There's a lot of assumptions going on.

Whoa, he's walking on the plane. This is like that Twilight Zone episode. That passenger kept swearing somebody was out there walking on the plane's wing as the plane was flying.

Uh oh. Did he just break the plane?

These bombs are much heavier than expected. Sounds like Rook didn't do any research.

Really fascinating, the way you describe the interior of the B52. It's like you've been inside of one, Florens. That story's also fascinating.

Rook stared in horror at the sight. He had not meant to do that. He had not come here to kill anyone. They were supposed to run away, and do what he said. Why were they fighting back?

Well, duh, they're military! Of course they're gonna at least try to fight back. This ain't no bank robbery.

So it seems like Rook is sort of naive. His entire idea concerning military grunts (whatever the non-soldiers are called) is what his father told him. "They're all a bunch of pussies, those involved in flight personnel..." // So this is what he expects.

SubRosa this chapter's got me hooked. Love the cliffhanger at the end. Now... time to find out what happened with Jeval and Treads.

This post has been edited by Renee: Nov 26 2023, 07:39 PM

[SubRosa]

Acadian: Rook is one of those people I am seeing a lot of as I dig more into both history and current events. He is good at one thing, and that makes him think he is good at everything. That leads him to interject himself into situations that he is completely unsuited and unprepared for, with predictably disastrous results. Since he was good at that one thing, it means he has the resources to make that disaster really spectacular as well. Where someone who never had that initial success would never be in the position to really screw things up in a bigger fashion later.

Rook gets very little screen time in the book overall. In fact, today's episode will be pretty much the end of him (in more ways that one). So I needed to convey the contents of his character in little pieces, even as the story progressed around him. I am glad it worked out.


Renee: Xochtil is definitely that weirdo at school. She's a Mexican-American trans kid. So right off the bat she's got a lot of hurdles. I have not spent a lot of time developing her off-screen time. But your impression does sound very likely. Meeting Blood Raven and Stormcrow and being initiated into the Sisterhood of the Traveling Raven has certainly done wonders to her self-esteem, and probably given her a lot more confidence than she would have in other circumstances. So around the heroes she is a lot more active and outgoing than she would be at school or home.

Gilda definitely writes her own material. Though I imagine she does a lot of it off the cuff. She has a real talk radio, "Fuck it we'll do it live!" energy to her. Though without all the anger and toxicity of the guy who made that quote famous.

I know what you mean about the telepathic interface and the danger of mis-controlling it with errant thoughts. But the link is deeper than that. He is completely linked with the plane, so controlling it is the same as us controlling our bodies. We might consciously think "time to get up off the couch and go to the kitchen". But that does not make our bodies get up and do that. It takes more. He has the same control over the plane, as he does over the movements of his body. It is a common trope in cyberpunk and some sci-fi: a Rigger jacking into a vehicle and directly connecting their nervous system to it, making it a literal extension of their physical body.

I think you have the right feeling. As you noted, Rook is really full of himself. Big on ideas, short on actual prep or effort to make those ideas reality.

Those links I posted in the last and today's episode are for video walkthroughs of B-52s. So you can see exactly what they look like inside. I did a whole lot of research like that to get the details of the plane right. Thankfully we also know someone who used to drive a jet plane for the Marine Corps, who had some wisdom to impart as well...




B-52 Cockpit layout again

More than you ever wanted to know about B-52s

A video walkthrough of an active service B-52


Book 12.2 - Broken Arrow

Major Doug Aitken was enjoying the long flight over the Atlantic. This was the best part of the mission. They were up at altitude, free of the coast below, and out over the open sea. There was nothing and no one around. All he had to do was keep an eye on his gauges, and enjoy the sensation of hurtling through space at five hundred miles an hour, free as a bird.

He had a long flight ahead of him. These airborne alert missions could last a full day in the air. His own flight would take him up the eastern shores of the US and Canada to the northernmost tip of Greenland. Then he would spend the next eight hours orbiting between that frozen island and Alaska. Once the next flight was up to replace him, he would head down to Alaska and the Bering Sea. From there he would pivot back to leg it down the western coast of North America. Finally he would return home to North Carolina. It was a grand tour of nearly the entire continent.

The reason for these missions was simple enough. If the Reds tried to make a sneak attack like the one on Pearl Harbor, he and his plane would be ready immediately to go in and bomb them into radioactive dust. Aitken had no idea what his actual target would be: Moscow, Leningrad, or some other city or base. He would only find out if and when he received the signal to attack and opened his sealed orders. He hoped he would never have to do that. But he was ready to if need be. That was what he had signed up for.

Most people found the flights boring. Twenty four hours in a cramped cockpit was not exactly a vacation. At least they had an oven. Granted, it only heated food to two temperatures: ice cold and burnt. But it was better than cold sandwiches. McCown was getting good at heating up cubes of steak in a cup. It may not have won three Michelin Stars. But then again, sitting in your ejection seat at 31,000 feet and eating steak off of your clipboard was not an experience most people would ever be able to brag about later in life.

Crapping into a plastic bag in a box was less enjoyable of course, or peeing into the cup in the wall that acted as a urinal down in the lower compartment. But camping meant roughing it. Being in a B-52 was just camping the sky. With bombs; big, big, bombs.

This early on he was not close to getting tired and needing to sack out on the single bunk that ran along the side of the fuselage directly behind his seat. Nor was he hungry enough to try McCown's fried chicken ala B-52, or steak bombador, nor would he need to use the facilities until hours after that. They would not have to refuel any time soon, nor worry about other mission details. This was the best time. He could just enjoy flying for its own sake.

He was snapped out of his reverie when the entire plane shook. At the same time the sound of a loud bang or clang rang out over the omnipresent noise of the jet engines. He distinctly heard metal tear, and glanced quickly around him. But he saw nothing amiss in the cockpit. With one hand clenched tightly on the control column, he used the other to snap his oxygen mask over his lower face. Then his eyes turned to his gauges. But everything checked out, until a beeping filled his ears and a flashing red light drew his eye.

"Loss of cabin pressure warning!" Aitken barked out over the intercom. "Everyone on oxygen."

His co-pilot - Diego Garcia - had already donned his mask. He was now likewise checking over the readouts. The kid had good instincts. He'd be an aircraft commander one day himself, given time.

"EWO, what's our status?" Aitken called out. Now his eyes scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of what had just happened.

"No radiation painting us sir," Irbey Terrel called out over the internal comms. "There is nothing on my scopes, we are not being targeted."

"Navigator, report," Aitken asked next, moving through his crew positions.

"Nothing on radar," Paul Grubb responded. "We are the only thing in the air for a hundred miles in every direction.

"What the hell is that?" Harry McCown cried out. Normally his tail gunner was unflappable, even as airmen went. But there was no mistaking the distress in the young man's voice. "Erm, something has penetrated the hull, directly above my station. It's metal, like a spike, or a claw. It's stuck right through the skin. It looks like... like it's hooked onto the airframe."

"What?" Aitken could not believe his ears. Had they collided with another plane? If so, why hadn't it been on radar? He twisted in his seat and stared back down the tunnel to the rear of the compartment. At its far end he could see exactly what his gunner had described.

Several fingers of thick, black steel had had thrust clear though the the ceiling on both sides of the plane. One set came down above the tail gunner's seat, the other over the EWO beside him. The digits of each set came from front and back, and hooked around the structural crossbeams of the airframe between them. It gave Aitken the distinct impression that the talons of a giant bird had locked onto the top of his plane. But that was ridiculous.

Aitken turned back to his controls. "Making descent to 8,000 feet," he said with a calmness that he did not truly possess. He did not know what was happening. But he knew what to do in case of cabin depressurization. He had to get the plane to a lower altitude, where pressurization would not be an issue. He knew that no one was going to get sucked out of a window. That only happened in bad movies. But it would be wise to get to an altitude where they would not require oxygen, before anything else went wrong.

"Garcia, radio base and tell them what's happening." Aitken said to his co-pilot. Then he addressed the tail gunner, who otherwise had little to do. "McCown, go back to the bomb bay and check the hull for damage."

Garcia did not respond. He just did his job, and began contacting Seymour Johnson Air Force Base. McCown acknowledged his orders, and Aitken did not have to look back to know that the man was putting on his portable oxygen mask and getting ready to leave his seat.

Aitken stared up through the windows directly over his ejection chair. Normally they were used to assist with mid-air refueling. They gave a good view straight up. But the sky above was now covered over by a blank sea of gray. They were descending through a cloud bank, and from its doomful appearance, it looked ready to dump a ton of snow onto the North Atlantic below. Aitken craned his head back, and tried to look behind them. But his position in the seat, and the narrowness of the window, were not doing him any favors.

Even still, he thought he saw something black there. It almost looked like a beak. But that was impossible. He knew that some birds could indeed fly this high. But this one would have to be the size of a small plane, given what he had seen. That was impossible. Maybe it was a jet intake?

"There's something on top of the fuselage," Aitken said over the intercom. "I can't make it out. It might be an aircraft."

"Navigator, I need a heading for the nearest base," Aitken then said firmly. "I am calling it. We are making an emergency landing."

* * *

Rook stood there and stared as the final man in the lower compartment rushed for the ladder. He idly noted the name "Grubb" stenciled on his uniform, and wished he hadn't. That was McCown lying on the floor, clutching at his stomach and bleeding to death. It was Lacklan who had been shot by the ricochet, and now lay quiet next to him.

God, they all had names. They were all people. This was not how it was supposed to work.

Rook was shaken out of his stupor when Grubb's feet disappeared over his head. He saw the hatch drop down above. Some reflex triggered within him, and he took off in pursuit without a thought. He scrambled for the ladder, but the steel hatch clanged down overhead. He reached up with one hand and pushed, but it would not give. They must have secured it somehow.

Well, he could fix that. He thrust upward with the claw. Two feet of enchanted weapon sliced through the steel hatch and floor as easily as it had through the B-52's outer hull. He heard a scream from above, and once again the sword blade came back slick with blood. Rook did not think about that however. He was acting purely on automatic now. He hacked again and again, and severed the hatch from whatever locking mechanism had secured it down. Then he pushed up hard, and the entire thing went flying into the cabin above.

Rook sprang up after it, faster than he had ever moved in his life. He saw a man with the name Terrel fall back against the fuselage directly ahead of him. That would place him on the right side of the plane. His nose was mashed to a pulp, and his face was a mask of blood. The severed hatch lay on the floor at his feet, splashed with more blood. A revolver lay next to it.

The man he had pursued up from below - Grubb - lay sprawled between two ejection seats to Rook's right. That was in the rear of the compartment, facing the tail of the plane. The entire bulkhead there was covered with screens, scopes, and other electronics. Rook could not imagine why they would need so much of the stuff. Whatever did they use it all for?

