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.

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."

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?}.’

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.



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.



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.




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.

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.

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..."

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.’

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.



Those damn gamers!

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



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.

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.

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?

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.



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



Now there is something that takes real courage.



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



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.



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.

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."

’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…’

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.



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.



That's so awesome.

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



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



Paint a picture with words....



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



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.


Yay- Galactica swear word.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

As an Editorial Note, I have changed January's birthday to August 13th. I just discovered that was a Friday. So she was born on Friday the 13th.

I am also thinking of changing her friend Jack's name. The reason is that her great-grandfather Jack Parsons keeps coming up in conversations with Blood Raven. I don't want people to get confused about which Jack is which. So I might make her friend's name something like Jake (which I believe is Jack Black's real name). Or maybe I could go with a completely invented nickname, like her friends Rus and Kell have (their real names are Russell and Kelly).

I also need to think of what kind of car he drives, and Ryo too.

Okay, Jack (or Jake) has to drive this

Edit: I changed it to Jacob Schwarz. He was called Jack until he was about 5 or 6. Then the gang saw one of the Transformers TV shows, and he became Blackjack (A Decepticon). January sometimes calls him Jacktimus Prime however.

January herself has a nickname now too. She is Morning Star, after the first month in the Elder Scrolls calendar. While Avery is the OG of course, the Original Geek.

Acadian: January thought that being trans made her the skeleton in the family closet. Turns out Not! There are some real skeletons in there!

These last four episodes were difficult to write because they are essentially a big info dump of exposition. If this was a film, I would do a four or five minute series of flashbacks showing Nátthrafn up to all these dastardly deeds, with Blood Raven's voice narrating it. Like how the beginning of Fellowship Of The Ring has that prologue narrated by Galadriel, that explains what happened in the past to bring you up to where they were.

I looked at various ways I might try to write something like that. But nothing really worked. They all took us out of the moment, which is supposed to be about Blood Raven explaining to January why their bloodline is cursed. It wasn't about January any more, or her relationships to others. It had turned into the Nátthrafn show. Which is not my intent.

So I went with the present format, of Blood Raven doing a retelling. But I am purposely interrupting her at regular intervals with January's thoughts, and out loud questions. I am also breaking it up with descriptions of Blood Raven's lair, and her telling her own story while she is at it. Because I want this to be about her and January, and their struggle with their atavistic fears.

There are a lot more twists and turns to Nátthrafn's tale. Today we will finally learn them all.


treydog: There was a time when I would have said the same about Electronic... music. But after I gave it a chance, I do like artists like Moby and Orbital. The Orb was really my gateway drug into Electronica. It was great background music for gaming nights. (Along with George Clinton and Bootsy Collins, and the Mechwarrior 2 and Quake 2 soundtracks).

January has had the fortune of being raised in a relatively diverse environment, growing up her friends were all different from her, and she was different from everyone else. So she learned that different is not something to fear. She also learned that many of the creative people whose work she admired could be quite... problematic in other aspects of their lives. So like all of us, she has to grapple with balancing the value of their artistic creations, versus the kind of people they were in their private lives. She learned to admire certain things, but not agree with them.

One of the things writing this has really brought home to me is how old I really am now, and how much the world has changed since I was in high school. January's feelings are easy for me to relate to. Those are timeless. But she lives in a very different world than the one I grew up in, with CDs, mixtapes, Sony Walkmen, a news cycle that was only a half hour every day, and even then only on weekdays, the library being the only place to find books or do research, and so on.

January's To Do list is one of those timless ways that she can stay down to earth in her crazy superlife. She still has a mom after all. Which come to think of it, is something very few protagonists in any form of fiction have, especially films.


Renee: Blood Raven always considers her actions. But yes, she rarely bothers with trying to negotiate with her opponents. If she is getting involved, it has gone beyond the point where talking can make a difference. She leaves the talking and hostage negotiations to the police. That is their job, and she does not want to compete with them in doing it. The mass shooters and giant spiders are her territory. She has never killed innocent people, and it is not like it is something she does every day, or even every year. We will learn more about that in Chapter 5, when she is tempted to kill again.

It was not a real life necromancer in a book store. She wanted to find the Rauðskinna, and it literally appeared as if by magic. As if it was drawn to members of her bloodline. We will see more of that this episode.

