The Stormcrow, A Superhero's Tale Options

[Acadian]

Wow! Talk about battle of the titans!

’It wasn't the weather that she affected, it was the elements!’
- - A wonderful moment when Jan realized what she had unknowingly been showing us all along. A milestone awakening for the StromCrow!

’She got hold of her flight, and managed to skid to a halt in a crouch, both feet and one hand on the floor.’
- - What an epic and classical superhero pose this conjures. I can see Spiderman, Wonder Woman or one of several other superheroes in exactly this same pose.

"Anyone not keeping up on current events, better head on out the front," January said quietly.’
- - For some reason, I can imagine John Wayne or Clint Eastwood saying exactly the same!

’Did everyone have to take videos of everything? Did life even exist before there were pictures to prove that it had happened?’
- - ‘Hey, statues or it didn’t happen!’ Jan, don’t you just hate it when your own words come back to haunt you?

’She calmed her beating heart, soothed the blood that pounded in her veins, and washed herself clean with mana.’
- - Wonderful that Teresa’s ‘Cleanse’ spell travels worlds and time so nicely.

Definitely a good opportunity at the end of this episode for Jan to remind herself once again about the hazards of friendly fire.

[SubRosa]

Renee: Centipedes ick me out too. They don't frighten me. They just gross me out. Nothing needs that many legs.

There is not a reference to the spider in particular, but to the class of creature it is, yes. It will come up again in the story very soon again as well.

I was completely inspired by the Druid spell to call down lightning. It is Pure awesome in Neverwinter Nights 2. It fits into January's elemental outlook perfectly.

January never really understood how ridiculous it was to record everything on your phone until she was on the other end of that phone. Otherwise she would still be just as oblivious that life still happens without the internet.

You are right, Freddy Mercury is not a bad guy. He tried to be a stand up guy and do the right thing. He had no idea that the spider could phase (who would?). But that is the problem with guns, and all sorts of weapons, including martial arts training. They can easily harm or kill people their users never intended. With guns in particular, two-thirds of all gun injuries are self-inflicted. That is a lesson Jan takes to heart, because she knows how easily she could get carried away with her power.


Acadian: The battle of the titans is not over yet! Jan really struts her stuff in this chapter, in a way she has not done since she squared off against Lighthammer and Whitewater back in Chapter 1.

This was indeed a moment to really cheer for January, as she finally, finally understands the true extent of her abilities. She is not just a magician, she is an elementalist. As Blood Raven told her to, she has find her own magic.

I admit to totally stealing that line from Clint Eastwood. At the end of Unforgiven he tells the bar "Anyone don't want to get killed, better clear on out the back." I channeled that to January's situation.

Ooops, that was not meant to some across as a cleaning spell. Rather Jan was trying to calm down and get her emotions - and adrenaline - under control. I went back and tweaked the wording a bit to fix that.







The Battleground 2

It is time for Blood Raven's fight music

Y Ddraig Aur

The Djieien


Book 4.10 - Pride

But the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and January felt something dark and terrible rising. She turned to the crater that her lightning had blasted into the street. The police had almost reached it. She waved them back, and leaped forward.

An instant later the giant spider loomed up, showing no signs of injury. It moved toward the police, and they raised their guns automatically. January focused on Air, and leaped back to the street in a flash. She landed in front of the cops, too late to stop them from firing.

She hit the twin triggers in her gauntlets. Her cape instantly snapped out into a pair of wings directly in front of them. Their bullets drove into its armored surface on each side of her, threatening to send January spinning like a top. She planted her feet and held firm against the ballistic downpour. The cop directly in front of her sent his bullets hammering into her chest. One, two, three, she counted the impacts against her breastbone. But the strength and resilience of earth filled her now. She stood before the bullets as impassive as a mountain before a swarm of angry bees.

The police stopped firing in horror, and instantly lowered their weapons. Especially the one who had shot January in the chest. They cursed, and tried to spread out to get clear shots around her.

"No guns!" January shouted to them. "The bullets go right through it. You are going to kill the people behind it."

"Get back to Nine Mile," she waved them back. "Keep the people safe. I'll deal with this thing."

She triggered off her wings, and they fell back into an ordinary cape. At the same time she spun around to face the monster. She did not pause to see if the police officers followed her orders. She hoped they would. She hoped she had gained enough trust by now. But there was nothing more she could do about them. The spider demanded all of her attention now.

There was no time to dodge its onslaught. She dug in her heels, and took its charge. It crashed into her like a freight train. Its massive fangs speared her chest, piercing her hagfish armor as if it was tissue paper. But January did not falter. She was stone. She was the mountain. She was adamant.

"Not one more inch," she growled to the beast. She laid one hand on its head, and used it to rise up about a foot into the air. Then she came crashing back down with an elbow directly into the monster's face. The lightning that had been dancing around her body cracked loudly, and blasted straight into the spider. Its head literally exploded under the blow, while the rest of its body went flying back into the pit.

January glanced down at her chest. Her armor was torn open in two places, where the fangs had impaled her. She could see that her skin beneath the rents was bruised red and purple, but not cut. Thankfully it was high enough that she was still G-Rated.

She also noted that the leftover electricity she had absorbed from her lightning bolts was gone now. Apparently her downward jumping elbow had sent it all into the spider, with dramatic effect. She was going to have to remember that trick for the future.

"You ok Crow?" Gadget's voice came in her ear.

"Just a few bruises," January breathed and bit down a wince. It hurt every time she inhaled or exhaled. She hoped it was just a few bruises... "The suit's going to need some work though."

"Is that the same spider, or another one?"

"I think it's the same one," January leaped to the edge of the crater and scanned its contents. She did not see the burned up corpse of the spider she had blasted with lightning earlier. The current monster had to be the same one. "This thing regenerates like crazy."

It came rushing back out at her. The head which January had just annihilated with her elbow was back once again, as healthy and ugly as before she had struck it. She let it bite at her with its fangs to commit itself. Once she saw how it was moving, she was Air. Laying one hand on top of its head for a boost, she leapt up over top of it, and landed on its back.

It spun around, trying to get at her. But it could not reach her in her high perch. January gave all of her attention to its wildly bucking frame, which shifted violently beneath her feet. She was thankful for all of her years of gymnastics, for it had taught her how to maintain her balance in the most precarious of positions.

"There's a telephone pole next to you," Gadget said over the comm. "If you can pull it loose, maybe you can spear it, and pin it into the ground?"

January glanced over at the pole as the spider turned in place. It was shorter than most power lines, but still an impressive length of pine. Better yet, she did not see any power lines, or even phone lines attached to it. Rather it seemed to just have a handful of thin stabilizing wires that connected it to one other post, and a light that hung over the street.

"No, that won't work," January shook her head. "Bullets pass right through it remember, and it just ran through those cars in the parking lot."

"Damn," Gadget cursed. "This is so not fair. How many times have you killed this thing already?"

January did not answer. The spider lifted its abdomen up toward her in a great sweep. She leaped up to avoid being clobbered by it. The spider darted aside while she was in the air, and January came down atop the pole Gadget had considered using as a spear. Thankfully its top was flat. About thirty feet from the ground, it was also out of the spider's reach.

Though not out of range of its webs. That was something January discovered when it leveled its abdomen at her once more, and sent a long streamer of that globby webbing her way. She leaped off the pole, and landed on the rooftop of the two-story house that had been shot up.

The spider continued its barrage, and January ran along the rooftop, just in front of the webbing. She noted a tall evergreen near the pole she had so recently vacated and leaped for it. She dove right into its branches, and felt the needles stinging into her face and body. She ignored them and grabbed hold of the trunk. She swung around it in a half circle, then let go. That sent her feet-first into the spider, which was turning to face her.

Her boots crushed its exoskeleton and caved in its softer insides. Once again she was splashed with blue spider innards. She did a back flip off the near-headless spider, and landed on her feet before it. Grabbing at its thorax with both arms, she lifted it in the air and power slammed it to the concrete.

"Now pin him for the three count and end this thing," Gadget said. It was a good sign that he was joking. January did not share his confidence however. Nothing she did seemed to truly stop it. It just kept coming back for more. What would happen when she finally got tired, and could no longer move so fast, or punch so strong, as she could now? Eventually this thing was going to wear her down, and that would be it.

Even now the thing had flipped itself over, and was rising to its eight feet. Its eyes glowed with emerald malevolence. January noted that every one of them was focused upon her. She never liked being the center of attention at the best of times. This was definitely not one of those. Once again, she wished for the halcyon days of fighting Whitewater Security.

"Go back to the Abyss that spawned you!"

Blood Raven's voice rang out from somewhere above her. January did not simply hear it with her ears. She felt it reverberate through the astral. It was a hurricane of power. It rushed past her, and battered against the giant spider. January could see the monster buckle under the impact. Not physically, but magically. Those words hammered it, tore at it, shoved it from this reality.

January spared a glance up. She saw the flame-haired superheroine hovering in the air above her, cape spilling out behind her in the wind. She radiated power in the astral, like a star burning above the street. January wondered how much of that was visible to mundane eyes, and how much she was sensing magically? She was not nearly experienced enough to tell the difference.

The monster held on under the onslaught of arcane might, just as it had endured all of January's efforts to eradicate it. Then came a scratching, rustling sound. It reminded January of crumpled up paper scraping across a dusty floor. Something about it set her teeth on edge, and made her want to wince.

You cannot banish me little leech. Blood and death has called me.

The voice was in her head, laughing like the devil. January wanted to punch its eyes out once more.

"If you will not leave, then you will be ended," Blood Raven declared imperiously.

Blood Raven's magic circle of golden Celtic knotwork glowed to life in the air at her feet. It rose up around her, spinning as it went. Behind it a longsword formed in her hands. Its three foot blade of black steel was etched with glowing golden runes. It looked like Death itself, formed into a sword.

"This is Y Ddraig Aur," she declared, "The Golden Dragon. Perhaps you have heard of it?"

January had never heard of the sword. But she certainly felt it. It occupied a space in the astral completely out of proportion to its physical size and mass. It loomed in January's mind like a dragon rising up from its lair. Even when she was not trying to sense into the realm of magic, January could feel it blazing there, just like its namesake.

For a moment she almost thought it really was a dragon, physically there in the street. But that would have been crazy after all. Another glance confirmed that it was just a sword after all. But it certainly felt like the mythical creature it was named for. It was as if the energy of a dragon had been formed into a sword, or if the blood of one had been...

January thought that the monster actually quailed before Blood Raven and her terrible blade. But that might have just been a ruse. For an instant later its abdomen shot forward, and a blob of webbing hurtled through the air toward the superheroine. A force field of glowing yellow light sprang to life before Blood Raven's left hand, and the webbing was harmlessly caught upon its surface.

Blood Raven struck fast as lightning. One moment she was standing there in mid air. The next she was down in the spider's face. Its fangs skittered off her force shield. Then that terrible sword lashed out. January actually heard the blade roar in the astral, like a dragon joining battle. It seemed to hate the spider, and slaver for its destruction. Four of the monster's legs went flying from just one blow. The rest of its limbs followed a second later. Finally, its head was separated from its abdomen.