To Rook's left was a narrow tunnel. A bed was built into the components on the left side, and a bank of instruments hung over it. The right side of the tunnel was likewise lined with circuit breakers, other electronics, and small compartments. A low white box was built into the floor there, with an axe strapped to one side.

At the far end of the tunnel lay the cockpit proper. The pilot remained in his seat there, and Rook felt the plane lurch as he angled the aircraft down even more sharply. The co-pilot was on his feet however. A portable oxygen mask was strapped to his face, connected to a bottle of air slung at his hip. Rook noted that he was Garcia, thanks to his nametag. He held a revolver in his hand.

The man with the injured legs - Grubb - reached back between the two crew stations there and pulled out a fire extinguisher. He pointed it at Rook, who reacted by throwing out his left hand and creating his arcane shield once more. A torrent of foam sprayed out an instant later, and slathered all over the face of the magical barrier.

The man with the broken nose - Terrel - now leaned down and grabbed the emergency axe. It was not as big as a fireman's axe. It was shorter - like a hatchet - and so was easily used with one hand. The airman brought it down at Rook's head, and he was obliged to swing his arcane shield over to block the attack. It bounced off as easily as the bullet had earlier. But Rook had to balance himself carefully to avoid falling back down the open hatch to the compartment below.

Then the deafening roar of a gunshot filled the small space. Rook winced as he felt someone punch him hard in the back. He twisted around to see Garcia standing closer, almost touching him. The airman had stuck his gun out to the side, far enough to get it around Rook's arcane shield. It was now pointed at his bare side and back.

Rook once again reacted without thinking. He brought his right hand around, across his body. With the claw still protruding from his forearm, he nearly took off his other hand, which still projected the shield. His anger became manifest, and blossomed in the form of an arcane bolt. It flared to life from his palm in a burst of golden light. The bolt of magical energy struck Garcia right in the chest, and burned a wide hole straight through the man's body.

It kept going, and lanced clear through the instrument panel that hung over the bunk. It exited that to slam into the rear of the pilot's ejection seat. It burned on through the man's chest an instant later. The control panel in front of the pilot was next in its path, and simply disintegrated under the blow. That left a gaping hole right through the nose of the plane, through which ice cold air now jetted into the cabin.

The dead pilot hunched forward onto what remained of his controls. With that the entire plane lurched over, nose straight down. Rook and the others - living, wounded, and dead - fell from their feet. But they did not topple down to the floor. Instead they all simply floated free, suddenly weightless.

Rook stared in horror as the gray of the clouds through the canopy transformed into a deeper blue of the sea. The waves were so dark they were almost gray as they filled the entire view out of the cockpit window. They were capped with high peaks of white froth, and looked cold and angry, as only the North Atlantic could be in winter. Worse, they grew larger and larger by the second, as the bomber plunged toward its doom.

He knew that he had only moments left. He had to get out somehow, and get back to the Ravenwing. He had to get it airborne, and fly away before it was too late. He called upon the magic he had woven into his suit, and used it to propel him through the air. He used it to fly down to the hatch at his feet. He had begun to slide through it when he glanced up.

It was just in time to see the nose of the B-52 slam into the frozen waters of the Atlantic.

How had this all gone so wrong?

* * *

[Acadian]

What a captivating drama as this scene unfolded – getting worse and worse each moment. We kind of knew from history that this B-52 was ultimately on its last mission. Though I have no direct experience in a B-52, this sure comes across as realistic for what I’d expect under the circumstances in a large multicrew military aircraft. You really did some good research, then clearly thought a lot about how the crew would try to react to this midair intrusion. The only scintilla of good news here is that it seems Rook did not escape – good riddance! Not that there would be any survivors from this type of mishap but kudos for mentioning how deadly the north Atlantic in winter can be for those who unexpectedly find themselves immersed in it. A fear that lives in the back of every aircraft carrier pilot’s mind.

[Renee]

I was also in that 'weirdo' group in high school myself, big surprise. It's how I got into the roleplaying games, which by golly, now I felt much more at home. Would've been great to have Xochtil join us around the table.

Right, some journalists merely read the teleprompter, reading whatever was pre-written. Maybe Gilda does this too, but it's good to know she's also writing her own material. Her words are way snazzy, too. It'd be hard to find a writer who writes in that exact style of presentation she expects.

Ah, I see now (in regards to how the mental part of the Ravenwing works).

That's right! Someone in our midst actually was in the Armed Forces! 🧑‍✈ Actually, Decrepit was also, although I think D was infintry, not airborne.

-----------------------------------

It's sort of scary to think: auto-pilot. But then, from what I understand, most of the time those larger birds are flying they're on auto-pilot.

Yikes, no bathroom? Hmm, I suppose he can't just walk away from the cockpit.

Uh oh, here comes Rook. Excuse me, The Rook. Wouldn't want to do the antihero's ego some displeasure!

Seems The Rook is learning all sorts of things today. Not just about himself as a profound villain, but also about himself and how he relates to other humankind. He's upset that things aren't going his way, but (oddly) did not want to cause anyone harm. Which is rather interesting. The guy's got feelings.

Eesh. He's killing the entire crew. Pretty soon there'll be no one to fly the plane; I doubt Rook knows how to do so. So it'll crash and there'll be a huge, HUGE explosion. Heh, yup.

Come on, man. What was you thinking?

This post has been edited by Renee: Dec 2 2023, 10:14 PM

[WellTemperedClavier]

Sorry I've been out for a while. My schedule's changed up a lot, but I'm going to try and stay active.

It looks like they're getting quite the nice collection at the Raven's Nest.

Good thoughts on Blood Raven here. Though she is gone, the alliance can indeed make magic of its own.

Hm, now for some attention from Gilda. Media attention can be a mixed bag, but it does show the Alliance has come into its own. And I'm glad there won't be any repercussions for the former Hyenaman. It really wasn't his fault.

Ooh, interesting. A flashback!

Okay, so is Rook new? Or was he featured earlier? Sorry if I'm forgetting something obvious. Though I know rook is also a type of bird related to crows/ravens, which tells me he's connected to January in some way.

Interesting. I'm guessing Rook is in the Air Force or some other government branch. I was going to bring up Operation Chrome Dome, but the next chapter makes it very clear you already know all about that.

Ah, never mind, he's not with the AF at all. And I'm not sure what he has planned, but it sounds a little shady.

Primordial air. I'm pretty sure I picked up some of that back in my WoW days. But it's quite an accomplishment for Rook to have (seemingly) done all this on his own.

There's a lot of tension building up here. I don't think Rook's a good guy.

Weirdly, I"m getting a slightly Rorschach vibe from Rook. Might just be because Rorschach idolized the man whom he imagined his father was.

Good old nuclear proliferation.

Oof, I can't imagine the plane would stay airborne after that damage.

I like the Micky Mantle reference. Grounds it in the '60s.

These crewmen are badly outmatched. Random thought: did you ever play Clive Barker's Undying? Rook's shield spell reminded me of it.

Hm, sounds like Rook's run into a hard law of reality. Even if you don't want to hurt anyone, breaking and entering (especially into something like a B-52) makes it very likely that you will. He seems pretty naive in this respect.

And now we switch to one of the crew.

A lot of details on Aitken's routine here, which I like. I've only ever stepped into a B-17, but even though a B-52 is bigger, I imagine it's much the same: cramped and claustrophobic. Being stuck in there for hours at a time doesn't sound fun. But pilots tend to be really into their jobs, so Aitken's okay with it.

Ah, so the crew did notice. I figured they would have to, given all the noise.

Aitken's a good pilot. Not panicking, acting on training.

Back to Rook. Interesting contrast between him and Aitken. Aitken's cool and collected, while Rook, for all his preparations, is flailing. Now he's killed another person in his panic.

Yeah, Rook really didn't know what he was getting into. Understanding the tech and the procedure is only part of training. There's also the psychological aspect, which he didn't seem to be aware of (though I guess robbing banks is one way to work yourself up).

Interesting flashback here. Rook's intriguing. I'm guessing retrieving the bomber from the Atlantic is going to tie into the present day story. Wonder if Rook's still alive somehow...

[SubRosa]

Acadian: The links I provided were just the tip of the iceberg of my research for the B-52 and its crew. All the airmen's names are of RL B-52 crew members. Things like the oven heating food to ice cold or burnt, or heating cubes of steak in a cup and eating it off your clipboard at your station - all that is from statements by B-52 crew.

The concept of things going from bad to worse to disastrous was my intent as I wrote it. I wanted to show a situation that went totally out of anyone's control, until it was a total catastrophe.

Rook definitely did not escape. We will eventually circle back to him and Keep 19 near the end of the book, when the story finally reaches their final resting place.

I kind of forgot about the North Atlantic in winter until my final edits, when I glanced back at the date and realized it was January. I think I first learned about North Atlantic winters watching old WW2 documentaries about the Battle of the Atlantic. Some of the pictures of ships sailing through its storms were just harrowing.


Renee: There was no official bathroom built into the plane back in 1961. The engineers who designed it had not thought of that. But a couple options were added. One was a metal or wooden box that you sat on and pooped into, with a plastic bag inside. The other was a plastic cup stuck into a tube in the wall. The current versions have an actual toilet built in now.

Rook is not a sociopath. He's egotistical, and isolated from people, but he's not completely heartless. Very few people really are actual sociopaths, something like 1 or 2% of folks. Usually you need to work people up with propaganda and hate-speech to get them to kill others. Or just put them in a situation where they panic and stop thinking. The latter is where Rook falls. He thought he could be a cool supervillain without having to get his hands dirty. Obviously it was not the only thing he did not put a great deal of thought into.


WellTemperedClavier: At first I was kind of dumbfounded when it came to thinking of how the Allies would refurnish the Raven's Nest. Then I thought of the depiction of the Bat Cave in the comics, with the giant penny, the T-Rex, and the Joker card. So I decided to go the same route, and start filling it with trophies and memorabilia. So disused super suits, the early warning poppets, the shards of Y Ddraig Aur, and the like. There will probably be lots more team photos going forward, since they often have extra allies helping out in the big battles.

Rook is completely new. The real bird is from the corvid family, just like ravens, crows, magpies, and the like. So he does share a corvid inclination. But that is his only connection to January and Blood Raven. Unless... Now I have an idea... So far at least, his father was in the military, and was a veteran of WW2 and Korea. I am thinking he died in Korea. I picture his old man as being incredibly toxic, probably because he was carrying around a lot of trauma from his war experiences.

I was originally going to name-drop Chrome Dome. But my research uncovered that it did not start until about six months after this incident. It was one of many such airborne alert missions. They all did essentially the same thing though. It is just the one that got most famous.