Branwen/Blood Raven does find living in the present more difficult than the past. Before there were no photographs, no internet, no driver's licenses, no passports, no social security numbers, or the thousand other ways people are tracked and filed away now. In the 1790s you could walk from Boston and Philadelphia, say you are named Jane, and just start a new life there with no one to ever know that you were really Anne from Boston. Now it is a lot more difficult to navigate from one identity to another as the years roll by.










John Hancock

Public Universal Friend

Johannes Kelpius

Aleister Crowley and Thelema

Jack Parsons



Book 4.15 - Pride

"In any case," Branwen went on, "with that Nátthrafn returned to the world. In 1760 he came to Boston. There he called himself John Corbin, and made the pretense of being a scion of old English nobility, now fallen on hard economic times. That same year he was wed to my mother, Saoirse Scanlan. She was the daughter of an Irish shipwright, whose services were highly sought after. As such their family was moderately wealthy. Yet being Irish they were shunned by the polite society of Puritanical New England. For example, my grandfather was forced to swear an oath of allegiance to the Anglican faith."

"As John Corbin, Esquire, my father brought respectability and social status to the family. In turn he used their family fortune to invest in shipping. He quickly turned this to a substantial profit. Some say it was almost magical how his ships were able to weather terrible storms that sent others to the bottom. Or how they always managed to elude the customs cutters, no matter how vigilant the Royal Navy's watches. In any case, he soon owned several vessels, and built a small empire on the Triangle Trade of slaves, rum, and molasses."

"So my ancestor was a slave-trader," January murmured. "Wonderful."

"We should be counted as fortunate were that the worst of his sins," Branwen replied.

"My parents first made their abode in the North End, at the south-east corner of the North Burying Ground. What is now is called Copp's Hill. Across the cemetery was New Guinea, an enclave of emancipated Africans. It was not considered a fashionable neighborhood. But in 1762 they moved into a mansion on Marlbrough street, just a few houses down from the Governor. But my father still retained the old house in the North End. A year later I was born."

January noted that Branwen now referred to him as 'her father' rather than Nátthrafn. Suddenly it had become much more personal. He was no longer just a character in a story. He was someone real, someone close to her.

"However, my father's sorceries once again overshadowed the carefully woven tapestry of his life as a ship owner. Again dark rumors swirled around him. Many of the slaves his ships transported had a habit of vanishing while doing work in the North End house's basement. There were whispers of tunnels under the building, and secret ways leading to certain places beneath the city, and even hidden entrances to them from the bank of the Charles River. Still others claimed to have heard his voice issuing from the burying ground, even when he could not be seen there. Those who inquired too loudly about these things, and his apparent lack of aging, began to disappear."

"Some of these unfortunates were members of the Sons of Liberty, and friends of John Hancock. You may not realize this, but Hancock was one of the richest men in all the Thirteen Colonies. He lost quite a bit of money to my father in the Triangle Trade. He was especially incensed when one of his ships - The Liberty - was detained by customs officials in Boston Harbor. At the same time my father's vessels sailed freely, openly defiant of the Townsend Acts, and the other taxation acts to follow."

"Finally in 1775 Hancock secretly organized an effort against my father. His band of partisans included other Sons of Liberty, Freemasons, prominent landowners, and smugglers alike. Since they suspected my father was a necromancer, they enlisted the aid of Jemima Wilkinson, a powerful spiritualist of the day."

"If you do not know of her, well, of them, I suggest you research them," Branwen said. "I believe they were what is now known as a non-binary person. This was just a few years before they openly declared their gender preference - or non-preference if you look upon it that way - and took the name Public Universal Friend."

"Really?" January stared at the other woman in amazement. "I have never heard of her, um them. Great, I misgendered them to."

"They were a major force in the American spiritualist movement of the late 18th century," Branwen explained. "I never did have the opportunity to meet them. I should have very much liked to. I regret that far more than I do their assisting in the destruction of my father."

That would have sounded utterly insane under any other circumstances. But January could only nod, and silently agree.