"It won't help," January said. "It'll just regenerate."

"I know," Blood Raven declared. She took a moment to turn to face January. "There is only one means to slay a djieien. Its heart must be found, and destroyed."

"I already ripped out its insides," January shook her head, and glanced down at the blue spider blood that splashed her armor. "It didn't help."

"The djieien can place its heart anywhere, within anything," Blood Raven explained.

You cannot stop us mosquito. The Master is coming. When he does, this pathetic realm shall be transformed.

The monster rose up again, fully healed. Blood Raven stopped its charge with a wall of golden force.

"Pray tell, who is this Master you speak of creature?" she asked.

You shall be among the first to feel his wrath lamprey. You and your little pet blood-bag.

"I am no one's pet!" January snarled. She cocked a fist, and prepared to leap upon the spider.

"It's baiting you." Blood Raven laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder for one moment, diffusing her rage.

"You may not have blood Abyssal," she said to the monster. "But you possess something near enough for my purposes."

Blood Raven reached one hand out toward the monster, and clamped her fingers shut, as if she was grabbing the spider. It shook under her magical grasp. Blood Raven gritted her teeth in effort, and her eyes blazed to a brighter shade of scarlet. January could feel her magic reaching into its body, taking control of its internal fluids, roiling them, burning them, and finally vaporizing them. Blood Raven opened the fingers of her hand, and the spider literally exploded from the inside out, with a horrific shower of fried innards.

It was the most stunning, and revolting, demonstration of power January had ever witnessed. She mentally filed that away. If Blood Raven could do it to a creature the size of the spider, how much easier could she do that to a human?

"This is one of your Creatures of the Abyss then?" January asked. She knew that in spite of the spectacular death, the monster would be back shortly.

"Oh yes," Blood Raven nodded. "One like it plagued the Seneca three hundred years ago."

"How come I can hit it, when everything else just passes through it?" she wondered.

"Because for nearly half of your life you have forged your body into a magical armament," Blood Raven declared. "The djieien is a spirit of magic and darkness. You are one of magic and light."

"So it's just like in D&D then, with the Monk's Ki strike ability counting as a magic weapon," January stared down at her fist. "That makes sense."

"Is this another of your role-playing games?" Blood Raven shook her head.

"Everything I know about being a hero, I learned from playing RPGs," January said.

"This djieien sounds a lot like a lich," Gadget's voice came over the comm. "Destroy its phylactery and you destroy it."

"So how do we find its phylactery?" January wondered.

"Look where it was summoned," Blood Raven said. "It will have hidden its heart somewhere near."

[Acadian]

Some quick and creative thinking by Stormcrow to use her wings as a shield! She learned early and has consistently gone to great lengths to prevent collateral injuries to innocents. I’d say that is one of numerous distinctions that make her a white hat among superheroes.

Stormcrow was fabulous as she repeatedly destroyed her imposing foe – only to have it regenerate. I was worried that the djieien’s strategy was to wear down Stormcrow, and was rewarded when the young superheroine soon expressed the same concern.

Then the cavalry arrived!

If the young Stormcrow is awesome (and she is), by Kynareth’s wings, Blood Raven is some sort of superawesomesauce! Wow! You quite imparted a truly epic feel to the older superheroine in this scene.

And, thankfully, Blood Raven knows exactly what they’re dealing with and how to ultimately vanquish it.

Heart hunting up next I should think.


Nit: ’She mentally filed that way {away?}.’

[Renee]

OH you are lucky. Centipedes make my skin crawl and they frighten me. They aren't popular to see here in Maryland; I might usually only see two or three per year, usually in summer, but when I do see one I sometimes lose my balance as I scurry backwards, trying not to drop the laundry or whatever. Did you know they have cyanide in their legs??? When attacked, they make this little hissing sound which I presume is them trying to poison their attacker. Were you facing your own spider fears as you wrote those chapters?

Okay. Please be gone, Boris.

An instant later the giant spider loomed up, showing no signs of injury.

Crap. Anybody got a thousand cans of raid?

Okay, it's good there are no power lines attached to that pole. Because yeah, that would make this dilemma even worse.

discovered when it leveled its abdomen at her once more, and sent a long streamer of that globby webbing her way

Yicch. She must be a mess right now, with all sorts of guts and spider webbing everywhere. That shower back at Blood Raven's house won't last long enough. She'd better use all ALL the hot water after this is done. Oh good. Speaking of Blood Raven. Here she comes. Yeah, I was wondering.

"How come I can hit it, when everything else just passes through it?" she wondered.

"Because for nearly half of your life you have forged your body into a magical armament,"

I was gonna say. It's similar to silver or enchanted only affecting undead. You have to reach these beasts in their other plane of existence, and normal metals will not do. ... Ha ha January makes a similar observation a moment later.

Uh oh. Where is its heart? Guess that shower's gonna have to be postponed for another chapter.

[Darkness Eternal]

Spiders have never bothered me, even as a kid, even those huge garden spiders with psychedelic coloring. Now centipedes on the other hand..... indifferent.gif I literally just got the crawlies linking that picture up.

Uck! We had plenty of those at home! I remember my grandmother whacking them with a broom every time they ran through our kitchen floor.


Wow. What a fight! Made even more epic with the song you provided

'The monster's back plate shattered like balsa wood struck by a missile. Her fist plunged deeply into its soft, gooey innards. A blue liquid, like blood, splashed over January, and the street all around.'

That was disgusting.

Seeing Jan's powers was pretty awesome, and as time goes she's learning to use them well! That Nether-Spider is very resilient.

Her heroism shines through again in every aspect. Smart of her to warn against the use of bullets against it. Blood Raven's abilities and powers shined through here, too. No matter how often the creature comes back, Jan was there to kick its rear again. She's just as resilient. What a couple of badasses!

I'm curious as to what sort of threat the master is, and how interesting that to destroy this cosmic entity one has to destroy the heart. Totally reminded me of It, and how he turns into a giant spider.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Apr 9 2020, 12:16 AM

[SubRosa]

Acadian: Jan's concern for protecting others will always be foremost in her mind, in every situation she ends up in. Like you said, it really shows where her values are.

I spent some time thinking creatively on how a super could use their wings for more than just the obvious. One inspiration was the anime Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust, where a vampire uses his cape as both a shield and a cutting weapon. Here is an example. Jan will be doing more of this kind of thing in the future.

The Djieien is a deceptively dangerous foe. Because while it has some impressive powers, January can defeat it. But its greatest power is that it can simply outlast everyone else, as Jan eventually realized. In the end, it would win.

We have just gotten a taste of Blood Raven's pure awesomeness. There will be a little more this episode, and a lot more in Chapter 5, when she squares off against 10 super-powered Neo-Nazis.

Thanks for filing that nit away for me...


Renee: I was facing my arachnophobia when I wrote this. I was not going to make it a spider at first. But I decided to meet my own fears head on by writing it. I still don't want to look at a picture of it. But I am glad I wrote it this way. The Djieien makes a great opponent!

The funny thing is, I don't mind spiders as enemies in 3d isometric style games, like Pillars of Eternity, or Dragon Age. It is only in the first person type games, like Skyrim, that they bother me. I remember in Divinity Original Sin I had a character who used to summon spiders in fact. In that game they had a neat poison power, that sprayed their attackers with poison whenever they were hit.

Thankfully January tends to make it rain whenever she fights, so the shower is already taking place!

Yep, Jan has that pretty much 'standard' ability in RPGs that monks attacks count as magic weapons. As Blood Raven pointed out, January is a magic weapon.


Darkness Eternal: Eeep! I would not want to have lived with your grandma!

Nether-Spider is a great name!

The Master is the big bad in the entire over-arching tale. We will find out more about who Blood Raven thinks he is in the episodes following this one. We will not actually meet him until chapter 11 or 12, or maybe later.






The Summoner's Theme

The VR Video Game is Eve Valkyrie

The Summoning House




Book 4.11 - Pride

"I'm on it," Gadget said in her ear. "I'm in the local porch cameras right now. Got to love these home security systems. They are so easy to hack."

January turned to the nearest house. The two story one with the bullet holes. Until Gadget came back with something, that seemed a good place to start. If nothing else, she could help any people inside who might have been wounded by the gunfire. A glance down the street showed that the news crew was still there, and in fact, had been joined by a second one.

The spider rose up once more, and tried to intercept January has she leaped for the house. But Blood Raven stopped it, and that blade of hers roared once more in the gathering dark. January heard flesh cleaving, and screaming in the astral.

She continued on, vaulting over the fence and into the yard of the nearest home. She was at the back door in an instant, and found it locked. She fished out the electric lockpick that Gadget had made, and thrust it into the lock. It buzzed to life, and the tumblers in the lock clicked open in just a few moments.

She moved inside quickly, and ignored the stairs going to the basement. That would be too low to have been in danger from the bullets. Instead she went to her left, into the kitchen, and found several holes in the outer wall. She looked across the room, and found more holes opposite them, leading deeper into the home.

"Is anyone here?" she yelled. "I'm Stormcrow. I'm here to see if anyone is injured."

Nothing but silence greeted her.

January followed the kitchen to the living room. There she saw a man standing in front of the television. He wore a VR headset and gloves, and January saw what he was playing on the TV. It was some kind of space dogfight game. As she watched, January saw the man maneuver along the hull of a massive warship, peppering it with energy weapons. Then he zoomed around the far side, spun around, and blasted an enemy fighter that had been on his tail.

January shook her head. A real life-and-death struggle with an eldritch monstrosity was taking place right outside his house, and he was playing video games.

She did not see any injuries on him. She darted over, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He nearly jumped through the ceiling. He tried to pull the goggles from his eyes, but forgot that he still clutched the controllers in both his hands. He just ended up scraping them against the headset. January reached out and plucked the headset free. She asked him if anyone else was in the house. His surprise turned to shock. He had probably never imagined that he would find a superhero in his living room. January repeated her question, and after he shook his head, she bustled him outside.

Blood Raven still battled with the djieien at the end of the street, just to the left. January gave the man a gentle push the right. After one glance at the giant spider, he did not need any further persuasion to put his feet to good use.

January darted back into the house. Just to be sure, she checked the bathroom and bedrooms. But the homeowner was true to his word, and the house was empty. January noted that the bullet holes stopped half-way through the building. So at least it seemed that no one else might have been endangered by them.

January raced back outside. A glance showed that the djieien still battled with Blood Raven in the side street. The vampire gestured with her hand, and a brilliant bolt of yellow light blossomed from her fingers. It ripped along the length of the spider's body, cut it in two, and left a smoldering ruin behind in its wake. Clearly, she needed no assistance.

So January went on to the next house. This was a one story ranch, with a red roof and garage door. A For Sale sign stood on the lawn. The shades were drawn across the front windows, blocking her view inside. She tried the door and found it open. Pushing it in, she yelled out once more to announce herself.

"This is Stormcrow!" she declared. "Is anyone in here? Is anyone injured?"