Primordial Air is from WoW? I did not know that. I was inspired by the True Elements from Earthdawn, which sound like the same idea. They are the magical elements in their purest forms. I just wanted to use a different name.

I did find one account of a B-52 losing its tail fin and landing safely six hours later. But I also found others where it caused them to crash and kill most of the crew.

I had to dig to find the Micky Mantle reference. I went through lists of home run kings in the 50s and 60s. My original thought was going to be Roger Maris. But I think he would be too obscure for most people to recognize. And his really big year was after this took place.

I did play Undying. I loved it! Especially when you go to the ruined monastery and read about how it was destroyed by a monster. Then you go back in time and find out that you were that monster! Good times. The arcane shield is really similar to the one in that game. Basically a personal force field that you create with one hand.

Your observations on the differences between Aitken and Rook are what I was going for. Aitken had no clue what was going on. But he was a experienced professional. Instead of panicking he fell back on his training and experience, and did the things he could to deal with each emergency as they happened. While Rook just panicked and acted on instinct and made things worse and worse.

Rook is not alive. But he will appear again near the end of the book, when January and company reach the final resting place of Keep 19.









Pic of Belle Isle and the Detroit River

Pic of Belle Isle south-western Tip (where the battle took place)


Ope!


David Bowie - Space Oddity (Ground Control to Major Tom)

The Weather Girls - It's Raining Men

Rose Royce - Car Wash


Book 12.3 - Broken Arrow

August 8, 2019

January stood upon Belle Isle once more. She had not been here since she and Blood Raven had spoken with the governor there. Afterward they had taken part in a press conference to explain what had taken place in the apocalyptic battle there the previous night. A full month had passed since then. Now January was back to rebuild what had been destroyed, at least as best as she was able.

Thankfully she was not alone. The rest of the Great Lakes Alliance was on hand, so too the Daughters of the Raven, the Sentinels from Chicago, even Isaac in his mech the Fred Hampton. These worthies had in turn reached out to others whom they knew, and brought with them even more capes from around the globe. It was not quite the Army of Light that had gathered to repel the Abyssal onslaught a month before. But it was still an awesome assemblage of might in one place and time. Only Blood Raven was conspicuous by her absence.

January and most of the others busied themselves with gathering up chunks of broken concrete and marble. It had once belonged to the streets and parking lots that had crisscrossed the south-western end of the island. Now it was nothing but shattered boulders and dust, mixed with equally damaged bricks, cinderblocks, and other materials from the buildings that had been destroyed in the fight.

There had been a few structures on the western shore that flanked the bridge to the mainland, such as the Belle Isle Boathouse, the harbormaster, and a utility building. Now they were nothing but rubble. The Flynn Pavilion on the eastern side of the island had likewise been annihilated, along with the nearby Nancy Brown Peace Carillon tower. The same fate had befallen many smaller structures such as shelters and public bathrooms scattered about the now barren landscape.

Of the Belle Isle Casino there was simply nothing left. Nátthrafn had created his gateway there, and the event space had been entirely consumed by the portal. Not even ashes or dust remained. It had vanished entirely from this world. Clearly, it had hosted the greatest event in its existence. Left behind in its wake was a deep crater gouged out by the Abyss itself. It was the largest of all the cavities that now pocked the moonscape of the island's south-western end. It looked to January like a giant ice cream scoop had simply gouged it out from the earth below.

She did not miss it. That had been the site of the Hierophant's summoning ritual. He had tried to kill her there, and unwittingly met his own end instead. It was not a place January would ever want to visit again. Just thinking about it sent her heart into overdrive, and turned her blood to ice. His screams echoed in her ears, and her nostrils were smothered in the stench his blood.

The sound of someone whistling broke her from her reverie. She looked up to find Gadget standing before her. Like all the others, he was fully caped up. In his case that meant a suit of powered armor that glowed faintly blue with ionic energy. That suit was now stained brown and gray with dirt and dust, and he held a massive chuck of marble in his hands.

"Ground Control to Major Tom," Gadget said, "you in there?"

"Ope..." January muttered in a most Michigan way. "Just wool-gathering I guess."

She lifted up another block of shattered marble and tossed it into the massive industrial dumpster nearby. The rectangular bin stretched over a hundred feet long, and was taller than January. Its dented iron walls were painted green, except where that had chipped away to reveal rusted metal beneath.

Her eyes moved away to gaze across the torn up landscape around her. It was dotted with craters and pits. Everything living had been burnt to a charred black mess. Not a single tree or blade of grass remained. She stood in what had once been a massive pond at the very south-western tip of the island. Its water had boiled away under the A-10's airstrike, not to mention all the subsequent energies that had been unleashed throughout the battle.

Nearby lay the James Scott Memorial Fountain. Rather than a single reservoir of water, it had once been a sprawling assemblage of fountains, basins, channels and steps. Now only broken white marble scattered around the tortured landscape remained to hint of its former existence.

Thankfully there were no bodies. Abyssals faded from reality when they died. Being from another universe, they could not manifest on Earth without some magical force maintaining them. They were literally made of the Outside, and obeyed Outside laws of nature that were congruent with existence in this reality. Otherwise January could not have imagined what a ghastly sight - or smell - the place would have been. Especially given the hot summer sun that blazed high in the sky overhead.

Belle Isle looked every inch the battlefield it had been. But amidst all the destruction a ray of hope shone through, bright as the sun. It was Y Ddraig Aur of course. The golden dragon rose up hundreds of feet above the ruins of the fountain. Her image radiated heat and light, like a bonfire that had been pressed into solid form. January did not have to deliberately sense into astral space to feel her power. It was so omnipresent that no magician could possibly miss it. It was like standing next to a star.

Beyond the dragon lay more fields of devastation. Then about a third of the way up the island all that stopped. Trees once more rose up into the sky, and green grass blanketed the earth. The glass walls of the Anna Scripps Whitcomb Conservancy glinted whole and unharmed under the hot summer sky. So too did the giant, wavy slide nearby it, and the historic police station. The latter looked like a fairy tale castle with its stone walls and pointed turrets. On the eastern shore of the island the Dossin Great Lakes Museum likewise still stood tall, just beyond the terminus of devastation.

January knew from the after action reports that Cray had gathered, that Blackhawk and Blood Raven had held that section of the island in the very beginning. The First Nations heroine's force fields had kept the Abyssals back, and protected it from the firepower unleashed upon the rest of the island. Then Blood Raven had used the Abyssal's own blood to annihilate them. That accounted for the clear line of demarcation between wasteland and pristine earth. They had literally drawn a line in the sand which the invaders could not cross.

Granted, the Abyssals had not been too intent upon taking this territory. There was nothing in the north-eastern section of the island but more parkland. The real prize had been the bridge. It was the only way off the island and onto the mainland beyond. The Abyssals had concentrated their efforts there, so Blackhawk had followed them to join Isaac in his mech and his sidekick Archie there. Once the odds had shifted and reinforcements had arrived, she and the other mundane members of the military and local civilians had held the crossing. In the meantime Blood Raven and the rest of the supers - January included - had struck inland to deal with the gateway itself.

"So where's the Rock of Belle Isle?" Lighthammer asked, referring to the First Nations heroine by her new nickname. Like the others, he too was gathering up rubble and depositing it within a massive 50 yard dumpster of rusty metal.

"She's with the Technocrat, they're fixing up the last of the bridge."

January turned to see Kaelin walk up. The green-haired trans woman was not pitching in directly. She was an alchemist, not an actual superheroine. But she did have a platter of cool drinks that was more than welcome. January joined the others to knock back a glass of the green, vaguely glowing liquid. She immediately felt the weariness in her limbs vanish, to be replaced by a feeling of boundless vigor and energy.

"Ahh, the old restore fatigue special," Avery said with an appreciative sigh. "That hits the spot."

"I thought there'd be beer," Lighthammer groused. "I have never fixed anything without beer."

"Come by the Aura later Lightguy, and Harper will pour you one personally," Kaelin insisted. "I just finished a batch of pale lager that would make a Bohemian brewer envious."

"Preach it sister!" Cleveland's resident superhero grinned.

Soon they had filled the massive industrial dumpster with broken marble, stone, bricks, and other rubble. Stinger from the Sentinels flew over via a pair of insect wings that sprouted from the back of her armor. She trailed a net over the entire bin, and took care so that it draped down the sides to the ground all around. Afterward she turned her head to the computer at her wrist. After a few taps on its control panel, a bright flash of energy rolled through the net and surrounded the entire dumpster with green light. It flashed brightly for a moment, and then both the entire container and net vanished.

No, not vanished entirely. They had simply shrunk down so small that January had not seen them at first. Now they were just a few inches across, and easily fit into the palm of the Chicagoan super's hand. She lifted the miniature dumpster up and gave a wave as she flew off to the Technocrat's flying wing, which hovered overhead nearby.

She passed by her husband Zero Point, who exited the futuristic craft even as she entered it. He wore a suit of white, gray, and silver powered armor. He produced a tiny dumpster in the palm of his hand. It looked like a child's toy. He tossed it down, and it instantly grew to full size in all its dented and rusted glory. It likewise was sheathed in another of those energy nets, which he proceeded to pull off and bundle up in his arms.

"So does he really have a matter convertor in there?" Gadget asked the other tech hero.

He nodded to the sleek flying wing in the sky above. Its gleaming hull possessed a lozenge shape, from which a pair of wings stretched out to either side to form a diamond. A silvery glass canopy filled its rounded nose, and a wide storage bay yawned open at its stern. It had no visible engines to hold it aloft. But the air seemed to shimmer around it like the heat-haze from a highway, as if spacetime had been altered there to maintain its presence.

"Absolutely," Zero Point replied. "It's the prototype Janos created to deal with all the plastics and other garbage that he and Calypso are pulling from the oceans. That garbage rune you guys came up with is really doing the trick from what I hear. This convertor is small. But he is going to be building a full size one on Haiti to process all of the trash from the Atlantic."

"How does it work?" Gadget asked.

"It reduces molecules down to their constituent elements. So toss a refrigerator in there, and you will get ingots of iron, aluminum, copper, and the like out of it. The shrinking tech that Stinger and I use reduces it in size for mass storage. They can later be enlarged and sold off to pay for the entire operation, and more. This ought to do good things for the economy of Haiti." Zero Point waved for Gadget to join him. "Come on, I will show you."

"I guess one man's trash really is another man's treasure," Lighthammer mused.

With that Gadget and Zero Point jetted off to disappear into the back of the flying wing. Kaelin moved on to take her refreshments to the next group of supers toiling under the sun. A quick glance showed that it was the rest of the Sentinels from Chicago, along with Harper. The magical mixologist had summoned her magic hand spell, and was using the giant appendage to scoop up massive chunks of rubble.