"They raided the North End house at night, while my mother and I were at the Marlbrough mansion. In fact, I had never been to the North End house while my father was alive. He kept it for his private work. My father was prepared, and had raised up a number of the dead to stand as his bodyguards. While certainly no warrior, by all accounts it was the Public Universal Friend that put paid to these servants of darkness with her own spiritual abilities."

"With the battle going badly, my father attempted conjuring up a more powerful assistant, undoubtedly an Abyssal. Once again, it was the Public Friend who either banished it, or prevented the summoning. My father was finished off. Some said by Hancock himself, though I doubt that vainglorious popinjay had the nerve to even look my father in the eye."

"In any case, the house was closed up afterward. The entrances to the chambers beneath sealed, at least all those which could be discovered. My father's remains were buried within, hidden from any who might come prying."

"Afterward it was rumored that the Sons of Liberty had assassinated him. Just a few days later General Gage sent his men to march upon Lexington and Concord. Nothing ever came of my father's case after that. The Loyalists certainly had no more love for my father than the Patriots. The entire affair was simply eclipsed by the war and forgotten."

"So did you fight in the Revolution as well?" January asked, thinking of her Civil War uniform.

"Nay," Branwen shook her head. "At that time the thought never entered my head that I - a woman - could even dare such a thing. Besides, I was too young for most of it. I was only twelve when it began and eighteen when Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown."

"Even if I had been older, I would not have known who to fight for," Branwen continued. "The Revolutionaries had killed my father, and at the time I knew not what a monster he truly was. On the other hand I felt no loyalty to the English. With my father dead, they no longer felt the need to obfuscate their racial prejudice toward my Irish mother and me. Yet in spite of all this I was an American. I had lived all my life in America. We had always collected our own taxes, defended our own lands, and managed our own institutions. Americans needed no king in London to tell us how to manage our affairs."

January could not mistake the prickly sense of pride within Branwen's words. It was finally sinking home that she really had lived for two and half centuries. This was a woman who had been there at the dawn of her country's history, at least as an independent nation.

"With my father dead, my mother sold the Marlbrough mansion and the ill-fated abode beside Copp's Hill," Branwen continued. "We moved in with my grandfather, to his own house near the docks on North Street, in the North End."

"Life was, well, life. It was not easy going from the wealth and privilege we had once possessed to the life of a shipwright's granddaughter. Because it was rumored that the Sons of Liberty had killed him, most presumed that my father had been an informant for the Crown. That made life even more difficult. Being Irish of course, did not help either."

"Then there was the war too of course. The British occupation lasted less than a year. But their blockade continued for the entire war. For a city whose lifeblood was trade and ship-building, that was nigh a death sentence. They say the population shrank to one fifth its original size during the war, as people moved away to better prospects."

"Our family hung on however," Branwen said. "As I said, we are a stubborn bloodline. In 1785, two years after the Treaty of Paris, I married Experience Hopkins. He had served with the Continentals during the war. I was much taken with him, and his uniform, when he returned to Boston afterward. We had two children together, Ambrose and Constance."

Branwen's eyes took on a glazed look, as if she was not seeing January and the room around them. Rather it must have been a far different scene painted before her centuries-old eyes. January could not imagine what it must be like to live for hundreds of years, and see the present fade to the past like that, until it only remained a ghost of memory.

"Experience used the money my mother had put aside from selling the old property, and he started the Colony House. It was a public house on Orange Street. That is the main road through Boston Neck, that one must take to get into or out of the city. Many would say it was a tavern. But in those days, that did not simply mean a drinking establishment, or a place with rooms for rent. Mail was delivered there, political meetings were held, court was convened, and troops recruited by the military. It was really a central place in the community."

"It was a hard scrabble at first, and we nearly went bankrupt," Branwen said. "But we held on, and gradually people began to return to the city. By the 90s things were looking up, and business was good. I think that might have been the happiest time in my life. I had my husband, I had my children, and I had my mother. The dark stain of my father had faded into history, forever I thought, and the future seemed bright."

January looked back up at the genealogical chart. She saw that the date of Branwen's death was listed as 1793.

"Then a shadow came from my father's past," Branwen said. Her eyes snapped back to reality, and she followed January's gaze up the marble edifice, to the date of her death. "Yes, right there, in 1793. Johannes Kelpius, a correspondent of my father's, came to see why none of his letters were being returned. When he learned that my father was dead he became obsessed with discovering his secrets. Secrets which of course, we were incapable of imparting even had we a desire to do so."