The sound of buzzing flies came to her ears in reply. Then came the stench. It was that sickly sweet smell of meat that had turned. Almost at her feet was a dead dog, with a hole in its head wide enough to put a fist through it. The edges of the wound were charred, as if something incredibly hot had lanced through the poor animal's skull. It immediately reminded January of how Blood Raven's arcane bolt had seared through the spider just moments before, albeit in much smaller scale.

Beyond the dog things only got worse. The furniture had been overturned and shoved to the walls to clear out a wide, open space in the center of the living room. It was red. Not from paint, but from blood. A large magic circle was drawn at one end of the open area, using colored powders. January recognized runes from the Eldar Futhark. But she could not make out the words right off. Only that it had something to do with darkness, magic, and death.

Two pathways were drawn out from this larger circle to the far corners of the room. Each pathway was a set of double lines, with a wide open lane between them, like curbs and a road. Within each of these curbs were long incantations of incomprehensible glyphs. One pathway led to a small magic circle that was drawn out in what looked likes salt, and bore more symbols that January did not recognize. The second path led to still another circle. This last one was drawn in wood ash, and inscribed with what she realized were symbols from 19th century Western esotericism, such as those used by the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

Within the runes of the last circle of ash was a wash of blood on the floor. Red drag marks led across the floor from it to the large circle, contained neatly inside the lines drawn out connecting the two. Within the large circle were the remnants of a human body. January could not tell if it had been a man or woman. There were literally no pieces large enough to judge from. It had been not simply torn apart, but it seemed to have exploded from the inside out, and somehow been contained within the circle.

"Got it!" Gadget's voice rang triumphant in her ear. "The second house from the end of the street! It walked right out of the front wall just before the fight started."

January tried to respond, but had to hold her mouth shut, as her gorge rose into her throat. She doubled over, feeling her stomach wanting to erupt with revulsion. The physical sights and smells were bad enough. But the magical impressions she felt were so much worse. She felt the terror of the person and dog who were murdered here. She felt their pain, their desperation. It was written more boldly than the symbols on the floor, or the horrific aftermath sprayed between them.

But that was nothing compared to the feeling of wrongness in the air. Of reality having been warped and snapped. It was a psychic, or magical, footprint that filled her with loathing. It stank of the djieien, and worse things.

"Oh snap!" Gadget hissed. January imagined that he was looking at the feed from her helmet camera now. "What the-"

Two cops crowded the doorway behind January. Once they took a look inside, they seemed to lose their desire to go any farther. She heard one gulping, and did not feel so bad about her own rebellious stomach.

"I know you don't want to hear this right now, but that is a circuit," Gadget said in her ear. His voice was dispassionate, professional, an engineer examining a technical point. "You've got two power sources, my guess is of different voltages, and the load the energy runs to. I recognize some of those symbols too. Those are Cauchy-Riemann equations. It looks like something about space-time, and extra dimensions."

January turned that over in her head for a moment. A summoner who used advanced mathematics as well as the more traditional forms of esotericism? It really did not matter right now however. She had to kill that spider.

"The heart must be in here," January finally choked out. She forced her feet deeper into the house, casting her eyes from one horror to another.

"How will we even know it when we see it?" One of the policemen said through gritted teeth.

"With little difficulty I suspect," January breathed. She turned back and waved the police deeper into the room. "We have to find it. It's the only way to destroy that creature."

"It could be anywhere," one of the cops shook his head. But he started looking none the less.

January silently agreed with the futility of their task. It could be sitting in plain sight, washed within the gore of the person so horrifically slaughtered. Given that the creature could make itself intangible, it might even be inside a wall, or the roof.

There was only one way to find it. This thing was clearly from the Outside, in the most Lovecraftian sense of the word. It stood to reason that in the astral, it would not feel the same as anything from the Earth. It should stand out like a sore thumb.

January stopped looking with her eyes, and screwed them shut so that the sights in the house would not distract her. She concentrated on her breathing, and felt the mana as it flowed through her body. She ran her elemental mantra through her head to steady her. Then she reached out with her magical senses, and felt the room around her.

The terror and wrongness that had assailed her when she first stepped into the house came back a hundred times in strength. It beat down upon her heart, and threatened to crush her soul. She was driven to her knees by the wave of horror, that seemed to eclipse all light from reality.

But she mastered herself. Not one inch farther, she told herself. She was stone. She was the mountain. She was adamantine. She would not be overwhelmed by the dread of it all. The Crow had always been more than just her namesake, and Crow did not fear the dark. He had existed in the Void before Creation. He had born witness to the making of the universe, and knew the secrets of transformation. He was home in the dark, and remained a guide and guardian for those who walked in dark places. Like him, she would walk through those places with her head held high.

So she pushed back the revulsion, and felt about for something out of place. She found it almost instantly. There, beneath the floor, right in the center of the largest magic circle. She felt that sickening perversity that assaulted her whenever she sensed the djieien. It pulsed, strong and terrible, there in a web of darkness just beneath their feet.

January stepped into the gore-splattered magic circle and curled her fingers together. She took a moment to center herself, and then smashed her fist through the floor. She ripped out carpet and chunks of hardwood. She tried to ignore the blood and bits of organs that washed everything she touched. She tore out more of the floor, and there it was.

It was a sickly green in color, cracked through with rivers of red. It pulsed steadily, growing brighter and darker, like the beat of a heart, which of course it was. In the astral it was a vortex of wrongness. It was like reality stopped there, and something else began, some terrible piece of the Outside.

January reached down and grabbed it. It was physical enough, at least under her magically enhanced fingers. The instant she touched it, she felt the monster stop what it was doing outside, and level all eight of its eyes upon her. She felt that terrible green stare though the walls of the house, and knew it was coming for her.

January once again took a moment to gather herself. Then with the djieien's heart in one hand, she drove her other fist into it with all of her might. It squished under her clenched fingers, but sprang back into shape afterward. Its pulsing increased, like the heart of a runner. But it was plainly unharmed.

January could see that it was going to take more than just a physical force to solve this, even magically enhanced force. Thankfully, she could call upon the elements for aid. But she could not do that inside the house. Not without destroying it, and everyone inside.

"Get over there and hide!" January commanded the cops. "Go!" she grabbed one and literally tossed him across the room and into the hallway that led deeper into the house.

"It's coming!" she hissed. "Hide. I'm going to lead it out the back."

With that she tore through the house, racing through the dining room and kitchen, and bursting out the back door. She could feel the spider hard on her heels. Then she was in the backyard. Thankfully it was a large, open space. The only trees rose up at the far edge, where an alley lay beyond the fence. There was nothing to get in her way.

She turned to see the djieien roar through the back wall of the house, with Blood Raven in hot pursuit on the roof. It lunged at January, but was stopped by a lasso of golden light that sprang from one of Blood Raven's hands. It looked like the same energy that made up her force fields, but now shaped into a rope or whip. The cord of power wrapped around the monster, and yanked it back as effortlessly as a puppy on a leash.

January lifted the heart above her head with both hands. She stared up at the clouds overhead, and called up the mana within her. It sang out to the sky above, and the firmament answered. A brilliant lance of silver-white energy spilled from the clouds and cracked down into her hands. The world erupted into light and electricity, blotting out everything in existence for one, brief instant that seemed to drag on for epochs.

Thunder roared around January as the dazzling spots of light flickered from her eyes. Her nostrils stank of ozone, and the hair on her neck and arms stood on end. The grass beneath her feet was gone, and the earth had turned to glass. In her hands was... nothing. There was nothing left of the heart, nor of the spider. Both had ceased to exist.

"Yes!" Gadget exulted in her ear. "You did it!"

January wanted to pump a fist to the heavens, to cry out in victory, or at least reel off some clever one-liner. But while the terrible Otherness of the djieien was gone, its handiwork still remained. If indeed the person and animal inside had been killed by it, and not someone else. For a moment, all she could think of were those bloody pieces scattered around the floor.

She fell to her knees in spite of herself. The next thing she knew, she was vomiting all over the glassy surface of the lightning-scorched earth. So much for being a big, tough superhero. She was aware of Blood Raven walking up beside her and holding her hair back. The other woman said nothing. She simply let her empty her stomach out onto the earth.

When her insides were once more under her command, January leaned her head back to the sky. She opened her mouth and washed it out with rain. She spat the last of bile away, and climbed to her feet.

Blood Raven leaned down, and murmured something in Gaelic. Her hand passed over the pool of vomit, and it vanished under a brief wave of fire.

No DNA traces, January thought. Blood Raven did not even have a real secret identity to protect, but she was clearly far, far better at this than she was.

"Come back inside, and we shall see what we might learn from the summoning," the older heroine said.

"I can't go back in there," January shook her head.

"Yes you can," Blood Raven insisted. "You are strong. You are powerful. You have vanquished a Creature of the Abyss. Few living or dead can make that claim."

"I don't feel that way," January said honestly.

"Good," Blood Raven said. "Hold on to that humility. It will keep you sane. Now come. We have won a battle. The war goes on. We must glean whatever insight we may before the next battle is joined."

"This is what happened the night of the Techno Fest." January found herself being pulled along behind Blood Raven, as if by magnetism, or simply the force of the other woman's charisma. "This is what you were hunting before the fire."

"Not a djieien specifically, but a Creature of the Abyss, yes," Blood Raven agreed. "That one was less powerful, as was the one before that, and the one before that."

"How many times has this happened?" January wondered as she stepped back into the house.

"Too many," Blood Raven said. "Someone is practicing, expanding their repertoire, and gaining power."

"Who?" January wondered, "who would do such a thing?"

They stepped back into the living room, and January was glad that she had nothing left to throw up.

"This is ceremonial magic," Blood Raven declared. She pointed to the large magic circle of colored powder at one side of the room, then the smaller circle of salt, and finally that of ash. "Norse runes, Celtic Ogham, even the Golden Dawn's system, all mixed together. The mathematic symbols are new. They are learning, adding their own touches to the ritual. Even the materials have changed since the last time. Now he has salt, ash, and this powder in the summoning circle appears to be a combination of brick dust, cornmeal, and bark. My guess is he was inspired by Vodoun for that. He is experimenting, picking and choosing from different traditions, like at an all-you-can-eat salad bar."

"This would have taken hours to prepare. The djieien was called up in the large circle. The sacrifice originally contained in the smaller circle of ash was used to anchor it to our world. That is why my banishment failed. It was infused with the blood and life of our realm. That made it part of our world. The Summoner stood in that smaller circle of salt. From there they provided the magical power to enact the ritual, and remained safe from the creature that they called up."

Two voltages, just as Gadget had said, going to a load. All made with an amalgam of varying magical styles and even advanced science.

Blood Raven turned to stare directly into her eyes.

"Where were you for the last three hours?"

"Wait, you think I..." January blinked in shock. She stared at the horror show around her, and then back to Blood Raven. "How could you? How Dare You!"

"Someone with great magical power did this," Blood Raven said. "Where were you today?"

"I was here!" January wanted to slap her. But she was not going to lose control of herself like that. She would not act like a child. No matter how outraged she might feel.