January's eyes drifted from them to the waters surrounding the island. While it was still closed off to the public, hundreds of boats dotted the river to the west and south. They came in all sizes, from tiny one person kayaks, to large cabin cruisers. They loitered around the shore, and their occupants watched on with curiosity and amazement as the capes went about their work. In addition news helicopters buzzed overhead. So too did occasional drones. Not the military kind that carried weapons, but the smaller civilian types that recorded video.

A coast guard cutter kept the shipping channel to the east clear for the massive freighters that occasionally meandered down the Detroit River. January recognized it as the Bristol Bay. It was the same ship that had been present at the Battle of Gull Island, and later the fight here at Belle Isle.

Or was it a boat instead of a ship? January had no idea. All she did know was that the nautically-inclined did seem to get pedantic about the difference.

In any case the vessel had taken a beating in both fights. January had fought an Abyssal in its engine rooms at Gull Island, after it had punched a hole clear though the vessel's hull. At the following battle here at Belle Isle it had been thrown up onto the Canadian shore. But Blackhawk - the Rock of Belle Isle - had repaired it with her electromagnetic powers each time.

"We need to pick things up," Lighthammer called out. "Play us a tune on that fancy wrist watch you got there."

January obliged, and punched her fingers upon the Sága's computer screen. In no time at all the Weather Girls were singing about men raining from the sky. That picked up everyone's spirits. Gadget came flying back and turned on his suit's PA system. He synced it up with Sága so that they both belted out the classic post-disco song in stereo. In moments they were all dancing as they chucked rubble into the newest dumpster.

The day passed quickly, thanks to more ebullient music and occasional refreshments provided by Kaelin. The sun stood at its zenith when January and company finally completed their task of cleaning up. So too had the other groups of heroes spread across the south-western end of the island.

By this time the MacArthur Bridge to the mainland had also been fully restored to its original state, thanks to the engineering work of Janos Heisen and Blackhawk. The Bailey Bridge that had been temporarily put up there had likewise been hauled away to the American side of the river, ready to be broken down and hauled away by the US Army.

Now January and the others looked behind them, to see that the areas they had cleared earlier had been entirely transformed. Craters and pits had vanished, to be replaced by smooth, gently rolling hills. Dirt and ash had been replaced with a carpet of green grass that blanketed the landscape. Trees that now grew all about in small copses. Flowers bloomed beneath them, and bees buzzed among the flourishing plant life.

The small stream that had flowed through the island above the old Belle Isle Casino had been restored, as was the pond it emptied into near the eastern shores of the island. The massive crater that had been left behind in the wake of the event space had been filled in with earth, and now it was an open green field.

Through all of this the Gaia Sisters worked their magic. They were quite a trio, all literally different colors and sizes. One had stony gray skin, long black hair, and a slender, almost bony frame. Another was vibrant green in color, with scarlet red hair and a plump, round frame. The last was a rich shade of umber, with yellow tresses and a curvy body.

They spread out in a line, and reminded January of an old time farmer planting seeds. They tossed small pebbles to the ground as they walked forward. She felt tremendous raw power bound up within these little stones that they were planting within Belle Isle's blasted earth. Mana flowed from the sisters and down to these mystical seeds. Their will and power awakened the prodigious energy stored within them, and turned it loose upon the landscape around them.

Everywhere the sisters walked, the broken, blasted land blossomed with life and vigor. Grass sprouted up in long green shoots, and even bushes and trees rose up to tower above the landscape. Craters and rents in the landscape smoothed over into gentle rolling hills, and flowers bloomed under the blistering August sun.

January switched her awareness into the astral to get a better sense of what they were doing. Those seeds of earth they were planting were the first thing that caught her attention. They not only radiated energy, but purity, perhaps even a certain sort of perfection. Each was a magical ideal made reality.

What archetype these particular seeds represented was clear. January could feel it as solid as stone, firm under her feet. She could smell it as rich loam in her nostrils. She could sense it as moist soil on her fingers. They were the element of earth in its purest distillation.

January recognized this from her study of the Scripta Mortis. The ancient magical tome had explained how all of the elements could be found in these primordial forms. Often they were used in enchanting to imbue an item with their unique properties. Or a magician could use them to perform extraordinary spellcraft, as the Gaia Sisters demonstrated before January's eyes.

The primordial earth did not act upon its own. It was the will of the three sisters that imbued it within the land below, and transformed it into the living, breathing landscape they left in their wake. Their mana flowed through the elemental earth, activated it, and used it to remake the world around it.

How they could maintain the pace was readily evident to January. For Silverlight walked behind them. The marble-skinned superheroine held her lunar staff aloft. As ever, its stone head was a duplicate of the moon overhead. Today that meant it showed a first quarter face, with the right half of its disc shining white, while its other side lay dark and dormant.

January focused intently upon Silverlight's staff, named Mene. She could sense that the rough and pitted white stone on its head did not just look like the moon. It was an actual rock from the moon. Even though it had been physically removed from the lunar surface, it was still part of that celestial body. That was Sympathetic Magic 101: things that had once been in contact remained so even after being separated.

As such it continued to pull raw magical power directly from the moon overhead. Silverlight drew down this endless font of energy, and poured it into the three women in front of her. This was accomplished through a ritual link that January could sense Silverlight had formed with the Gaia Sisters.

The mages in the Army of Light had done the very same thing during the Battle of Belle Isle. That was the only way they could supply Blood Raven with the power that she needed to undo the gateway to the Abyss. In today's case the energy from the statuesque wizard's staff provided the three sisters with a literally bottomless well of power to work their magic with.

"Now that is something you do not see every day," Ôkami said what January imagined everyone must have been thinking.

"The Gaia Sisters are old friends of mine," Riven said.

The San Franciscan heroine came over along with Calypso. Where the rest of them were dirty, sweaty, and disheveled, the two women were soaking wet. But clean. They looked like they had just stepped from the shower. Given that Calypso was the Mistress of the Waves, one did not have to imagine who was responsible for that.

"I'll introduce you once they're done," Riven went on. "We go way back. They live in a commune up in Oregon, and don't come down to the big city much. They aren't really capes like us. I mean, they don't go around punching bad guys. But they do have a way with nature."

In the meantime Calypso gave them all a bath, thanks to the water she was able to summon from the head of her own staff: Bagua. Gadget cued up an old song about working at the car wash. That brought a smile to January's face.

"You should try taking your armor through an actual car wash," she told him.

"Well, I could always use a wax and underbody flush..." the powered armor hero mused.

"That sounds kind of personal..." Lighthammer coughed.

Soon enough Kaelin was there with more refreshing drinks. They all relaxed in the light of Y Ddraig Aur, and just kicked back and enjoyed the moment. January had to admit, it had been a good day.

"You know, we're going to have to start calling this the Dragon City, instead of the Motor City." Riven looked up at the brilliant image of Y Ddraig Aur overhead.

"I hear some people want to rename the Lions to the Dragons," Gadget mused.

"They should try winning a game first..." January snorted.

"It would seem that the Gaia Sisters have finished their work," Calypso noted. January also saw that she stood next to Lighthammer, very right next to Lighthammer. The Lightguy himself appeared to have noticed as well, given the smile that beamed from his features.

January looked out over the newly reclaimed landscape, and saw that the Bahamian was correct. The once blasted and tortured earth was now completely healed of its scars. In fact, nothing remained to show of the battle, save for Y Ddraig Aur herself. She loomed over all like a great spectral guardian. None of the old buildings had been rebuilt, nor streets, or parking lots, or the once great fountain beneath the dragon. But the land itself had been restored, and was now green and filled with life again. It was a blank - but living - slate upon which anything might be constructed, if at all.

The three sisters came their way with Silverlight in tow. The gray cloaked wizard rested her staff on one shoulder now, and magic no longer flowed from it to the nature Witches. The faces of all four were drawn with fatigue, and Silverlight herself yawned audibly as they approached. Kaelin was quick to meet them with her party cups and refreshments, and all eyes brightened once they had a chance to sample her restorative libations.

"Just a warning, they're a little weird," Riven mouthed under her breath. "Don't stare."

"We greet you warmly," said the first sister. Her skin was stony gray, and her long hair was night black obsidian.

"We watched you all battle with the Outsiders a month past," said the second. Her skin was lush green, and her hair was copper fire.

"Our world remains due to your courage," intoned the third. Her umber tones were complemented by a soft golden mane.

Riven had been right, they were weird. Their eyes all had a distinct unblinking stare to them, as if they were gemstones. Their voices all sounded eerily similar, as if one speaker used multiple throats. But January would not have described them as unearthly. It was quite the opposite. It was almost as if the Earth itself spoke through them. Arthur Machen might say that they had seen the Great God Pan, or perhaps were the children of one who had.

January had also raised her magical theory skill enough to recognize the significance of the number three that they represented. The Norns had likewise been a triplicity of Witches, the same with Medusa and her sister Gorgons. Baba Yaga was sometimes described as three sisters. Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and death was sometimes depicted in sculpture as literally three goddess joined at their backs. And of course the Triple Goddess was a central facet to modern Witchcraft.

"I, um, well, you're welcome," January spoke for everyone. "Thank you so much for coming out to help us. It means a lot, what you did here."

"Yeah, you chicas rock," Viuda's voice rang out from behind them. January glanced back briefly to see that the Puerto Rican superheroine had joined them, along with Harper, the Sentinels, Janos Heisen, and the rest of the supers.

"We are pleased..." said the first sister.

"...our reason for being..." intoned the second.

"...is to serve the Green," said the third.

"Well, anyone else who wants to get served can come to the Aura for another after party." Harper grinned. "Drinks are on the house!"

January found that this superhero after party was a bit less bombastic and enthusiastic than the one that had followed the Battle of Belle Isle. Everyone was a little worn out from the morning's toil under the hot sun. Even superheroes had their limits after all. But January suspected that it was mainly the fact that they had not just narrowly escaped death this time, or faced the near destruction of their world. There was a lot to be said for the adrenaline and euphoria created by nearly dying to make one appreciate life after all.

Still, it was genuinely fun to hang out with her new extended family of capes.

As before January shied away from any alcohol, even beer. Gadget and Ôkami had no qualms about doing so, though the latter nursed a single mug through the entire afternoon. Blackjack had been buying brewskies for the Knights of Nerddom for years after all. Thanks to his full beard, no one ever thought to card him at party stores.

January had never been on the best terms with alcohol however. It tasted terrible. She could never understand how other people could actually enjoy the stuff, let alone debate the tastes, and undertones, and notes, of various beers or ales or wines. It was all just... too strong for her. Not to mention she had no resistance to it at all. She knew from experience that one beer would have her half way to being completely drunk, if not all the way.