"We learned that he was a vampire," Branwen frowned. "He killed my husband. He was slowly killing me, night after night, as a means of leverage to get what he wanted. My mother sent to Keziah Talmadge for aid, she who built the house you now abide within. She had been the midwife at my birth, and my mother trusted her."

"We laid a trap for Kelpius, and he fell into it. But it cost my life. It also made me a vampire, like him. Afterward I was forced to leave. My son Ambrose had walked into the room where I lay, not dead, not alive. But I did not see my son. I saw a banquet, and I was starving. If Keziah had not been there to stop me, I would have devoured him."

She spoke with firm words, and her face betrayed no sign of emotion. She might as well have been repeating a recipe for cookies. But January felt a wash of emotions roiling about the other woman in the astral. She could not discern exactly which was which, but she did not need to be a genius to guess.

She could also imagine that the very simple and brusque description of her death and resurrection as a vampire was greatly simplified for January's ears. Her writer's mind was certain that a much deeper story lay behind it all. But she was not going to pry into so sensitive subject. She did not have the right. Not yet at least.

"So I went away with Keziah, to the Witch House. There she taught me to control myself, and to use magic. In time she moved on, and left the house to me. For well over a hundred years I made my own way in the world, as best I thought able. Until your great-grandfather Jack came along."

"Jack Parsons," January said. "Why do I know that name?"

"Jack was one of the founding members of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory," Branwen explained. "He was one of the first inventors of rockets, along with Robert Goddard. He and Mr. Goddard were not on very good terms however. But Jack was also a great magician, a friend to Aleister Crowley. He led a lodge of Crowley's Thelema in California."

"The Beast?" January said. "I have heard of Crowley of course."

"The drug-addicted poser more like," Branwen snorted. "Crowley was a master of self-promotion, and little else. If he had spent even a tenth of his time on magic as he did upon seducing women, and men, and lying about his achievements, he could have been truly great. He was a pale shadow compared to your great-grandfather. A pale shadow compared to you."

January could not help but to feel a rise of pride at that. She had heard the same unflattering opinion about Crowley before of course. But he was still put on a pedestal by so many other modern esotericists. To be ranked above that. Well, it felt good. Of course by now she had noted that Branwen could be quite opinionated in her own right, and might not be immune from a certain bias in favor of her own bloodline.

"I was not keeping track of Jack, except when he made the newspapers," Branwen said. "I did not know that I had to. I was still in Europe after the Second World War when suddenly Abyssals began to appear in Los Angeles. Someone was calling them up, and turning them loose to their own devices. It was too late that I realized Jack was the one doing the summoning. He had discovered the Rauðskinna, and was following it step by step."

"Just like someone else is doing now," January nodded. Now things became clear. Now she could see why Branwen had suspected her. Why she had to suspect her. "That book is a trap. It comes to your father's descendants and ensnares them. It uses them to call him back, and kills them in the process. It's truly hideous."

"It is," Branwen frowned. "I raced back to America, to Jack's home. But he was dead by the time I arrived, lying in pieces in the middle of a ritual working. You have seen what I speak of. In his place I beheld my father, living once more."

"What did you do?" January wondered.

"I killed him," Branwen said. "He was summoning another Abyssal as I arrived, and anchoring it in our world. You know what that entails. I could not stand by. Not over my own grandchild's corpse."

January was about to ask how she could have done that, given how powerful Nátthrafn appeared to be. But then she remembered how easily Branwen had dealt with the djieien in the street. She had used its own blood to make it explode from the inside out, among other things. Her great-grandmother was truly not one be frakked with.

"Since then, I have learned what manner of creature my father truly was, truly is," she said. "I have learned that I must watch my descendants, and find others who have sprung from his loins. Our blood is cursed. It is his means of returning to this world, even after death, even after countless deaths."

"How does he do it?" January asked. "Cheat death like that?"

"Truly, I know not," Branwen sighed. "If I possessed the Grafes Thanatos, perhaps I might learn his secrets, but perhaps not even then. In these matters I am but a study witch. I am not willing to make it a part of myself. He has done something with his spirit, unfettered it from the normal processes of life and death. I suspect that he has become an Abyssal himself, though how I know not."