"I was at the festival all afternoon." January gritted her teeth. "I met Gadget here after work. We had lunch. We listened to the bands. We walked around. We actually had fun, if you can believe that, until that thing came at least."

"Cray?" Blood Raven said, though clearly not to January. Once again, January realized that she had a hacker somewhere in the internet, watching her back just as Gadget watched hers. He must have said something she liked, for a look of relief crossed the flame-haired woman's features.

"Good, take her off the list, we won't need to look at her again," Blood Raven said. "Now what of our other two suspects?"

Her mouth hardened, but she nodded once more. "He has not ventured from the school library for hours? You are sure then? Very well. The third has been at home within his office? Then it must be another."

"You have someone looking for me on every camera in the city? You really think I could do this?" January bristled. "And who are these other two? Who else do you think-."

"Wait, my brother and my father, you think it's one of them," she said before Blood Raven could reply. "What is wrong with you? I trusted you. I thought you were my friend! What was the Witch House about then? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?"

"I am your friend Stormcrow," Blood Raven looked pointedly at the police officers gingerly stepping through the room. That reminded January that other ears were privy to their conversation. "It is because of our blood that I had to suspect you. This has all happened before. I told you that your great-grandfather Jack died. I never told you who murdered him."

"I never told you about my father..."

[Acadian]

That was a fabulous ‘Close your eyes, Luke. Let the Force guide you!’ moment when Stormcrow let her sixth sense do the searching for her.

Loved Blood Raven’s Golden Lasso. It made me grin with thoughts of Wonder Woman.

Some serious awesome from Blood Raven vs that creature, but Stormcrow’s heartbursting bolt from the heavens was right up there too.

I wondered about Blood Raven cleaning up the vomit until Jan figured it out for me. No DNA traces! Brilliant.

Great advice from Blood Raven telling Jan to hold on to her humility.

Ahah, Blood Raven reveals how this latest creature from the Abyss fits into an ominous pattern.

And yet another unexpected twist as Blood Raven interrogates Stormcrow! My reaction at first was the same as Jan’s but as Blood Raven begins to explain their family history, it begins to make sense. Besides, I totally believe Blood Raven is a true friend; after all, only true friends hold your hair out of the way when you vomit. Seriously, that simple act speaks volumes about Blood Raven and was a brilliant touch.


Nit: ’Go{t} to love these home security systems.’

[Renee]

when she squares off against 10 super-powered Neo-Nazis.

Oh heck yeah. Give it to us, 'Rosa.

Now... Boris is dead right?

Gosh that is scary that security cameras can be hacked; why not, though? The ones I have link straight through the internet, after all. But I look at it this way-- whoever'd try to hack them wouldn't have much to look at. Where i live is pretty boring.

I wonder how Pridefest is going now? Guess it's pretty much over.

anuary shook her head. A real life-and-death struggle with an eldritch monstrosity was taking place right outside his house, and he was playing video games.

Those damn gamers!

Shesus, what is going on in this guy's house?

No DNA traces, January thought. Blood Raven did not even have a real secret identity to protect, but she was clearly far, far better at this than she was.

I love this. The Raven basically does not exist, in any modern database.

The end is confusing to me, but that's okay. I have always been that girl who watches an entire movie and then has a bunch of questions after it's over. But I don't understand why Raven would suspect her own family member? Guess we'll find out in next chapter.

[SubRosa]

Acadian: January is spending experience points to learn astral sight. This chapter was nice, in that it brought some really major steps in her evolution as a hero. More of that will follow of course.

I freely admit to being inspired by Wonder Woman and her lasso. I worked it into Blood Raven's repertoire as a version of telekinesis. We have already seen that she can create magical force fields. So I took it one step further and decided that she can use that same force to manipulate objects from a distance, through a cord of that force. So it becomes a prehensile force whip/lasso. We will see her use it to pluck things out of people's hands in Chapter 5.

I remember a radio interview with Iggy Pop, and he said that a true friend is someone who holds your hair while you puke in the shower. Given all the heroin that was flying around when he was star, he had a lot of experience.


Renee: I am giving it.

Boris the Spider is dead for once and all. I actually get that comment!

Anything that is connected to the internet can be hacked. That is why the entire world has seen Scarlet Johanssen naked. I agree though, anyone watching me would be bored.

It is not over yet. The explanation is coming today and in the next three weeks. It is a long story that Blood Raven has to relate.





Driving down Woodward, through the New Center area

Lane State University (RL Wayne State University)

Jotunheim

The David Whitney Building

The Compuware Building (left), and January's turn on State Street (right) (the red building is the Detroit Radiator Building)

State Street

The Detroit Radiator Building (fictional)

The 17th Century Queen's Desk

The ultra modern desk

Portable Table Computer

The flag of the 24th Michigan after Gettysburg

The Civil War uniform in the case

The 24th Michigan

Springfield Model 1861 Musket

Blood Raven's Theme


Book 4.12 - Pride

The motorcycle ride downtown was quiet and tense. January stared straight ahead the entire time, not looking back at Branwen behind her, or down at her hands clasped around her waist. Both had changed out of their armor, so appeared entirely normal. January concentrated on her driving, on her balance, on the cars around her, and the lights in front of her. She breathed deeply in and out. Her mana flowed through her, clean and pure as a mountain stream.

Her ribs still ached where the djieien had pierced her armor with its fangs. But at least that made sense. It was normal to feel sore after a fight. She had no idea how to feel about Branwen's distrust of her, and her family. The older superheroine's allusions to her own father conjured a sense of atavistic dread from deep within. It was a shroud that hung between them, choking off the light.

January had the sense that whatever she was about to learn tonight, she was not going to like it.

She took Woodward the entire way. Neighborhoods changed as they went farther south, becoming older, poorer, and sketchier. Things got more interesting once they reached the New Center area. There the Art Deco masterpiece of the Fisher Building soared high into the sky, like a Gothic sentinel watching over the city. Newer office buildings like New Center One crowded around it, along with older Neoclassical structures like the old GM Building and Hotel St. Regis, and other Art Deco masterpieces such as the Argonaut Building.

Then they were across I-94, and into Midtown and Lane State University. It was a mish-mash of contemporary pragmatism and old school grace and elegance. Here were modern, functional buildings of plain red brick. Yet right beside them rose stately old constructions at least a century old or more. The Tierney Alumni House was a fairy tale castle sitting beside a plain white parking deck. The Detroit Institute of Arts with its green bronze Thinker statue out front passed by on their left. Then an Art Deco skyscraper with a Lane State sign went by on their right.

January's mother had been trying to convince her to go here to Lane State for the Fall Term, or to Michigan State University, where she had gotten her own degree. There was little more that January could do at Macomb Community College after all. They did not offer English degrees. She was only accruing credits to use elsewhere. But January was no longer sure if she wanted to go back to college at all. What would the point be?

She sighed as they rode adjacent to the Cass Corridor. It was once the most infamous area of Detroit. January had grown up hearing it spoken of in hushed terms, the way fictional characters spoke of The Dark Forest. There was a Dark Forest in every story, and you never wanted to go there, especially not at night.

But she did not see any monsters as she drove past tenements and homeless shelters and empty lots. Perhaps that was because she knew the real monster was sitting behind her on the bike. Or maybe it was the one holding the handlebars? What horror lurked within her blood, that made Branwen's hacker partner look for her on every camera in the city?

They came up on Little Caesar's Arena, and January realized that they had passed the ruins of the Flying Dutchman, just a block over to the west. That was where she had first met Blood Raven. Where she had healed her from the wounds she had incurred from the flames and toxic fumes. She had been so excited to meet her childhood hero. That had not lasted.

She found herself actually wishing for the old days, before she had transitioned, before she had started using magic, before she had learned that there were monsters in their world, and other worlds, far more real and terrifying than Jigsaw, Annabelle, or Slender Man.

Then they crossed over I-75, and entered Jotunheim, the domain of giants. Comerica Park passed by on their left, its main entrance guarded by great tigers of stone. The Hockeytown Café, Fox Theater, and the Fillmore rose up to the right. Then the trees of Grand Circus Park came up slowly in front of them, and eventually surrounded them as they continued south.

Traffic here nearly ground to a halt. Signs about the Grand Prix reminded January why. The race was taking place this weekend at Belle Isle. Downtown teemed with people for the event. She knew from past experience that all the hotels, restaurants, bars, parking lots, and casinos, would be packed for the weekend.

Slowly they moved into the realm of Downtown's giant skyscrapers. First they passed the angled David Whitney Building. January knew it was named that because it was written in stone across the top of the building. Then they went through block after block of office buildings that dated back to the golden Art Deco era of the 20s and 30s, right up to present day constructions.

They passed by the Hudson Café on their right. To their left was a huge parking lot. Farther ahead on that side of the road was the massive angled structure of the Compuware Building. Its multiple faces alternated between glass and chrome, with elaborate red and black artwork.

Then Branwen motioned for her to turn right at State Street, just before they could reach the Compuware Building and Campus Martius beyond. They found themselves in a narrow two-lane road. A ten story office building rose up on the right, whose ground floor was taken up by an Under Armor store. There was a tall parking deck on the left, whose first floor was lined with shops, including a bakery. Just after the parking structure Branwen motioned again, this time to a small alley between it and the next building - the imposing spire of the Detroit Radiator Building.

The latter stood at the next intersection, of State and Griswold. It was a Neo-Gothic masterpiece from the 1920s, made of black and gold brick. At street level it was all onyx marble and black mirrors, with shining gold corbel tables to add a brilliant display of color. It was a stately old masterpiece, from a bygone era when buildings were not just places to inhabit, but artistic expressions meant for all the world to see and admire.

January turned into the narrow alley beside the stately old lady, and finally came to a stop at a large roll-up door. There Branwen dismounted from the bike, and took a moment to smooth down her short auburn hair. Then she went to the door and flipped open a metal panel, revealing a code box within. After punching in a series of numbers, she leaned forward and stared into a retinal scanner. Only after all of this did the metal door clang open.

January stepped off the Victory as the door rolled up. She pushed her bike inside to a dusty loading dock. Only after the door clanged shut behind her did she pull off her helmet. She did not want to take too many chances with her face being seen. She took a moment to tame her own hair, which she had put into a braided ponytail before starting the ride from Ferndale.

"You good girl?" Avery's voice floated through her earpiece. "I've got places to be."

"Yeah, I'm sorry I kept you waiting," January put a finger to her ear to talk. "You going home?"

"Nah, my mom's off today, so she's there to watch Nana," he explained. "One of the guys I met today texted me. We're going to meet up."

"Brandon or Tayvon?" January wondered aloud.

"Justin," Avery replied. "He knows his Star Trek at least. We can always argue about Star Wars over breakfast tomorrow."

"Of course," January smiled. She envied Avery for how easy it was for him to meet other men. Sometimes it seemed to her that other women were a bigger mystery than the Bermuda Triangle. Not that she would know what to do with a girlfriend if she ever really had one. Telling them she was trans always insured things never went that far.

"Your friend?" Branwen asked with a raised eyebrow, "the one who works with you online?"

"Yeah," January managed a smile. "He actually has a life. Though I don't know how he does it."