Now that she knew she possessed a vulnerability to poisons she understood why. Clearly that weakness extended to alcohol, as well as more exotic toxins such as Abyssal venom. So instead she relegated herself to Fae Cola, like a good Faegallo. Though granted, she had heard they often spiked theirs with vodka or LSD.

Still, the party was fun. There were darts to be thrown, music to dance to, both magical and scientific theories to argue, and beer cups to pong, among other things. It was refreshing just to meet, and hang out with the rest of her extended community of capes without there being some sort of battle going on at the same time. Some of them she had grown up admiring, like the Veil from the Sentinels. Others she was meeting for the first time, such as the Gaia Sisters.

Calypso introduced her to the Technocrat, whom she quietly reminded her to refer to as Janos. That was what he preferred, thank you very much. But she did not really know what to say. She felt like she knew the man backwards and forwards, thanks to the four part podcast series on him that her mother Barbara had just presented. But once you were there, in front of the man who was part hero, part villain, and one of the greatest minds and metas in the world, well, words just failed you.

"It is my distinct honor to meet you young lady," he said, ever the Avarican gentleman.

"I... uh... um... it's nice to meet you too," was about all January could force out in reply.

A note from Sága came to her rescue. She glanced down to the digital assistant at her wrist, and saw that a voice mail had been forwarded to it from her personal phone. The latter was sitting at home, as it always was when she was suited up. Even with the GPS disabled and camera and microphones locked out from apps to use, there was no point taking chances with operational security after all.

Even with the earpiece built into her helmet it was not easy to hear the message. Not with the music that blared through the club's sound system, or the dozens of voices all competing to be heard above the din. But she could tell that it was from her mother. She was just checking in to tell her that she was with her new campaign manager: Frank Wigand, and was going to his place. Of course January knew that he was actually Cray, even if her mother did not. That explained why the hacker was not at the party.

That all seemed good. It was a little weird, but good nonetheless. She had wanted to get to know Cray better. Having him in her family's life as a civilian was a good way to do that, probably better than trying to do so in her cape life. The latter was all business. Even with Blackhawk and Lighthammer, they rarely just hung out and vibed like now. Instead they usually only met on missions or training exercises on Green Island in Lake Erie.

Speaking of Lighthammer, January noted that Cleveland's finest - and only - superhero had taken his prosthetic leg off. Peggy Mark II was what he liked to call it. With Peggy gone, his left leg now abruptly ended just below the knee. He massaged the stump from the old amputation. He moved so well that January often forgot that he was in fact handicapped. January imagined that a hard day's manual labor was not easy for him, not even given that he could fly to somewhat offset his disability.

January saw that Janos Heisen had taken note of the same. For the seven foot tall master of robotics walked over and introduced himself to the former USAF pilot. They began to talk, though January could not hear their words over the rest of the background noise in the bar. Given how the Technocrat gestured to the prosthetic on the floor beside Lighthammer, she could guess it had something to do with that however.

January heard her name, and looked around to see that Silverlight had called her. She went over to speak with her about setting up a new training session with all the Raven Sisters. In the meantime January turned off Sága without hearing the ending of her mother's message,


* * *

[Acadian]

What a massive cleanup operation of Belle Dragon Isle!

Love the shrinking dumpster magic. I was indeed beginning to wonder how moving and/or emptying such a massive trash bin might work.

’Or was it a boat instead of a ship? January had no idea. All she did know was that the nautically-inclined did seem to get pedantic about the difference.’
- - Spoken like a true landlubber! Or non-seagoing crow?

The Sisters of Terraforma fueled by the Silver Moon! By the Green that was impressive!

Finally, party time after a hard day of superwork.

[Renee]

Eez, no bathroom. Weird. But then, think about it: this would've been the same for tanks. Those guys were locked inside of tanks for hours and hours during battles.

So, it seems that Rook was rather similar to a rook on a chessboard. He moved forward, maybe he could've moved sideways, but last we saw, he was trying to move backwards! Back to his magical plane. Wonder if he made it. I have a feeling somehow he did.

The guy sitting down in the Ope video... he's got that Midwest accent!

The keyboard player is back. And like him, I'm also trying to decipher how Rook fits into the current story. I'm too hungover to guess. But since that took place in 1961, Somehow that ties into Broken Arrow.

Jan is helping rebuild Belle Isle, interesting. And hardly anybody on the ground knows who she really is.
Okay, yikes. So that huge crater where the abyssals emerged is still there! Gosh.

Of the Belle Isle Casino there was simply nothing left..... Clearly, it had hosted the greatest event in its existence.

Ha!

Kay, I see. So they're "caped up", so everyone seeing Stormcrow, not Jan. And they're using at least some of their superpowers to clear rubble, alongside earth-moving machinery?

Yah, there we go. I want one of Kaelin's drinks. 🍹 More like 10-Hour Energy than 4.

Ah. They don't even need earth-moving equipment. Instead of Action and Defense this chapter's more devoted to Reclaim and Restoration. Because that's the other side of magical powers.

Uhp, here we go: A note from Sága. Okay, phew. No one's in peril and nothing amiss, this time. But this Janos guy from the air force. He seems to be the connect to the downed aircraft.

This post has been edited by Renee: Dec 10 2023, 06:51 PM

[SubRosa]

Acadian: January often says that wearing the cape means more than just punching people. So I wanted to show that by having her and her pals cleaning up the mess left behind by their big battle. Something you never see in the movies or comics. It was another way I could show her being part of the community, rather than standing apart from everyone else.

Also, there are other reasons why regular folks are not doing this, which will be explored today.

I ran into a lot of trouble when it came to that coast guard cutter in its two appearances. No sources comes down to declare it is definitively a boat or a ship. It's in a weird place in between. January of course would have done any of that research, so her uncertainty would be even more pure in its confusion.




Renee: The Belle Isle Casino and the land around it was literally devoured by the Abyss. That is what would have happened to the rest of the world, and the universe, had January and company failed.

I was originally going to have the heroes simply clean up the wreckage. Then in later edits I realized I wanted more. I wanted them to restore it. So I created the Gaia Sisters to have a group of earth-mages for whom that would be natural, pun intended.

Janos is not in the Air Force, nor does he have anything to do with Rook and Keep 19. He's Janos Heisen, the former ruler of Avarica, former Nazi super, inventor of quantum mechanics, and one of the greatest scientists the world has ever known. He's simply here to help, the same as everyone else.




Cray / Frank Wigand

Barbara Ryan (January's mother)

Boxty (Irish Potato Pancakes)

Capitol Park pic


Book 12.4 - Broken Arrow

Cray tried not to stare at the woman who sat across the table from him. Her pale skin had just begun to crinkle from laugh lines, and earthy green eyes looked out over her long features. Her hair was a fiery storm that spilled down past her shoulders. It was not that vivid crimson of Blood Raven's hair, that reminded one of blood spilled across the pane of reality. This was an entirely mundane shade of deep red, vibrant with color, but not overpoweringly so.

She wore a green top layered over a bright pink number that just barely peeked out around the edges. A long, flowered skirt trailed down to her ankles, where a pair of low-heeled, strappy shoes completed her outfit. She looked entirely middle of the road. Not slovenly, not formal. Not rich, nor poor.

But damn, Barbara Ryan was anything but ordinary.

Cray reminded himself that he was a professional. More than that, he was one currently doing his job, even if they had yet to discuss his reimbursement. He wasn't sixteen, this wasn't the Sadie Hawkin's dance, and she wasn't Becky O'Flannery. So why did he still feel the same as he had that night of his first real kiss on the gym floor of Theodore Roosevelt High?

Hormones, he reminded himself, what a drug. Even in his early fifties, they were still having their way with him. At least he had long outgrown the pimples and crackling voice.

He looked down at his finger. It was bare. He had not worn his wedding band in a long, long time. Not since his divorce, years ago. He glanced over at Barbara's own fingers, and noted the same empty space. He could still see the lighter skin where her wedding ring had once sat. The sun had not had nearly enough time to even that out, unlike how it had with his own skin.

"The Rooster Beak got back with me." Cray got back to business. As Barbara's campaign manager, he had plenty to go over. "We are on for our fundraiser on the 19th. So have your speech ready. I also talked with the bank, and the campaign fund is all set up as well. Which is good, because I also have our online donation page set up. I'll have the text-to-give set up for phone users tomorrow. After that I will tackle email donations and social media."

"Damn Frank, I don't know what I would do without you," Barbara looked impressed. "I don't know how you arranged all of that in the what, two and a half weeks since we met? I'll admit that I was a little uncertain about having an IT guy be my campaign manager. But you really are committed. And I haven't even paid you yet!"

"There's no rush on that," Cray insisted. "This is a labor of love on my part, just like it is with you. Besides, it's not like Blood Raven ever got paid for what she did."

"Do you think what they are saying about her is true?" Barbara asked. "That she retired? No one has seen her since Belle Isle. I never thought about it before, but she has been here since before I was born. It's strange for her to not be around, even just lurking in the shadows."

"Yeah well... we're in good hands." Cray tried to stay cool and calm. But deep inside, he could not quiet that nagging sense of guilt that had dogged him since he had started work on Barbara's senate campaign. He was lying to her. Not about everything, but about the most important thing in his life. Well, the second most important thing, after his daughter of course.

Now he had some inkling of what being in the closet must have been like for kids like January and Xochitl. He had lived a double life for some time now, ever since he had walked out of federal prison to find Blood Raven waiting for him in the parking lot. She had offered him a new life of adventure, albeit a virtual one. He had married, had a child, and gotten divorced in that span of time. He had done all of that without ever spilling the truth to the people closest to him.

It was just too dangerous. One innocent slip of the tongue and that could have been the end of all of them. He could not put them in that position. He could not take that risk. It was for everyone's protection, theirs and his, and even Blood Raven's.

But now Detroit's once and only superheroine was gone, off to Boston to clean up her father's loose ends. Cray shivered in spite of himself at the thought of what might lie under the streets of the old city. He had to admit, that nothing had ever frightened him the way that her father Nátthrafn had. That man was the end of all things, if he could even be called a man anymore.

Thank god he was back in the Abyss where he belonged, hopefully never to return.

Things were different now. The whole city of Detroit felt different. It was nothing that you could put your finger upon exactly. There was just... a new feeling in the air. It was not quite optimism. But it was a sense of new possibilities, that the old modalities of being and doing no longer held sway anymore. Anything could happen now.

The world had changed that night on Belle Isle. One only had to look at the giant shining dragon to see the proof. They were part of a multiverse. It might reach out and snuff them out of existence at any moment. But as Y Ddraig Aur showed, it would also fight for them at the same time. It was both terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

So much for the end of history. They now lived in interesting times.