"So you think that it's all happening again?" January said. "Someone is summoning Abyssals, in order to build up to resurrecting him? Couldn't it just be some magician who stumbled upon this magic on their own, and is still figuring it out for themselves, completely separate from your father?"

"That may be," Branwen admitted. "I pray that be so. For if it is truly my father behind all this, his return would herald a darkness this world has never seen. He has spent long centuries beyond. I cannot imagine what terrors he might be capable of unleashing now. I only defeated him before because of Tunguska. He did not realize how much more powerful magic has become in our world. He was still using the old ways, the slow ways. Once he understands just how quickly and easily the power comes now, he might truly be unstoppable."

Ahah, this episoded clarifies much and gives us a much better picture of the threat they face. Some unknown relative has been cursed by Rauðskinna to begin the suicidal cycle of resurrecting Nátthrafn.

Branwen also shares much about her life, including how/when she became a vampire.

I was fascinated by how effortlessly and effectively you wove real historical figures, such as John Hancock, into Branwen’s history.

In the episode before this one, you used January’s comments to both keep us ‘in the moment’ as well as lighten things up a bit and remind us of January’s modern way of thinking. In this episode you use her thoughts and comments to equal but different effect. Not only do you again keep us grounded in the moment but you use January’s observations to highlight the poignancy of the memories flowing from Branwen. Very effective, given Branwen’s rather stoic presence and manner.

’Her great-grandmother was truly not one be frakked with.’
- - Quoted for truth!


Nit: "We moved in with my grandfather, t his own house near the docks on North Street, in the North End." - - Perhaps the ‘t’ in front of ‘his’ is a stray?

3.15

Most excellent discussion of magic and the ways in which it can manifest.

Names... yeah, I always had to wonder about “Philander” though, considering the more current meaning. Well- actually- ALL the meanings, even going back to the original Greek. Given the Puritan and Victorian attitudes and also that it is a man's name....

Dora the Kneecapper

Had this image of the little cartoon girl running around with a double-bitted axe and chain hauberk....

4.1

Between 3.15 and here, Aunt Branwen becomes Aunt Ann? Okay, the note kinda clears that up- if Jan made a slip. But Anne's terminal “e” got disappeared....

4.2

The comic book moment between Jan and her mom was beautiful, as was the entire segment.

4.3

And more excellent relationship (and character) development with the ancient ancestor.

Acadian: It took a long time, but eventually we got to the meat and potatoes of what is going on.

Someday I intend to do an in depth story about how Branwen became a vampire. I have all the particulars down on pixels. It is just a matter of when it will be appropriate.

Weaving in real life events and objects is something I learned from reading HP Lovecraft. One thing he used to love was book porn - reeling off exhaustive lists of esoteric books in his villain's possession. He would put his fictional books like the Necronomicon in with real ones like the Golden Bough, and name drop fictional authors like Al-Hazred alongside real ones like Elphias Levi or Borellus. Likewise, he would incorporate real events into his stories, like the discovery of Pluto, right alongside the fictional stuff.

All of this intertwining of fact and fiction lent his works an air of verisimilitude that they otherwise would have lacked in a pure fictional setting. Or as grifters would say, weave in a little truth with your lies to make them more effective. Now that I am writing in the 'real world' I am embracing this as much as I can. That is why I deliberately looked for real people that I could write the story of Nátthrafn and Branwen around, like Kelpius, Hancock, Heinrich Kramer, Loftur, and so on. I am doing the same with the Abyssals whenever I can as well. hence making my giant spider a djieien, rather than some nameless entity from beyond. We will be hearing about Buggane's, Flying Heads, and even goblins in the future.

January herself is of course, what emotionally grounds this all into reality. This is ultimately her story after all. All of this stuff with her ancestors affects her directly, and will for her entire life. She will always be part of this struggle against Nátthrafn.



treydog: Both I and January also envisioned a little cartoon girl when I came up with the name Dora. But she is a Shadowrun character, so she would be wearing partial heavy armor and using her magical fists of kung-fu fury!

The comic books (more on them coming up) was a nice way for me to give a nod to the ultimate origins of all superhero fiction. As well as point out some of the very serious issues with it, that continue to this day.