"So you live here?" she steered the conversation away from Avery. Except for the high tech security on the door, the building looked abandoned. "I thought this place was taken over by the homeless?"

"It is. Hundreds of people live here, who have nowhere else to go," Branwen nodded. "But they cannot enter certain spaces."

The older superheroine led her up the concrete loading dock. January did not much like the idea of leaving her motorcycle there, so she lifted the Victory under one arm and carried it with her up the pedestrian stairs. They came to a freight elevator with more cutting edge security. Branwen let them in, and they began a long, slow rise up the skyscraper.

"Wasn't there a bunch of murders here?" January wondered, "some kind of gang war?"

"A gang tried to turn the building into a crack house during the 80s," Branwen said. "They murdered several of the people living here, to make an example of them. They never witnessed another sunrise, and a different sort of example was made."

Blood Raven's smile looked more like a wolf's than a human's.

"You killed them," January said plainly.

"I did," Branwen replied evenly. "I will not tolerate that in my house, never."

"You have a habit of doing that," January noted, "killing people. That's what makes it so hard for the police to cooperate with you."

"The police in this city could not pour piss from a boot were the instructions written upon the heel," Branwen declared. "Their incompetence would be laughable were they were not so dangerous and corrupt."

January shook her head. Never meet your heroes… At least that was what she knew she was supposed to think. But every time she tried to feel sympathy for those she knew Blood Raven had killed - the mass shooter in the Ren Cen, the sex slavers, and now murderous drug dealers - she could raise nothing but indifference. Was it really that different from Aragorn slaying orcs, or a Marine shooting a suicide bomber?

"You really just go your own way, and make up your own rules, don't you?" January still said.

"We all do," Branwen responded. "You do. When I was a girl, a gay or transgender person would have been executed, simple as that. There are still people who would do the same today, given the opportunity. It was a scandal when I - a woman - learned to play the violin. You are far more a rebel than I could ever be, even though the King of England branded me as such."

"That's different," January insisted. "My being a lesbian, or trans, doesn't hurt other people."

"I agree. But it depends upon who you ask, does it not?" Branwen debated. "There are some who would say - who truly believe deep in their hearts - that you are a threat. That your very existence endangers everyone around you, physically, morally, and spiritually."

"What we call ethics and morals are entirely dependent upon our points of view. In 1775 we went to war because it was morally and ethically just. King George sent his troops against us, because that was no less morally and ethically just for him. Nearly a hundred years later I went to war against the South to end slavery. It was my moral and ethical responsibility. The people I fought against believed they had God's mandate to own slaves, making that morally and ethically just."

"We all have to find our own truths, our own values, and live by our own commandments," Branwen said softly. "I know that is not easy. Few people possess the courage to truly do so. Instead they surrender their own moral authority and become sheep, obedient to the commandments of their shepherds. I think you have the will and desire to be more than that."

"You know, sometimes I don't know if I should love you, or hate you," January sighed.

"Because I challenge you, and that is not easy," Branwen said. She laid a hand on January's shoulder. "You challenge me as well, my seven times great-granddaughter. None of this is easy for me. Our blood is not a blessing, but a curse, as you shall now bear witness to."

The freight elevator came to a halt, and Branwen pushed its doors open. It let out directly into what could best be described as a penthouse, or a palace. The space was square in shape, and rose at least three stories tall. The center of the room was filled in by a towering wall of black marble. Each of the four outer walls bore tall glass doors that let out onto wide balconies which looked out across the cityscape below. Tall windows rose up even higher beside them, and the entire interior space must have been three stories tall. A winding iron staircase curled up in one corner near the elevator, leading higher up into the building.

It was a loft apartment, decorated in early Gothic. The floor was soft gold marble, and the walls a gentle shade of white marble, gilded with gold filigree, that rose to a vaulted ceiling. The interior was portioned off into sections according to which side of that central marble block each was adjacent to.

Directly ahead were bookshelves packed to bursting with leather, wood, and cloth bound tomes. These were no simple paperbacks or even modern hardcovers. They truly were tomes in the Old World sense of the word. They had gold calligraphy along their spines, and buckles to lock them shut. Some were truly massive, several feet on end. A few honestly looked a thousand years old.

January could read the titles as she walked past, and recognized a few: The Corpus Hermeticum, The Lesser Key of Solomon, The Book of Enoch, The Grand Grimoire, and other ancient codexes. All had one thing in common. They were ancient occult manuscripts. Nothing looked newer than a century. It was the classic wizard's library.

January even noted a massive stone tablet covered in Arabic writing. It was roughly pyramidal in shape, like a jagged mountain peak. Sitting upon an easel beside it was a single piece of paper, with writing in English, in an elegant, flowing hand. January noted a few words:

That which is below is like that which is above
and that which is above is like that which is below
to do the miracles of one only thing

She recognized the concept from the modern books on Wicca she had read, including those written by Branwen. Usually it was shortened to something like "As above, so below." The physical and spirit worlds were connected. What happened in one, affected the other. She had even read the same in Shadowrun's magic system.

A polished wooden table with elegant, curling legs sat amidst the shelves. Next to it was a truly magnificent writing desk. Also of wood, this was inlaid with what looked like genuine gold and mother of pearl. Like the table, it was all gentle curves, with numerous little drawers and panels that folded out to nearly double its size. It looked like something from an 18th century Queen's study.

They rounded a corner of the massive marble slab that blocked off the center of the room. In this new area January saw more shelves. These were filled by books that were clearly new. Most pertained to Witchcraft and Chaos Magic. January recognized authors such as Christopher Penczak, Kerr Cuhulain, Starhawk, Peter J. Carroll, and Phil Hine. She also saw all of the books Branwen had written under her current identity. Alongside these modern occult workings were books on psychology, anthropology, and comparative religion by such worthies as Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung. January noted with a smile that the latest rulebooks and assorted supplements for Shadowrun, Earthdawn, and Dungeons and Dragons even held court on one lower shelf.

Here the furniture had changed as well. Where the previous space had been a window into a centuries-old past, this was ultra modern. There was a desk with a surface of polished black stone and gleaming marble legs. A computer atop it had three monitors, and several office chairs surrounded it. Next to it was an actual table computer. Something January had only seen in films. Its screen must have been at least three feet wide, and it was mounted on a wheeled stand, so evidently it could easily be moved to any part of the building.

It was like stepping from the past to the present. January wondered if that was what life was like for Branwen - one foot always in the past, the other in the now?

Opposite the books January noted a tall glass case with a mannequin inside. It was dressed in a blue civil war uniform. It even had a tall black forage hat with the left brim folded up, and a large brass bugle emblazoned across the forehead. It was clean, but the cloth was worn, and in some places, pierced with small round holes. Beside it was a rifle nearly as tall as the mannequin. No, it was a musket, the old muzzle-loading, black powder kind.

Beside it was a large framed picture of an American flag that was practically torn to shreds. All that remained was the blue field in the corner and a few ragged strips of the bars. That field held far fewer than the usual fifty stars that January was used to seeing. "24th Michi-" was written in gold across one of the stripes, the rest of which had been sliced off.

January paused to stare at the uniform and picture of the flag. Branwen stepped up beside her.

"That was mine," she said, nodding to the uniform. "I wore it from when we mustered in during 1862, until we mustered out in 1865."

She opened the case, and reached inside to take up the rifle. January noted that she held it with reverence. She was surprised when Branwen handed it to her. The wooden stock was smooth and polished, and her hand instantly slipped down to the grip, just behind the trigger. It was heavy, not physically, but metaphorically. For a moment the harsh stench of gunpowder stung January's nose, and she imagined she heard booming thunder and the blare of trumpets in the distance.

"This is a Springfield Model 1861 rifled musket," Branwen said. "It fires a .58 caliber Minié Ball. For three years, it never left my side."

"You killed people with it?" January asked.

"I honestly do not know," Branwen shrugged her shoulders. "It was not like in films. There was so much smoke, so much noise, you could not tell whose shot felled whom. Likewise, you could not tell whence the bullet that struck you originated."

January nodded, and handed the weapon back to the other woman. She admired the craftsmanship that went into its creation. She could feel the very real connection between it and Branwen. A part of her was imprinted on the gun, without doubt. But it also felt disquieting, like touching Death.

"So you fought in the Civil War," January said. "How? I mean you're-"

"A woman?" Branwen finished her sentence. "A great many women fought in that war, hundreds for certain, probably thousands. It was not truly that difficult. All one had to do was cut your hair, wear pants, and pretend to be a teen. Some of us bound our breasts. I was never particularly large in that regard, so I sufficed with simply wearing baggy shirts."

"It was not like today," Branwen explained. "People now are used to seeing women in trousers, or hearing of transgender individuals. But back then either was literally unheard of. If someone wore pants, they were a man. If they wore a skirt, they were a woman. It was as simple as that. Anything else was literally inconceivable."

"People see what they want to see," January said, "what they expect to see."

"Exactly," Branwen agreed.

[Acadian]

An ominous and interesting Victory ride as January notes the incongruous palette of architectural styles she sees and ponders whether she or Branwen is a monster.

And what a splendid . . . lair(?) within that magnificent building! Poor Jan, lugging her Stormcycle upstairs. I loved your screenshot and description of the old queen’s desk.

The more I learn about Branwen’s moral code/compass the more I like her. She knows what’s right and wrong and doesn’t hesitate to squash the latter.

We also learn quite a bit more of Branwen’s long and colorful history.

"You challenge me as well, my seven times great-granddaughter. None of this is easy for me. Our blood is not a blessing, but a curse, as you will now bear witness to." - - What a perfect and timely reminder of the blood relationship between the two women.



Nits:
- - ’She also saw all of the books under Branwen had written under her current identity.’ – An extra ‘under’?
- - "If someone wore pants, they were man. If they wore a skirt, they were a woman." – For consistency, I expect you’d prefer either man/woman or a man/a woman rather than mixing the styles. Probably you simply want an ‘a’ in front of man?

[treydog]

What with the virus loose in the world and reminding myself to be grateful I have a job to go to still, I also decided to take more time for the things I love. Reading being high on that list. So- slowly catching up. Will comment further as further arrives....

3.1

The other students being completely oblivious to the value of Mr. Wirth's memories rings true. When I worked at the university library, we did orientation classes for HS seniors on the resources available. The sessions were held in a computer lab- where 90-100% of them immediately started surfing the Net for athletic shoes.....

Loved the crow companion going along for part of the ride.

… Mazda MX-5 parked out front, red as the blood of a fresh victim.

Yeah- we don't like him....

Let everyone see her for who she really was, scars and all.

Now there is something that takes real courage.

The moment the invective turned to Avery, something inside January snapped.

Yep. I never came close to a physical confrontation over anything anyone said about me- but... attack my friends... bad idea.

3.2

Love the gaming group/band. And video-invisio-ability will definitely come in handy.

3.3

"Whatever it is, the old lady can take care of it," Avery reassured her. "She's been looking out for this city since before we were born."

That is how to end a scene.

3.4

Flying- not just for the birds... and beautifully envisioned.

3.5

Most people run from the fire- true heroes run towards it.