"The Alliance is here now, and I've got faith in them," Cray insisted. He had to believe it was true. Otherwise the thought of what lurked out there in the darkness beyond reality might be too much bear. But he knew it was true. He had been there with them, in electrons if not in body. He knew what they were made of. Even Blood Raven had been proud of them, and that spoke volumes.

"Thank goodness," Barbara breathed. She took a moment to take a bite from her reuben boxty. The crisp exterior of the potato pancake crackled under her teeth, as she took in a mouthful of the corned beef, kraut, and cheese within. Cray took a moment to follow suit, and take a bite of his own grilled chicken boxty. His arteries were probably not thrilled with the fried outer shell. But at least there was chicken inside. That was healthy, right?

"They are a good bunch of kids," Barbara murmured. "Well, Blackhawk and Lighthammer aren't kids. They must in their late twenties or early thirties. But the other ones, they're so young. They could be my daughter's age. I think back to myself at that time, and can't imagine carrying the responsibilities they take for granted every day."

"Believe me, they don't take any of it for granted," Cray said, not really thinking about the measure of authority he had place in his voice.

"It's a good thing they are here," Barbara looked up from their table. Around them the Irish Pub - that was its actual name - spread out. The walls were painted green, but the floor was checkered black and white, and the bar was a lustrous shade of dark brown wood. Like all the others, the small table where they sat was made of chipped and scratched wood, but was polished to a high sheen.

A dartboard sat against the back wall, along with a pool table. Several large, flat screen TVs hung up around the walls. Black and white pictures of the old country hung up all around them, featuring lighthouses, farms, homes, and people in all manner of old-timey dress lined up to pose for the camera.

The TVs all showed the same thing: the Great Lakes Alliance had taken it upon themselves to clean up Belle Isle, along with dozens of their caped friends from around the world. They had not been around very long, but the team certainly lived up to their name. They made alliances.

"They shouldn't have to be doing this though," Barbara continued in a low tone, nearly a growl. "It still pisses me off that the president turned down the governor's request for disaster relief. It's a literal war zone! All because his fragile little ego cannot take 'those women from Michigan' standing up to him."

"He's nothing but the Grifter-in-Chief, a conman famous for never paying his bills, who bragged about sexually assaulting women before he got elected. He's nothing but a selfish, greedy, cowardly, bigoted, bully. I still cannot believe anyone would vote for someone like that."

"I'm pretty sure those are the reasons they did vote for him," Cray pointed out.

"He even deliberately misgendered Stormcrow online," Barbara continued. "You know, some people are mad that he never even called to congratulate her and the others for you know, saving the world. Never mind invite them to the White House. But I guess that's just for sports teams. I'm glad he didn't. It saves them the trouble of telling him to get stuffed."

Cray nodded. He knew from personal experience that the Alliance would have used much stronger language than that. He had heard it with his own ears after all.

"Then on top of that his party in the state legislature has blocked every proposal to fix the damage," Barbara continued to fume. "They want to sell off the land to developers, so they can build condos and hotels around the dragon. And guess who half those developers are? The members of the legislature of course. It's like corruption is not a dirty word, but an aspiration to them."

"It's a State Park, but all they can think about is how to cash in on it," Cray noted. "I can see on my phone that they're already crying that the clean-up is a massive overreach. The same ones still want to charge Stormcrow with killing the Hierophant. Never mind that she saved the world in the process. They do nothing but complain that government is broken, while at the same time they obstruct and sabotage everything they can in order to break it."

"At least we have a sane governor and attorney general," Barbara mused. "Otherwise I can't imagine how badly this would have turned out. Can you imagine them trying to arrest the Allies for saving the world?

"This is why we need you in Congress." Cray insisted. "It's why I don't care about getting paid. We need to change this. The world can't keep going on the way it has been."

Cray thought about those words, even as Barbara nodded, and took another bite from her fried potato pancake. How long could he keep going on the way he had been? How long could he go on living a double life, keeping the people nearest to him in the dark about half of who he was?

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you." Cray sighed. "I didn't mean to at first. But I think what we have here is special... professionally of course... I... don't want to keep important parts of who I am secret."

Now Barbara looked serious. Her features changed. They became intent, set upon him, and him alone. The rest of the world seemed to vanish, as if the two of them were the only people in existence. Some analytical part of his brain reminded him that this was one of her greatest assets. It was her serious face. It made you feel like you were the only one who mattered in the world, and you had her absolute, complete attention. He made a mental note to tell her later to practice that for her public appearances and promotional photos. If she even knew she was doing it at all.

"You already told me about your time in the Army, and how you went to prison for whistle-blowing. If you're gay, or you're trans, I don't care." Her earnest tone broke, and she scrambled for words after that. "I mean, you have my full support if you are! My daughter is both, and I love her to bits! You need to be true to yourself. She taught me that."

"It's not that!" Cray's eyes almost bugged out at the thought that she might think he was gay. That would be the absolute wrong idea to put in her head, given how looking at her made him feel. The last thing he wanted was to be put in the friend-zone. Even though he knew that if she did not do that... well... that was a whole other giant can of worms as well.

"I told you how I am an IT professional," he slowed down, and thought about his words. "I didn't tell you what I've really been working on since I got out. I'm not an engineer at some faceless corporation. I'm a white hat hacker. A hacktivist is what the kids call it today. And I've spent the last fifteen years working with Blood Raven. Now I'm working with the Great Lakes Alliance."

Barbara stared at him for long moments, as if trying to work out the meaning of his words in her head. Then her serious face cracked like an egg, and laughter spilled from her soft red lips.

"You had me for a moment there," she guffawed. "I almost thought... You've got a good sense of humor Frank."

"I'm not joking," Cray sighed inwardly. If he had thought about this ahead of time, he might have prepared for this. It was not like he had any way to prove it after all. He couldn't go outside and lift up a bus like Stormcrow could, or shoot lasers like Lighthammer. He did all his magic from a keyboard. How could he make her see that?

"I am serious," he said stonily. "I realize it can be hard to take in. My name is Cray. I was there, when it happened at Belle Isle. Not actually on the island of course. That would be crazy. I don't have any superpowers. I was online. I back up the team there, and handle all the IT work. I hack into cameras, use drones, crack databases, compile dossiers, and just try to be the eyes and ears they sometimes lack. If nothing else, I'm the voice in their head lending encouragement."

"You don't really expect me to believe that? I mean, people like to cosplay and pretend that they are superheroes. But how many..." Barbara shook her head, and made an unimpressed face. Then her features gradually fell, and her voice took on a tone of dread. "How many of them actually had a supervillain for a son, and only found out after he was dead?"

"Is this about my son?" Barbara recoiled. She looked around herself, and carefully scanned the restaurant. "Did he... did he kill someone close to you? Blood Raven said that he didn't commit any of the actual murders himself. That was the Hierophant. She had proof, from the Hierophant's own diary. I mean, I'm sorry if you did. That should never have happened to you. No one should ever have to go through tha-."

Cray held up a hand to stop her. This had gone completely off the rails. He did not know what he had been thinking, telling her everything. This was why the first rule of the cape was to keep your mouth shut! Never tell a soul. Blood Raven had been clear on that from the very start. It protected everyone.

He had never had a problem with that, until now. Somehow, he did not want to go through life lying to this woman. Even if they were just people who worked together - and nothing else - he did not want that. It was just... wrong. He could not rationally say why. There was no logic to it. It just was... what it was.

"It's not about Julian," Cray said, making sure that the absolute sincerity rang through every note of his gruff, but gentle tones. "It's about me. It's about keeping all these secrets from everyone. Eventually it just gets to be too much. I don't know how Blood Raven does it, century after century."

"That's not the first time you've casually referred to her or the Alliance like you knew them," Barbara's serious face was back. Her eyes stared into his intently, calculating. Clearly, she was making her own tallies in her head.

"I'm not sure how I can prove it to you," Cray sighed and ran his fingers through is hair. "I don't have superpowers. I can't fly, or walk through walls. I'm just a hacker... an administrator. It isn't dramatic or flashy. I know how this sounds. I should have thought about this more, planned for it, like I usually do with everything. I mean, I don't keep pictures of us on my phone, or anything else that could link us. I know my OPSEC. I don't make mistakes like that."

"Except..." Cray looked up from her, and craned his head to one side. He stared at the wall of the pub, and the pictures of old Ireland that fought for space there. He thought of what lay beyond that wall. Of the black and gold combination Neo-Gothic and Art Deco tower that climbed into the sky across Capitol Square.

"What I can do, is show you." Cray looked back to her, and stared into her eyes. "If you come with me, I can take you to the Raven's Nest."

Barbara slid back in her chair. For a moment Cray thought she was rising to her feet. But instead her hand darted into her purse. It seemed like she clutched something there. Was it mace, or a gun, or just her phone? Once again he wanted to kick himself, as he thought about how that must have sounded.

"I am not trying to kidnap you," he insisted. "Which I know, is exactly what a serial killer would say. But if I was a serial killer, I wouldn't be here with you on close circuit TV. The cameras in here have had a good look at both our faces the entire time we've been here. So did the ones in the street outside. My fingerprints are all over the table and dining ware. We've left a clear trail every step of the way. I'd never get away with it. The cops would have me in a day."

"Besides, you know kick-boxing," Cray went on, grasping at straws to reassure her. "You could kick my ass seven ways to Sunday, just like Blood Raven could if she wanted to. You wouldn't even need whatever it is you've got in your purse. Even when I was in the Army I could barely do a pull-up. I was in the Signal Corps, not the Green Berets. I'm a desk jockey. I do all my fighting is with a keyboard."

"I am being serious about this," he wrapped up. He rose to his feet and pulled out his wallet. He threw down a pair of twenties on the table. That would be more than enough to cover the bill. Then he added in some more. Servers - the kind not found in data centers at least - lived off their tips after all.

"If you'll come with me, it's right across the street. Everything will be clear then. I can show you the computers I use. I can show you the shards of Y Ddraig Aur. I can show you Stormcrow's original uniform, and Blood Raven's."

"Y Ddraig Aur?" Barbara looked from him to one of the TV screens. The dragon shone like a beacon there, towering hundreds of feet into the sky. She looked back, then rose to her feet.

"It was a sword, before it was a dragon," Cray explained. "Blood Raven forged it years ago, before I met her. She went back in time to meet the dragon, the real dragon, and bargained for several drops of her blood. She infused that into the sword when she forged it. When she broke it at Belle Isle, she released that blood. It called Y Ddraig Aur here across time and universes."

"That is... nuts," Barbara breathed. But he could see her face softening. So he pressed on.

"I know, right, all this magic stuff?" Cray held his hands up innocently. "I don't pretend to understand it all myself. But that's tame compared to some of the other stories I could tell you. Lighthammer jokes about how weird his life has gotten since he met the Stormcrow and Blood Raven. He's right, and he doesn't even know the half of it!"