It also got me some good mom-time. Protagonists in film or print rarely have mothers. At least not with a name, who play any part in the character's story. One of my goals with the Stormcrow fic is to actually have a protagonist with a relationship with her mother.

More of that ancient ancestor coming up, as January receives her first formal lesson in magic.




As always City Club can be found on the Stormcrow Map

Leland City Club

Bauhaus - Bela Lugosi's Dead



Book 5.1 - Crystal Death

June 1 - 9, 2019

Chad shut off Gilda Gadfly's podcast after he stepped into City Club. The last thing he needed to hear was more about the Blackbirds joining forces to fight for Metro Detroit. It was all anyone could talk about these days. Like the world needed more women pretending to be heroes. Sure they looked good. But really, everyone knew it was men who faced real danger and actually did things. Stormcrow and Blood Raven were just there to put on magazine covers, or serve as click-bait for websites.

City Club was in the basement of the Leland Hotel. It was a dark, brooding place filled with shadows and ghosts, including that of Jimmy Hoffa, if you went in for that sort of thing. The black paint on the walls was peeling off, and covered over in graffiti in many places. It was a 90s movie idea of what a post-vampire apocalypse bar would look like. Complete with lots of young, pretty Goths wearing tons of black makeup and piercings.

Chad went straight for the bathroom. He stopped to look both ways first. Then he went through the door and found an empty stall. No one was likely to recognize him here. But you could never be sure. If anyone did know him, they would try to stop him. He knew he should try to stop himself. But he couldn't, not even after two years of sobriety. Or maybe it was because of those two years, he just had nothing left to fight with?

He had simply been out walking. Then he had seen that guy in the parking lot, the guy with the ponytail. He had instantly known. He had known it was a dealer. And he felt it, that siren call of meth, that heavenly choir promising joy and freedom and energy and transcendence. He had been fighting that call for so long. He just could not fight any more.

The dealer's name had been Lonnie, and he had something special. Not your run of the mill meth, but something new, something even better. It was designer meth, and Chad could try it for free.

It was too much to resist. He had taken the little baggie of red crystals from the dealer. He had grabbed it, and a little leather case of works, and headed inside. Now he stood in the bathroom stall and laid out his treasures on the toilet seat cover.

He took the rubber hose first, and tied it around his arm. Pumping his fist in and out, he got a good vein going. Then he reached for the spoon, and spread out the ruby red crystals across its small basin. The dealer had said he would not need to heat it with a lighter. He said it would easily dissolve in water instead. He was right. In no time at all the red crystals melted and flowed into the water he had squirted on the spoon with the syringe.

Chad stared at the crimson liquid. It glowed, hot and bright, like something from a science fiction movie. It was like he had cracked open a neon sign and poured it out across the utensil. Chad stood there for long moments, entranced by the radiance. All he could hear was that sweet, sweet call of addiction rising higher and higher from within. Finally he could stand it no more, and he sucked up all that heavenly light into the syringe.

He barely felt it plunge into his arm a moment later. Most people smoked meth. It was easier. But it was slower, and lost so much of the potency. Smoking ruined the goods, and weakened what little of it actually got through. Only babies smoked. Besides, who wanted meth-mouth? No, injection was the only way to go, straight into the blood and right to the brain.

The rush hit him almost before he had finished squeezing the plunger all the way down. It was light, and sound, and pure, pure joy. There was no other way of describing it. Words had not been created that could describe it. It was beyond mundane, arbitrary things like labels. It was spiritual. It was godlike.

It was not like meth. Even if he could not wrap his brain around the terms to describe the feeling, Chad knew that much. This was so much better, so much stronger. He was so much stronger. He could feel the power, popping through his muscles. He heard his shirt rip as he flexed his arm. He was literally bursting with muscle and energy.

He turned to look back, and he could see through the thin metal door of the stall. He could see through the bathroom wall. He could see out onto the dance floor beyond. He could even see though the bodies of all those good little Goth girls and boys who gyrated to Bauhaus. He could see their veins, and see their bones. He wondered what they would look like, when he pulled them apart?

Chad pushed open the stall door, without bothering to undo the latch that locked it shut. It flew off its hinges and crashed into the mirror across the bathroom. Glass shattered into a million pieces, every one reflecting his glory. This must be how metas like Varg or Annihilator felt, like a god walking on Earth.