"That hagfish armor is made for fire. Nothing will burn it short of the Sun.”

Why would I feel better about that if the fire was natural?

Have I mentioned recently how outstanding I think this novel is? Consider it done.

[SubRosa]

Acadian: One thing I noticed when I was a courier is that cities are not static. They grow, they change, old buildings get torn down, new ones go up, and pretty soon they become a crazy quilt of varying building styles. Downtown Detroit is really like this because the city has 300 years of construction and reconstruction. You can see 18th century churches right next to brand new casinos. Art Deco, Neo-Gothic, Modern Minimalism, you see it all thrown together in a blender. That was something I wanted to dwell on to show the city's age and character.

Blood Raven/Branwen's lair is the American Radiator Building in NYC. I transplanted it to Detroit, and picked a red skyscraper - the David Stott Building - for it to replace.

Branwen has been around for about 250 years, so she has had a lot of time to get set in her ways, and to learn to take a stand for what she believes in. That is not always a good thing, as it has really alienated the local authorities. Not that she cares.

I really enjoy writing the relationship between January and Branwen. They are very different, but bonded by blood and principle, which also makes them very alike. I think I enjoy it because it shows that so long as you are willing to respect another person in spite of how different they are from you, you can have a very strong relationship with them.


treydog: Three Dog! Sounds like you are still fighting the good fight.

Most of my teachers from my school days are just blurs in my memory at best. Mr. Wirth is one of those few people who still stands out starkly in my mind. I think he and my college psychology prof Gordon Blush "El Gordo" were the two most influential teachers in my life. I see both of them in my head even now.

Likewise, Jan's gaming buddies - The Knights of Nerddom - are partly based on real people. Rus and Kell specifically are people I used to game with. Jack is Jack Black of course. While Ryo is in many ways me, with a touch of Asperger's added on.

The fire is mostly natural. At least there is no super power usage involved. Though there certainly are mundane accelerants at work. This is a chapter with no supervillains at all. In fact, the fire was inspired by two real life fires.



View from the Radiator Building, looking northwest up Woodward

View from the Radiator Building, looking southwest to the Ambassador Bridge

View from the Radiator Building, looking northeast to Belle Isle

The Ben Franklin Desk

The Akan People

Slavery in Jamestown

An example of a table computer

MonsterTalk Podcast episode on Grimoires - Part 1

MonsterTalk Podcast episode on Grimoires - Part 2



Book 4.13 - Pride

"But come, I have a sad tale to impart." Branwen placed the rifle back in the case with the uniform. Then she continued on into the house. January glanced out one of the tall windows. Given how high they towered over the streets below, she imagined that they were near the top of the building. The steeply-angled green bronze roof of Book Tower rose up to her far left. To her far right she could see the green playing field of Comerica Park nestled within a sea of smaller buildings.

Between them she traced the line of Woodward Avenue back the way they had come from. It passed through the flanking towers of the David Whitney Building and David Broderick Tower as it made its way northwest. Then the wide avenue passed by the western face of the baseball stadium, crossed the freeway, and then stretched by the eastern side of the new hockey arena. It arrowed through Midtown beyond, and finally vanished in the haze somewhere after the Fisher Building, which rose majestically in the distance.

It was an amazing view. Part of her wanted to run out onto the balcony and leap into the air.

Instead she followed Branwen around another corner, putting them directly opposite the central marble wall from the service elevator they had entered from. Through the windows she could now see the tan stone and decorative columns of the stately Westin Book Cadillac hotel. It was a skyscraper in its own right, but the grand hotel squatted beneath January's high perch. Farther beyond rose the bare concrete of the Federal Building, which had been built in the stark Brutalist style back in the 70s. A far cry from the Neo Gothic masterpiece in which she now stood.

Far to the left sat the wide rooftop of Cobo Center, and beyond it along the river rose the three wide spires of the Riverfront Apartments. Each building was designed to look like a trio of skyscrapers built one into the next. So it gave the illusion of actually being nine towers of varying heights. Finally, miles away in the distance the green-painted Ambassador Bridge stretched out across the Detroit River and linked the city to Canada.

January recognized this real estate. She had flown past - and over - all of it the night of the Flying Dutchman fire. She had even landed on the Book Cadillac and used it to leap to higher altitude. To think, she had gone right past the Detroit Radiator Building that night. If only she had known then that it was the lair of Blood Raven herself!

Her eyes moved back to the interior of the skyscraper. Beside the window was a baby grand piano, its polished black surface gleamed in the sunlight that filtered in from outside. Lying atop its surface, almost casually, was a closed violin case of warm cherry wood. That made her remember what Branwen had said earlier, about it being a scandal that she had learned to play the violin. How long ago must that have been, 200 years, or more?

January looked back inside, and here upon that great, marble edifice that blocked off the center of the interior were several family trees. Branwen had shown it to her before using magic. Now that she beheld it in the flesh, January had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. The wall stretched all three stories to the ceiling, and was literally covered in flowing script denoting her family history, and the histories of numerous other families related to hers. She even noted that her own name had been changed from August to January, with no mark of erasure left behind.

Here was a third desk. This one was a cross between the other two. It looked to be hand carved from lustrous cherry wood. It sat upon thick, gently curved legs, and had a small hutch over the work surface. It was piled with papers, and beside it stood a pair of vintage wooden filing cabinets. This was the kind of thing that Ben Franklin might have written his almanacs upon. While the first desk might have sat in Marie Antoinette's study, and the other would fit in the office of a modern tech genius like Doctor Heisen.

"I have learned the hard way that I must watch over my descendants," Branwen explained. "For they share more than just my blood, they share my father's as well."

January craned her neck to look up that far. She saw two names listed there for Branwen's father: John Corbin, and Nátthrafn. That name - Nátthrafn - appeared on several other genealogical charts on the walls, going back centuries earlier. One went back as far as the year 999.

"I have said before that magic has always been strong in our family." Branwen held up a hand in warning. "Oh, I know what you are thinking. No, it is not because we are all Chosen Ones selected by Fate to be great wizards. That only happens in fiction. It is that our bloodlines are ones with an exuberance of will. Stubbornness one might say, or arrogance, or rebelliousness."

"My father called himself John Corbin in Boston of the 1760s and 70s. But he has gone by many other names, much as I have myself. The oldest record I have found of him is under the name Nátthrafn."

"Night Raven," January said. "I know my Old Norse."

"Indeed," Branwen observed. "You are Old Norse, as well as Irish, English, Polish, Italian, and Akan, among others."

"Akan?" January puzzled.

"An ancient people of West Africa. They played a major role in the trans-Atlantic slave trade," Branwen explained. She pointed her finger up the waterfall of names, to one in particular. Then she lifted a piece of paper from the desk and skimmed across the hand-written page. "In 1619 your ancestor Akosua spoke out too loudly against the wrong person. They had her kidnapped and sold to the Portuguese. They took her to the New World, but their vessel was captured by the White Lion, an English privateer sailing under letters of marque for the Dutch crown. They took Akosua and other slaves to Jamestown, and sold her to the English colonists there as indentured servants. Slavery was not yet legal in America, but indentured servitude was common. In 1890 her descendant Judith married my descendant Algernon Hopkins. Their child Ruth Virginia was your great-great grandmother."

"Wow," January did not know what to say. She stared in awe as she traced through the names on the family tree, which was more like a family forest, from herself all the way back to Akousa. It was a like a biological game of dominoes, one falling against the other, and tumbling down to make her. It was humbling, and exhilarating.

"In any case your eight times great-grandfather Nátthrafn was born in Denmark, over a thousand years ago." Branwen went on. "He was given his name for his raven black hair. It is said that a Völva who tried to read his fate killed herself in horror, never revealing what she had seen. He was outlawed for murder when he was fifteen. So he went viking, and traveled east. He joined a band from Sweden and they made their way down the rivers of what is now Ukraine, to Kyiv. I believe it was there that he converted to Christianity. Many did, as it made things far easier when serving the Christian Grand Prince there."

"Yet he remained only shortly. For from Kyiv he and many others were recruited into the Varangian Guard of the Roman Emperor in Constantinople. He learned to not only speak Greek and Latin during this time, but to read and write in them as well. For it is evident that he came into the possession of the Scripta Mortis. With it he became a necromancer."

"The Scripta Mortis?" January wondered aloud, "Dead Writing?"

"The Writings of Death," Branwen said. "It is an ancient book. A terrible book. It teaches one not only magic, but the art of summoning the dead, and worse, those from Outside."

Branwen led her away from the sprawling family tree and into the final quadrant of the massive chamber. It could be best described as a modern command center. This was dominated by a large black conference or plotting table in the center of the area. A closer look at it revealed a glass surface, and several controls along the edges. It was an actual table computer, larger than a pool table!

The walls were covered in gigantic computer screens, along with several workstations. A sealed glass cabinet filled with servers and networking gear blinked silently away nearby. January wondered if she used magic to keep it so quiet. Every time Avery turned even one actual server on it filled the Gadget Cave with a near deafening racket.

Branwen led her through the bridge of the starship Enterprise without comment, and turned the last corner to put them back at the entrance to the chamber. January looked out the windows once more. Far beyond the white spire of the Blue Cross Building to the northeast, Belle Isle rose from the middle of the Detroit River. A single bridge connected the island to the American side of the river. Even though it had to be at least two miles away, she thought she could see the tiny cars moving around the southern tip of the island, flanked by a sea of spectators.

She turned back from the windows and the freight elevator. Before them was the library of antique occult books. She reached into a bookcase, and drew forth a tome bound in pale white leather. It was longer than her forearms, and made a distinct thud when Branwen dropped it on the elegant table amid from the shelves.

"This is the Scripta Mortis." Branwen unlocked the buckles that sealed the ancient codex shut, and drew open its hand-written pages. January leaned forward, and saw a diagram of a magic circle taking up one page, with images of skeletons drawn into the margins. The opposite leaf was all in Latin. It was the old Roman kind, with no punctuation marks or spaces between words. Trying to read it made her head hurt. "This copy is nearly two thousand years old, and was spirited from the Great Library of Alexandria before its destruction."

"Yet it is only a copy of an earlier work of Greek, the Grafes Thanatos." Branwen explained. "Some even whisper that in turn is but a copy of much older Babylonian and Sumerian works, now lost to time."

"I suppose you have that too." January looked up, and over the sea of ancient books that crammed the shelves.

"Unfortunately I do not," Branwen shook her head, "though I should certainly be desirous of obtaining a copy."

"You sure like your books," January noted.

"Do you not as well?" Branwen said. "I collect them. It is a hobby. It aids me in retaining a sense of perspective when it comes to magic. For you see most of these are pure nonsense."

The older woman waved an arm to indicate the library of old occult compendiums.

January nearly did a double take. That was the last thing she expected from a real life magician and arcane scholar.

"Most of the Medieval and Renaissance grimoires are literally pure fiction," Branwen explained. "They were created as show pieces for the libraries of wealthy individuals. The rituals described within are so deliberately time-consuming and obsessed with minutia that they are practically impossible to recreate. This provides a convenient excuse for why they do not work. One can always blame the practitioner for making a mistake."