Barbara narrowed her eyes, and started at him with a calculating look. Cray felt like his heart had stopped. God, was he such an idiot! He knew better than this. He knew so much better. All of his life he had played by the rules. Dotted every "I", crossed every "T". The only time he had ever deviated from that was when he had blown the whistle on the VA scandal. That had sent him to prison for fifteen years. You think he would have learned from that. But here he was again, about to throw his whole life into chaos because of one reckless decision.

But then, that was what Blood Raven had done the entire time he had known her. She always followed her heart, and her ethics, and did what she thought was right. She never counted the cost beforehand. She just endured the consequences, often with very violent and painful results.

Then again, she was a vampire. She could regenerate from a bullet to the head. He could not.

Barbara pulled her hand out of her purse. It was not a weapon she had been holding, but a phone. She looked down and tapped on its screen. Then she held it up to the side of her head and spoke.

"Hi January, this is Mom," she said. "I'm with Frank Wigand. We just left the Irish Pub. He said he's going to show me where he works. It's... well you can see what time it is when you look at the call record."

"That was clever," Cray noted as she slid the phone back into her purse.

"It's an old dating trick I learned in college," Barbara said. "Always tell one of your friends who you are with and where you are going."

"I never thought of that," Cray admitted.

"You're a straight white man," Barbara said. "You have never had to consider that someone you are dating might murder you. The rest of us aren't so lucky."

"To be honest, I feel like an idiot," Cray breathed. "I can't believe I am doing this. The others, they're going to kill me when they find out."

He glanced up at the TVs. Their screens replayed taped footage of the Alliance and other heroes as they labored to clean up Belle Isle earlier that morning. Given who Barbara had just called, he knew that they were going to find out sooner rather than later. Well, they could always try to stop him if they wanted to. Unless January was too busy to check her messages. Cray imagined that there would be another after party following the clean up, like there had been after the original battle. She and the others would probably be there already.

"Well, that feeling's not unique to you Frank," Barbara said. "If someone had told me this a month ago, I would think they were full of it. But since then I've found out that my husband was lying to me for years, that my son was a supervillain, and that magic is real. So I'm a little more open-minded now. So lead on MacDuff..."

[Acadian]

Wow, those sandwiches sound good!

Well, this is a surprising twist – Cray interested in Barbara and justifying spilling too many beans about his role with the Alliance. I’m interested to learn what ramifications this has. Especially combined with Barbara’s desire to enter such a public and scrutinized role as a politician.

[Renee]

Cray looks exactly as imagined, especially the sweater-vest.

And it's sort of interesting the story's now going to his thoughts regarding love. I haven't considered him being involved with relationships at all. He's usually just the voice behind their comms, guiding them here and there. I wasn't even picturing him as a father or grandfather or anything. Sounds like Barbara's sparking some interest.

Indeed. Not outright lying; it's not like she asked him a question about Stormcrow or Jan and he outright lied about knowing both of them as the same person. But he's not being 100% forthwith about his knowledge of Jan/Stormcrow... quarters are really getting close.

That's pretty cool. So he gets out of prison and that is when Branwen's there to meet him!

Thank god he was back in the Abyss where he belonged, hopefully never to return.

Feels almost like a question mark's debating.

Ah, so disaster relief denied. () The president in this story sounds sort of worse than the Donald.

"They want to sell off the land to developers, so they can build condos and hotels around the drago

Mm hmm of course some developers would go there. Still, how could anybody see wanting to live near a spot where hellish creatures once emerged?

Alright, good. See, Cray's doing the right thing. Maybe. Let's hear it, man. Haha, Barb doesn't believe him! ... "I am really a hacker/ IT superstar who's on a first-name basis with Blood Raven and the Alliance supers" does sort of come off like it's too farfetched. Almost like "I'm not just Bruce Wayne..." Yet that's only half the secret. Will he spill the other half?

Wow, she really doesn't believe him. So now he's gonna have to go out of his way to prove it. Yikes. This is getting 'weird'. He's overthinking! Fingerprints? Closed-circuit TV?

Thinking about this more, now I'm wondering if Blood Raven had something over him and used this info to keep him in line. She was there when he got out of prison, and because of her, he didn't have to struggle with proving to parole officers how he was behaving outside or prison, presumably at least. Cray could go right into working for Raven, living a comfortable life, and so on. So it makes me wonder if Raven ever pulled him aside. "You know, one word about our relationship, and X can be the result..." Maybe he could go right back where he came from.

Or perhaps, just the fact she is a vampire living in plain sight was enough to keep him in line.

Because otherwise, why does he suddenly feel more confident that he can disobey what the capes warned him about? Would he be about to spill these secrets if Raven was still around? Somehow I do not think so.

This post has been edited by Renee: Dec 18 2023, 04:48 PM

[SubRosa]

Acadian: I want one of those boxtys as well!

I have been wanting to do more with Cray for a while now. I spent some time trying to figure out different subplots for him, as ways of fleshing him out more, and bringing him closer into orbit with the other characters. Then I took a step back and tried looking at things from his point of view. That is when I realized Barbara is right there, and she's not hard to look at, or be around. I instantly knew that was what I was looking for. She is the woman he's been waiting all his life for.

It has the bonus of being messy. All too often I think my characters are too perfect and cautious with their operational security. They make all the right moves a lot. So this season I have been looking to make things messier, show them doing questionable, if not stupid things. Because real people are not robots. Maybe I can introduce more conflict along that way too.


Renee: Cray is definitely interested in Barbara, and its causing him to dance with his feet close to the fire. Love makes you do the wacky!

Actually the president in this story is the Donald. Almost all of the Storncrowverse's president's quotes are literal word for word copies of his. Except the parts that deal directly with Stormcrow of course.

I think the draw to those hotels is that they are all right next to the giant glowing dragon. Not many AirBnBs or 5 star resorts can brag about being able to see a real dragon right out your window. Or allow you to stand on a place where history was made.

Blood Raven does not have anything over him. I don't want to say she would never do that at all. But definitely not with someone as close to her, and important to her, as Cray. He has been her right hand man for 15 years or so. Blackmailing someone like that is a sure fire way to have them betray you the moment you show a vulnerability. The master villain being killed by his own maligned lieutenant is a classic trope. Think Darth Vader turning on the Emperor. Blood Raven knows better than to go down that path. She would much rather rule through love than fear. That is what creates real loyalty.

Now with someone else who is not a member of her inner circle, someone who is not privy to knowledge that can really hurt her, then Blood Raven might blackmail them to get what she wants, if there are no other options. We will see that later this book in fact, when we meet her lawyer.

Would Cray still spill these beans if Blood Raven was around? Probably. Certainly. His life would be no different. It is really no different from January bringing Hannah home to the Witch House and spilling her secret identity to her, a girl she had just met. People do that when they have the hots for someone else. And Blood Raven's reaction would have been just the same as with January. Perhaps frustrated, but understanding.





Capitol Park pic

The Detroit Radiator Building

The Alley



Book 12.5 - Broken Arrow

Cray nodded when she motioned to the door, and took the lead. He led her out of the cozy little pub and out into the street. Capitol Park spread out before them. It was a tiny valley of red brick cobblestones and gray cement, surrounded on all sides by tall Art Deco buildings. He led her through the picnic and small cafe tables and chairs that lay in the western angle of the triangle formed by the small plaza. He continued on past the small grassy area at its south-eastern point, and enjoyed the shade of the trees there for the moment that it lasted.

From there they crossed Griswold at the eastern edge of the triangle. It was a narrow street, so it was not that difficult to wait for it to clear. The same was true of crossing State to the south at the same intersection. That put the Detroit Radiator Building right in front of them. At street level the skyscraper was all onyx marble and black mirrors, with shining gold corbel tables that added a bright splash of color overhead. From there the hundred year old building rose up like a Neo-Gothic needle into the sky. Cray had read that its black and gold bricks symbolized coal and fire. That was in keeping with its original owners, the eponymous heating company that had long since gone out of business.

"Isn't this place abandoned?" Barbara craned her neck up to gaze at the tower above.

"It is," Cray admitted. "That's the beauty of it. Blood Raven bought it a long time ago, through a series of offshore holding companies. She kept it open though, so homeless people can use it as a shelter. You should see what the heating bill is like in the winter..."

"Wasn't there a bunch of murders here, years ago?" Barbara murmured as he led her down State. He stopped at a narrow alley at the eastern face of the edifice. It separated the Radiator Building from the parking structure that rose up to east. He led the way down here, between the high artificial cliffs to either side.

"Yeah, a gang of drug dealers thought they could take it over," he said. "They killed some of the people living here to send a message. Blood Raven turned them into a message of her own."

"That's... not comforting," Barbara said from behind him.

"They worked hard to earn it," Cray insisted. "Blood Raven... she's actually remarkably restrained, all things considered. She's not petty. She doesn't kill people for shits and giggles. It takes a lot for her to go all out like that. But go on a killing spree in her house, and you are going to regret it."

"So this is her house?" Barbara wondered. "Won't she be mad about this? About what you are doing?"

"Probably," Cray shrugged. "But she'd deal with it. She'd be the first to admit that it's easier to beg forgiveness after the fact, than ask for permission beforehand. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time for one of the Alliance to do something like this. Stormcrow once... well, that's not for me to say."

"But it does not matter. She's gone." Cray's voice took on a tone of finality. "She moved on. I can't say where, or to do what. That's her business. She left all this to me."

"That's quite a gift..." Barbara whistled.

"Well, she was quite a woman," Cray said. "She was ferocious, kind, unforgiving, considerate, infuriating, noble, ruthless, pig-headed, and generous to a fault. She was the nearest I think I will ever get to meeting a real goddess on Earth."

"You sound like you love her," Barbara noted.

"No, you don't love a goddess," Cray shook his head. "You just survive her, if you can. She's from our planet, but she's not from our world, if you know what I mean."

"That sounds... foreboding," Barbara said.

"You met her once," Cray said. "You even punched her. Not many people can brag about that!"

He came to the end of the alley. Here a large roll-up door stood within a small annex to the larger Radiator Building overhead. Cray stepped up beside it and swung open a metal panel. He tapped a code into the box within. Then he leaned forward and held still while it scanned his retina. After all of that, the door began to roll up into the ceiling with a loud clatter of metal.

"I - you know that?" Barbara asked. "It's not something I really talk to people about."

"I know that," Cray said. "Like I said, I'm her IT guy. I did all her planning, all her prep work, all her research that did not involve magic and monsters. I saw everything through her suit cameras."

He led her into the loading dock within. There was not much to it. It looked like exactly what one would expect. It was a dusty concrete structure, with a sloped pit for trucks to back into, and a raised dock at the rear for their cargo to be unloaded onto. Cray shut the door behind them. Then he led Barbara up a ramp on one side, and to a wide utility elevator beyond the loading bay.