"They are also very Christian in nature," Branwen continued. "They believe that magic is bound up in certain words, which must be spoken with specific inflections or accents, in a certain order, along with many other specific gestures, and images, and so forth. Just as the Abrahamic religions are revealed religions, that place their validity in a literal interpretation of specific religious texts, they believed the same when it came to magic. That the power was in the words on the page, rather than within the hearts of the people who spoke them."

"But magic is all about raising energy, visualizing goals, and applying the will," January's eyebrows beetled.

"Yes, real magic is," Branwen concurred. "Most of these are elaborate frauds. I keep them to remind myself how easily one can be duped by a veneer of verisimilitude." She looked back down at the deathly pale book on the table before them. "This is real however. It teaches one to not only use magic, but also to call the dark spirits from the Abyss."

"Like that djieien?" January asked. "Is this how you knew how to defeat it?"

"Exactly like that djieien," Branwen said. "The reason I do not destroy this book is because just as it details how to summon such creatures, it also describes how to defeat them."

"So your father, my great-grand-whatever, he found this book a thousand years ago? I take it he used it?"

"Oh yes," Branwen said. "It must have taken him years to master it, and the use of magic in general, if not decades. Remember, he was also just learning Latin and Greek at the same time as well."

"He and the Varangian Guard were sent to campaign against the Lombards and Normans in Italy and Sicily," Branwen said. "In 1018 they fought at Cannae, and crushed the Lombards. Some time after that Nátthrafn came into possession of the Grafes Thanatos. I believe he murdered another member of the Guard with magic to obtain it. I do know that afterward he fled the Guard."

"He seems to do that a lot," January noted dryly.

"Yes," Branwen agreed. "As I said before, we all must make our own rules, abide by our own oaths. My father never lived by any rules, not even of his own making. He intimidated, tortured, and murdered, whenever it was convenient for him."

[Acadian]

’It was an amazing view. Part of her wanted to run out onto the balcony and leap into the air.’
- - You can take the Stormcrow out of the sky but you can’t take the sky out of the Stormcrow.

Another wonderful visual tour of Detroit’s diverse skyline from the heights of the Blood Raven’s nest. Super birds like Blood Raven and Stormcrow use nests instead of lairs, right?

The furnishings inside the nest are as eclectic and diverse as the surrounding forest of buildings that provide the skyline. From a desk that Marie Antoinette may have used to a command center that rivals the bridge of the Starship Enterprise! Haha – only after invoking the Enterprise did I read your correction to Death Star bridge.

The Scripta Mortis – the writings of death of course. Necromancy that includes summoning those for Outside. And a grandfather many times removed named Nátthrafn who has had over a thousand years to perfect his craft. The gravity of the threat, as well as Branwen’s rationale for closely watching her relatives – old and young alike – become much more clear.

A completely engrossing episode!


Nit: ’To her far right she could see {the?} green playing field of Comerica Park…’

[Renee]

Uh oh. First Buff's in trouble, now it's January. What a depressing bike ride that must have been. Or anxious, I guess. But to me it sounded sort of depressing.

Was it really that different from Aragorn slaying orcs, or a Marine shooting a terrorist?

I think Raven slaying the people she slays is different than these examples. I'm too hungover today to really analyze specifics, but Raven definitely seems more reckless. Like, she did not give those crack lord the option to leave her building, she just murdered them. At least Aragorn or the Marines might give some sort of warning. Terrorists are always negotiated with first (if possible), orcs were -- Ah dang. Lost my train of thought.

Edit: I'm forgetting my high school Lord of the Rings, but aren't orcs and elves constantly at war anyway? I can't remember if there was any sort of treaties or whatever tried to allay their hatred. But the bottom line is their world is more black and white.

I'd better stick to finishing both chapters today!

Good lord, what a palace she lives in. I like how it's all organized; things from the past, and things from modern times. Guess we can now see what Branwyn does during her off days. You, as a writer, have lots of imagination, Rosa. You really go into some details here.

Wow, she has their whole family history written on that huge wall.

Hmm. Her family includes a summoner. Maybe this has something to do with that spider? I am still confused about that, and why Raven seems to think Jan is somehow responsible. But maybe I misread that portion of the chapter.

The rituals described within are so deliberately time-consuming and obsessed with minutia that they are practically impossible to recreate. This provides a convenient excuse for why they do not work. One can always blame the practitioner for making a mistake

That's so awesome.

This post has been edited by Renee: Apr 28 2020, 01:22 PM

[treydog]

Still reading- still behind. Still loving every new installment.

3.6

Wow. This is one of those “quote the whole passage” to highlight the “good parts” situations.

3.7

What did you say when you met your idol, and they gave you such a gentle suggestion? She had no idea.

Pretty much that. Unless you stumble out “You're one of my biggest fans,” and then have to live with THAT as your introduction for the rest of your life.

The thing you do really well, even in the short intro to Blood Raven, is give us a feeling of how “apart” she has become (chosen to be?) from mundane humanity. If somebody asked me to explain how I get that vibe- I would just shrug and tell them- “Because it's there.”

3.8

she heard Blood Raven speaking in an odd language. Perhaps it was Gaelic? It sounded ancient, primal, and wild. It was the kind of thing that she imagined might have been shouted on Beltane or Samhain from stone circles that crowned shadowed hills.

Paint a picture with words....

January felt something being pulled from inside her, as if drawn out with her blood. Even with her writer's imagination, she could not put words to the feeling. It was as if some dark spirit was being exorcised from her being. Some malignity being cut away from her body. Whatever it was, she felt it being siphoned away by a strange form of energy. By that power she had earlier felt beneath Blood Raven's chant. That energy seemed to drag the darkness from her, out through the wound in her arm, and draw it up into Blood Raven.

That is very much how I have envisioned Elder Scrolls healing spells also... There must be balance- something taken- something given. And it has to go somewhere.

3.9

Was it magic? Or did she just have a Charisma of 18?

Those moments of humor elevate the story so wonderfully.

And yes- the healing has costs that no one can truly understand- except Blood Raven herself.

3.10

Oh my. Fredo the Firefighter is a gem. A rough, caked in clay gem- but valuable all the same.

But I don't think Captain Feldercarb here will be too cooperative.

Yay- Galactica swear word.

[SubRosa]

Acadian: The Crow can't look at any high place without wanting to jump from it.

Thanks to what you said, I have officially named Blood Raven's lair as the Raven's Nest. It will show up in print in two chapters.

That picture was of Marie Antoinette's desk. And the Ben Franklin desk, was his too. Though in the story, Blood Raven would not have those specific desks. Just ones that look like them.

I also went back and changed it from the Death Star bridge to the Enterprise's. I am using too many Star Wars references, I need to balance it out with some Trek.

I worked some to come up with the Scripta Mortis and Grafes Thanatos. There is also a third book - Ars Necromantia - which is another translation of them into English. It goes Grafes Thanatos -> Scripta Mortis -> Ars Necromantia. Each is in a different language - Greek -> Latin -> English - and loses some elements in the translation. The Ars Necomantia might show up someday in a future storyline about a straight up necromancer, but not summoner of Abyssals.

All the other books I cite are entirely real. You can even find digital copies of some.



Renee: I think the word you are looking for about Blood Raven is ruthless, rather than reckless. Yes, she is not shy about delivering her own brand of justice. As she said to January, we each have to make our own code and live by it. Hers is severe. And there is reason for it, and why she has no use for the law and authority figures.

I think we conjured up different ideas from the word terrorist. I suspect you were thinking about the terrorism of the 70s, when radicals siezed airplanes and held people hostage with a list of demands. Negotiating was a common tactic then, even if just as a stalling method. Where I was meaning modern terrorists, who drive cars into crowds of people and blow up buildings with day care centers. I am glad you brought that up. I went back and changed it to suicide bomber to be more clear, as one of the people Blood Raven has killed was a neo-fascist mass shooter.

I know it is taking a while to get there. Blood Raven is telling a long story. It is written as one big piece, and is really meant to be read that way. I had to break it up for the forum. Today's episode and next week's will make it clear why Blood Raven's bloodline is cursed.

All that stuff about medieval grimoires is true. I linked to a couple episodes of MonsterTalk that does a deep dive into grimoires. It is really fascinating stuff.


Treydog: "You're my biggest fan!"

I completely admit to stealing from HP Lovecraft for my description of wild rites being howled out from shadowed hilltops at the passing of the seasons. The guy knew how to create mood.

Fredo was a ton of fun to write, of course. Every group has a class clown, and he is it for Engine 66.

Lots more Galactica and Shadowrun swears. I am really leaning into them, as they allow me to be PG13 and still have people swear. And show their sci-fi cred.





Listen to Nátthrafn's Theme Song while you read

The Rauðskinna

Heinrich Kramer

The Malleus Maleficarum



Book 4.14 - Pride

"In 1027 Nátthrafn was in Rome. There he met Cnut the Great, who was the king of Denmark, Norway, and England. Cnut was a Christian, and was there on a pilgrimage to attend the coronation of Holy Roman Emperor Conrad the Second. Somehow Nátthrafn ingratiated himself into Cnut's entourage, styling himself as a spiritual advisor."

"I always thought that the Vikings were all, well, Vikings," January said. "I mean Pagans… Heathens."

"By then Christianity was firmly established all over Scandinavia." Branwen explained. "Kings loved the new religion. It stressed obedience and humility, something they craved from their subjects. It made them loyal, non-threatening, and hard-working servants."

"Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's," January murmured, "and the meek shall inherit the Earth."

"Exactly," Branwen agreed. "On the other hand Norse Paganism inspired individuals to follow their own personal convictions and fight against any odds. Sometimes that included overthrowing the current king. Odin needs heroes to fight at Ragnarök after all. It was not hard for the kings to decide which of those two options served them best. Of course once a king did become Christian, he outlawed all other religions, just as every Christian king in Europe did."

"So far as I might discern, Nátthrafn was immune to Christ's finer qualities, such as compassion and forgiveness. But he did recognize that the days of Odin and Thor were done, and the White Christ was the future. As ever, he did what was convenient."

"He went with Cnut, first to Denmark and then to England. When Cnut made a second trip to Rome in 1030 Nátthrafn did not accompany him. He had been given Portchester and the surrounding lands of Hampshire to rule over as eorl. His hall soon gained a dark reputation, and the people whispered of strange lights seen in the windows, strange voices heard in the dark, and bodies missing from their graves."

"Portchester?" January asked, "Hampshire?"

"It lies on the southern coast of England, across from the Isle of Wight," Branwen explained. "It was originally a Roman shore fort, and later a Wessex burh."

"By the time of the Norman invasion in 1066 many were already starting to remark that Nátthrafn looked very young for man of over three score years. He is said to have joined King Harold at Hastings. But he was not seen in Portchester afterward. Most thought he died in the battle. Most hoped he had died there."

"But he survived, and escaped the oncoming Normans. I can only piece together small scraps of information here and there about him from this period. He moved ever north. He was rarely able to stay in one place for more than a few decades, as his marked lack of aging eventually set tongues to wagging. As did other, darker rumors."

By now "darker rumors" did not sound as vaguely threatening to January as the phrase might once have. After what she had seen of the djieien, and heard of Nátthrafn's story, it conjured very specific horrors in her mind.

"By the 15th Century he was in Iceland. I believe he spent at least three score years in the south of the island. Later he went north and took the name Gottskalk Nikulausson the Cruel. It was the local people who appended 'the Cruel' of course. He was Bishop of Holar from 1496 to his death in 1520. I think it is notable that this followed a period when the Bubonic Plague ravaged Iceland. From 1494 to 1495 it killed half the population of the island. That would have made it very easy for a necromancer like him to do his work."

"It was then that he wrote the Rauðskinna, or Red Skin. It is said that the book's contents were meant to teach one to use magic to enslave Satan. It's real purpose however, was to teach its owner to not only summon Abyssals, but also to resurrect Nátthrafn in the case of his death. Furthermore, the cover was dyed red with his own blood. I once believed it was part of an enchantment that would call to those who shared the same blood. That it would bring his descendants to the book, and tempt them to use it. I now suspect the opposite, that copies of the book find their way to our bloodline."

"How did you find it?" January asked.

"With surprising ease," Branwen said. "I had thought there was only one copy in existence. Only a few short days after I began making inquiries, it appeared in a local bookseller's shop. The owner said it had been part of a mass consignment of books he had purchased from an estate sale, and assumed it had been placed with the others by accident."

"Then I found another copy of it half a century later, with the remains of your great-grandfather."

"Jack," January noted, "Jack Parsons?"

"Yes, poor Jack," Branwen frowned. She led January back to the great genealogical charts upon the wall. Here she pointed out several distinct bloodlines. "But I draw ahead of myself. In his new identity as the bishop, Nátthrafn made for himself at least two mistresses. One was named Gurdun, and he begat upon her two children: Odd Gottskalksson and Gurdun Gottskalksdottir. With a second mistress named Jonsdottir he had a daughter named Kristin."

"He must have sensed his doom approaching. He had been in Iceland for at least a century. Although in his identity as Gottskalk Nikulausson he claimed to have been born in 1469, there were rumors that he was disturbingly similar in appearance to other men who had vanished in the past. One a chemist, another a smuggler. There were whispers that the catacombs beneath the church held hidden chambers, where dark rites were howled out at the passing of the seasons. Graveyards showed signs of recent disturbances, and exhumations found their contents to be empty."

"I suspect that by 1520 he was preparing to make for himself a new life elsewhere. But he was too late. Iceland still remained within the Catholic Church, and Rome had dispatched a Papal Inquisitor to investigate the rumors of his misdeeds. The Pope must have taken it very seriously, for he sent the German priest Heinrich Kramer. Perhaps you have heard of him, he was the writer of the Malleus Maleficarum."

"The Hammer of the Witches?" January could not help but curl a lip in disgust. "Of course I've heard of it. It is all about how to torture and murder people under the pretext of them being Witches. It's a monument to religious bigotry."

"Kramer is also known to certain… people, like myself, as Der Hexenhammer. He is a powerful sorcerer in his own right. It is worth noting that Kramer died in 1505, a full fifteen years before this."

"Even after his death he remained an unofficial witch-hunter for the Popes. He was the one they called upon to perform their vilest of tasks. The ones never put to paper to acknowledge their reality. Whether he still does their bidding is open to speculation. The Papacy has changed much in the last half millennia. Der Hexenhammer has not."

"You mean he is still alive today?" January stared at the other woman in amazement. "Is he a- well, like you?"

"He is not blessed by Selene," Branwen said. "But he is undead. I believe your role playing games would describe him as a lich, if there is a word to describe him. Be very wary! If you encounter him, he will stop at nothing to kill you. His hatred and fanaticism lends great strength to his will. He has ended many promising individuals over the centuries."

January nodded, and filed that away for future reference. At first being a magic-wielder had seemed cool. Now the shine was definitely wearing off.

"Nátthrafn learned of the Hexenhammer's arrival on the island and must have guessed his intent." Branwen went back to her story. "He loosed an Abyssal upon Kramer, and it killed five students in the adjacent religious school before it was stopped. The families of the deceased led a mob to the church, with Kramer at the head. They caught Nátthrafn in the catacombs, while he scrambled to pack his things. A frightful battle took place within. Not only was Nátthrafn killed, but also his first mistress and their children as well. The survivors of the raiding party all swore to never speak of it afterward. I only learned what sparse details I could from the diary of one of the mob's relatives."

"However, his second mistress Jonsdottir and her daughter Kristin had not lived in the church. They were able to escape, and fled to the south of the island, and from thence to Denmark. Through them, his bloodline lived on."

"Nátthrafn himself was buried in the catacombs of Holar's church. Some reports hint that his book Rauðskinna was destroyed. Others said that it was buried with him. In any event, his remains were hidden away, so as to not be so easily discovered."

"It was not until two centuries later that lamentable event finally came to pass. The last descendant of Jonsdottir and Kristin returned to Holar as a student. He was named Loftur, and was already a sorcerer. He used his magic to create strife among the populace, and searched the catacombs for Nátthrafn's tomb. He got one of the kitchen servants pregnant, and sealed her up in a wall for her trouble. When another student tried to stop him, Loftur murdered him too."

"Loftur called up Nátthrafn soon after. He was killed in the process. For he did not realize that there is a trap built into the ritual to summon Nátthrafn. The Rauðskinna deliberately obfuscates this. Loftur was turned inside out as Nátthrafn's newly reborn body burst out from within his flesh."

"Like the djieien," January frowned. "When I first saw it, it was covered in blood."

"Yes," Branwen said, "the blood and life of our realm serve to ground a creature from beyond into our reality. It weaves elements of our world into them. That makes it all the more difficult - if not impossible - to banish them back to the Abyss. That is a trick our current opponent has but recently learned."

[Acadian]

I'm humbled that you chose to incorporate a couple of my musings (Raven's Nest and some trekkie speak) into Jan's story. Mara knows, I routinely borrow from your fics and observations when writing Buffy's story.

’At first being a magic-wielder had seemed cool. Now the shine was definitely wearing off.’
- - Love this. It is the perfect relief and punctuation to the somber tale Blood Raven tells and phrased in such a ‘January’ manner. Jan’s comments during Branwen’s narration continue to vividly ‘show’ the magical kinship between her and Branwen, as well as their equally important differences.

What a fascinating family history this pair has, including skeletons and even liches in the closet!

How devious of Nátthrafn, when writing Rauðskinna, to conveniently omit or obscure the part about the one resurrecting him paying with their life and blood. Of course. . . Loftur merits no sympathy. . . .

Lots of info provided in this episode but you did so in a totally engaging tale woven by Branwen, with January’s comments injected at the perfect moments to help keep us anchored to the moment and their current plight.

So, if I have the right of it so far, Nátthrafn was resurrected two centuries after his death by his descendent (Loftur) using Rauðskinna. I’m wondering if their foe is the resurrected lich himself. We shall see.

[treydog]

Still reading and enjoying. And not caught up- so yay me?

3.11

Had to love Blood Raven's reaction to “electronic... music.”


[quote]She respected her. But she did not have to agree with her.[/quote]


And that is a distinction it can be hard for people to learn.

[quote]When you stood in the same room with her, and breathed the same air, you felt her, like a ghost walking over your grave.[/quote]

Creepy feeling- but darned great writing.

[quote]"Thank you Obi-Wan," January breathed.[/quote]

January is just irrepressible sometimes- which is why we love her.

3.12

[quote]Never meet your heroes, she thought. They will only disappoint you.[/quote]

And also remind you that you- meta or not- are also human...

[quote]A gunshot might miss Emilia, but it would go straight into that home.[/quote]

I like that Crowgirl thought of this first. And that Blood Raven also took steps.

[quote]The real enemy was alienation, loneliness, and despair.[/quote]

A thing to remember at all times- but especially under current circumstances.
[quote]
The cloud of jet-black corvids rose up into the sky like a black storm. Within moments they faded into the night, leaving no trace of Blood Raven in their wake.[/quote]

Lots of people can make an entrance- but most cannot top that exit.

3.13

[quote]All those tomorrows lost forever.[/quote]

Succinctly, perfectly evocative of the waste.

[quote]There was a tuner, a cd player, even a tape deck in the stack of electronics. She wondered if Emilia had a horse and buggy back in the garage? [/quote]

Hey now! Just because some of us are more comfortable with our "analog" lives....

[quote]"Could you be any more Lawful Good?" [/quote]



[quote]My alignment isn't Stupid Good you know."[/quote]

And again.

[quote]"Oh snap! I need to text my mom to tell her I'll be out late!"[/quote]

Meta-human to-do list---

Save people from burning building- check
Assist police with inquiries- check
Meet another long-time meta- check
Let Mom know I will be a little late- oops

3.14

Aunt Branwen. Hmmm.....

Loved the history lesson showing that “modern” civilization could learn a great deal from the “ancients” in terms of things being non-binary. I would blame computers, but the idea of “0 or 1” being the only possible answers goes back farther than that.

[quote]“But my blood does flow through your veins. I smelled it when you were in Hart Plaza. Later at the Flying Dutchman there was no mistaking it. You are one of my descendants." [/quote]

Blood calls to blood.


And apologies that the "quote html code seems borked again.

[SubRosa]

I tried some testing, and found out that the quotes problem is related to how many quotes you have in a single post. It seems there is a limit to how many the forum software can handle. I was able to get the first half of the post working fine, and the second half working fine, just not all together in a single post.

[Renee]

Yes, Boris the Spider! Funny to see The Who dressed up for the '80s. That video rocks! Thank you.

Yes, I was sort of talking about modern times, like with Isis. We won't just go bombing their headquarters without some discussion first, and also considering if there are innocents who might get harmed. It's a complicated subject of course. I can remember after 9/11, some American (idiots) were saying we should just blow up all of Afghanistan & Pakistan. We certainly could have done this. Fortunately, it didn't work that way.

Branwyn seems like she never tries to negotiate, or consider her actions. I understand where she's coming from.I am not sure how vulnerable she is, but her ways have certainly contributed to her survival all these centuries. Maybe at some points in her past though, she's come to regret some of her ruthless actions.

Today's music really kicks in slowly, as Raven begins her sermon.

Yes, SO true about Christianity playing right into the hands of various rulers. Pretty sure Jesus didn't mean for it to work this way. I believe Jesus was a real guy, but his message has been way distorted every which way over time.

Getting sidetracked, Renee...

Ha, that's awesome. She found a real-life necromancer book at a bookstore. See, never underestimate your local library. Evil abounds, and nefarious deeds can be afoot amongst those gray-haired, glasses-held by-chains wearing librarians!!!

. I believe your role playing games would describe him as a lich, if there is a word to describe him

I can see her saying this with a little sneer. Your role playing games...

Gosh I love this. I wonder if Branwyn finds living in the modern world more challenging than living in centuries' past. I suppose living back then was tougher, especially since she wasn't as powerful.