"Just like you do for me now," Barbara mused.

"Exactly," Cray murmured. "It's what I am good at: managing information. It's always been what I was good at, even when I was a kid back in Queens. I used to collect baseball cards and memorize all my favorite player's stats. I'd try to fill out the whole roster for the Mets every year. You know, regular kid stuff."

"Oh god, you're a nerd too, just like January and her friends." Barbara sighed. But she did smile. She looked a little more at ease when he led her into the battered elevator, and shut the vertical doors behind her. Then the old beast shuddered, and slowly clanked up skyward.

"I know, a computer guy who's a nerd, who could have seen that coming!" Cray laughed. "At least I dress better than most nerds. And I bathe regularly."

"You do," Barbara nodded. "You dress better than my husband, my ex-husband I mean."

"Blood Raven has her dragon silk. Gadget has his powered armor. I have my sweater vests and blazers." Cray took a moment to straighten up his tie. Not that it had been loose or out of place of course. "It's my super suit."

With that the freight elevator shuddered to a halt. Its vertical doors clanked open a moment later, and slid up and down to reveal the room beyond. It was the main floor of the Raven's Nest. A massive square of marble took up its center, and ran from floor to ceiling. It effectively divided the loft into four areas, each of which faced one of its wide faces.

The new trophy area lay against the face that lay straight off the elevator. At one corner of the marble block rose a display case that held the original Stormcrow armor. At the opposite corner sat an identical cabinet in which Blood Raven's iconic red and black armor and cape stood. In the center between them were the shards of Y Ddraig Aur, ensconced within yet another vertical case. Next to that was a lower case with all of the deactivated Abyssal detection poppets. A second low case sat on the other side of the broken sword. It was currently empty, but was pregnant with possibilities. Above all was a large team photo of the founding members of the Great Lakes Alliance: Blood Raven, January, Lighthammer, Blackhawk, Gadget, Ôkami, and Cray himself.

The quadrant to the right of this had been Blood Raven's modern research center. The area was still partly empty now. But the pool table, dart board, and old arcade games Cray had set up there gave it some character. The area to the left of course was his domain. It was all computers, servers, networking gear, and the like. The massive table computer dominated it all. He led Barbara toward this, but stopped when he realized that she was no longer following him.

"That's you, in that picture with the rest of them." She stated the obvious.

"Yes," Cray said softly, and walked back to her. He turned his head to follow her gaze. The team photo she was looking had been taken in this very loft.

"That's the only picture of me with the rest of them," Cray explained. "It's a security risk, because I don't have a suit to mask my identity. But Stormcrow insisted, because we are a team after all. Besides, if anyone gets in here, they are already going to know who I am. They'll probably be looking right at me, since I work here."

Barbara's eyes turned from the wide picture, to the two tall display cases that stood at either end of the central marble wall. "That's Stormcrow's original armor, from before she got her glow-up a little while ago. And that other one, that's really Blood Raven's too."

"It is," Cray nodded. "Blood Raven left it behind. I only found it packed away a few days ago."

"She really isn't coming back then, is she?" Barbara's voice was quiet, almost sad at the revelation. Cray had to admit that he felt the same. He was going to miss the old lady.

Then Barbara's eyes moved to the center of the space, where the broken shards of Y Ddraig Aur stood upright in their own velvet lined case.

"And this... this is really it, isn't it?"

"This is really it." Cray said softly. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"Here," he leaned over to the display case and opened its door. He reached inside, and withdrew the hilt of the now legendary sword. It felt heavy in his hand, and strangely warm. It was like there was a fire deep inside the weapon that had never gone out. He turned and handed it to Barbara.

She took the elongated grip of the longsword in both of her hands. Its double-edged black blade jutted from the crossbar, only to abruptly end at a jagged break. Cray studied her eyes. She looked amazed. Like a kid in a candy shop. He could not blame her. Even after all these years, he could not deny feeling the same way himself around all of this at times.

"The sword that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand," Barbara breathed, as she stared at the magic artifact.

Cray coughed. Gadget had said nearly those very same words upon seeing the sword, some three weeks before. That struck a little near to home. It reminded him of how closely he was dancing with his feet to the fire.

"What, I read Lord of the Rings too when I was little," Barbara defended herself. "I'm a librarian you know. I read books too, between stacking them on shelves."

"What was that about you calling me a nerd..." he smiled.

"Oh hush. I suppose I've always been a book nerd." She smiled back him. That simple grin lifted a massive weight from Cray's shoulders. Then she looked back down to the broken sword in her hands. "It's still warm, did you feel that?"

"It is," Cray agreed. "Stormcrow told me that it's still magical. It's not the original enchantment. It's a new one, that was created by the act of it being broken at Belle Isle and summoning the dragon. She says that someday a hero might wield it in their own journey."

"But it's broken," Barbara frowned.

"Mayhap the Sword-that-was-Broken may still stem the tide," Cray declared. "Stormcrow says that someday an elven king - or a witch queen - might reforge it once more."

"She sounds like a bigger nerd than either one of us!" Barbara laughed loudly then. Her eyes shone, and that light warmed Cray's heart more than any magic sword ever could.

"She is!" he exclaimed. "You would not believe how much she is, all these young kids are. They make us look boring and mundane."

"I can't believe you know them," Barbara gushed. She finally handed the sword back to him, and Cray reverently placed it back into its display case. In spite of how cavalier it might have seemed to just hand it to his boss - not girlfriend - she was totally not that, yet at least. Friend would be good enough. In spite of all that, he knew that this was the nearest to a sacred object he would ever handle, let alone see. The very fate of his world had hung upon its edge after all.

"I know them," Cray said. "I work with them. Here, let me show you where I do my own magic."

He motioned to the computer domain on the south side of the building. As he stepped into the lights of the numerous screens, he finally began to relax. This was going to work out after all.

* * *

"You told her who you were?" Avery practically shouted.

"I know, I know, it was stupid." Cray said.

"Please tell me you didn't tell my mom that I was Stormcrow." January almost pleaded.

She knew that she was the last person with a right to throw stones. After all, she had brought Hannah home to the Witch House after just meeting her. That really was no different from what Cray had done. But it still hit close to home.

Hannah. She had not thought about the other woman in... She did not know how long. Some analytical part of January's brain considered that a good thing. Then she brushed all thoughts of her failed love life aside, and back to more pressing matters.

"No, no, of course not," Cray insisted. "I didn't spill anyone's secret identity, except mine."

"I thought you're supposed to be the wise old mentor guy," Avery cried.

January's best friend did not often lose his cool. Like her, he preferred to live on the down low, not attracting too much attention. It was a survival skill when you were a gay black man. That went doubly so for one who lived in Warren, Michigan. It had once been a sundown town, and well, things had only marginally improved since.

But Avery had thrown his natural prudence to the wind, and was starting to really get worked up as he continued in a full-blown tirade.

"You're supposed to be the one who made all these mistakes when he was young, before the movie started," her best friend exclaimed. "So they just come across as cool and wise and all-knowing, because they're beyond doing all the stupid shit. Us youngin's are the ones who are supposed to be doing the reckless and foolish crap."

"You think I don't know how stupid this was?" Cray threw his hands up in the air with frustration. "I know! I know! I couldn't help it. Has it ever occurred to you that I'm human too? I'm not just a robot sitting at desk all day doing web searches and making phone calls for you guys."

"I..." January said. She considered what her old therapist might say if she had told her such a thing. "You're right. Tell us more. We don't really know."

"I..." Cray sighed, suddenly deflated. He leaned back against the pool table he had so recently added to the Raven's Nest. "Ever since I got out of prison and saw Blood Raven standing there outside the gate, I have been living a double life. There's been this one part of me that I show to the public: the plain, boring, IT guy. He dresses normal. He acts normal: stops at every red light, crosses at the crosswalk. Never steps one foot out of line. He's so boring that no one even wants to know what company he works for, because no one cares to. He's that bland."

"But then I have this secret life. This other life that I can't let anyone else ever know about. Where I do amazing things. Where I am part of something so much bigger than myself. Where I make the world a better place. Where I make a difference in people's lives. Only they will never know it, because I have to stay hidden in the shadows all the time. It's like I'm a dirty little secret."

"This job - this thing we do - cost me my marriage. She could handle me being an ex-con. She couldn't live with me disappearing at all hours of the day, and coming up with lame excuses for why every time. Even the old 'work called me in on an emergency' line sounded dumb to me after a while. She thought I was sleeping with someone else. I had to let her think that, because I could never tell her the truth. So she left me."

"I have a daughter too. She thinks I love my job more than her, because even when I have her, I'm not really here. I have to get on the computer to back up Blood Raven and Stormcrow as they try to save the world. But I can't tell her that. I have to let her believe that my generic computer job means more to me than she does."

"Then I met this great woman: your mom Barbara. She's smart. She's funny. She's driven. She's not content to just bitch about how the world sucks. She's determined to make it better. I want to be part of her life. Because you know what, I don't have one, not at all. I don't have friends. I don't really have family, not anymore. All I have are people with capes, and this damn... job."

"I can't keep living this double life all the time," Cray murmured. "I can't keep who and what I am a secret from every living soul in the world. I can't keep pretending to be what I am not all the time, for fear of what the consequences might be. I need to just be my real, authentic self for once in my life, with someone I care about."

The four of them stood there. Four - because while Ryo was present - he was nothing but a silent shadow against one wall. January found herself speechless, and she could see that Avery was as well. How many times had they each heard that speech of his, echoed within the confines or their own minds? Too many to count, that was for certain.

"Aww hell," Avery finally sighed. "I can't be mad at you bro."

"You are a Queer allegory," Ryo finally spoke up.

"Yep," January nodded. "Living a double life, trapped in world that doesn't understand you, smothered by secrets, having to hide what makes you special. Been there, done that friend!"

"You may be a cishet white dude, but you're one of us," Avery breathed. He stepped forward, and hugged Cray. "Bring it in bro, welcome to the family."

"I'm sorry Cray," January said. She too stepped forward, and gave the older man a shorter embrace than Avery had. "I didn't stop to think about how all of this made you feel. Of course we can deal with this. We always do."

"I am not going to hug anyone," Ryo shook his head when everyone finally turned to look at him.

* * *

[Acadian]

Nice review of the Raven Nest and how ‘Oh wow!’ it would be to see for someone like Barbara.

Really some good character development of Cray going on here as he opens up about Blood Raven, his past and the internal conflicts he deals with. Not surprisingly, the Alliance accepts him for who and what he is. That is what they do.

"I am not going to hug anyone," Ryo shook his head when everyone finally turned to look at him.’
- - Perfect ending! Letting others see him is as close as Ryo’s getting to hugland.