He would show the world what it meant to be a god. He crashed through the bathroom door, and leaped past rows of booths. Someone laid a hand his shoulder. He thought he heard his name. He turned and bared his teeth. How dare they lay a hand upon their Lord! He took that hand, peeled back the fingers until each one snapped, and laughed as someone screamed.

People gave way around Chad. Except for two men, who loomed ever nearer. They were big men, men who would have pounded him into a paste a minute before. But he was a meta now, and they were nothing, mere mortals. He would swat them like the flies they were. They had no right to live in the same world that he did. It was insulting! It was outrageous! His blood boiled at the thought.

They lay at his feet in mere moments. But as he prepared to trumpet his glory, something strange happened. The world crashed. He crashed. It felt like a great weight suddenly fell on his chest. He couldn't breathe. The light died, and he could not see through the ceiling anymore. Wait, through the ceiling? He was on his back. When had he fallen on his back? Why was it so hard to breathe? Where was that godly meta-human power?

It was slipping, slipping from his grasp. He tried to hold on. But it just slid away with the rest of the world. It seeped into a black pit of nothingness, until nothing was left of it, or of him…

I thought of crystal meth as soon as I saw your title for this new chapter.

So Gilda's calling them the Blackbirds! Cool!

Chad shows his unattractive colors in the first paragraph. So seeing him get his head pumped up then promptly smacked onto his back was somehow gratifying.

Telling this from Chad’s perspective gave a neat, disorienting picture as his brain on drugs tried to blend real and not real.

It will be interesting to learn how this episode, with its drug connection, fits into the bigger picture.


Nit: Except for two men, who loomed every {ever} nearer.

Good, so she does get rid of her ageless, necromancing father. Gosh that's creepy... he's got his own undead working for him.

So if Branwen was born in 1763, this made her roughly 13 when Public Friend allegedly took care of her long-existing father. At that age, she's old enough to have learned a thing or two from him. But let's continue reading.

Ooops, 12, not 13. And she apparently received no instruction from her father. WHAT she dies in 1793!!!?? So she becomes a vampire at age 30? .... But somehow gets noted as deceased? I hope I got that right.

AH, and also, I see now why January got suspected. Goodness.

Ah, so Bauhaus. She's in Parties is my favorite. That whole album is incredible actually.

I finish this week's chapter later.

Funny, as soon as Chad's heading into that restroom I knew he was about to use. Bleah. I once lived catty-corner to an apartment full of meth heads. I knew nothing about it back in those days, I guess I was about 29 or so. Anyway, my roommate spent some time with them and then came up and told me "you gotta try this!" And for no real reason I was like "nah." And then later on that night, I was going to work and ALL of them were still up and partying. I worked nights. Came home in the morning, sun was fully risen. All of them were still up and partying. I realized... these folks never went to bed. I'm glad I said no instead of anything else! They eventually got busted by our absentee landlord.

I remember one guy was really into sidewalk chalk. He'd get his hit or whatever, and an hour later a portion of the sidewalk was coated in crazy colored chalk drawings. I also remember one time, I locked my keys in my apartment, which was on the second floor. One of the meth heads saw me stressing and said he could help. 30 seconds later he was in my apartment. He did this crazy acrobatic move off a fence, got sideways and upside down! ... But he got in, because we'd often leave our porch door open if weather was warm. But I mean, I think the drug must make these folks really fearless, or something.

Ha maybe Blood Raven got Chad. Guess we'll find out tomorrow.

Still reading- and enjoying immensely.

I have adjusted the choke on the Quot-a-matic ™ so it doesn't give the forum the whim-whams.

4.4



And the whole 21st C. slang discussion caused me to nearly spray tea onto my monitor.

4.5



Or historical markers that tell it in a way that is... pleasing to the ones who created them.




And although I did the teaching thing, I admire ANYONE who can stand in front of a group of small children and engage with them. I would have flailed miserably, despite my love for comic books.
Good luck with that.

Acadian: When I was looking for a name for my new killer drug, I wanted to be topical, so I went with a variation on meth rather than one of the older standards like heroin. Besides, meth is similar in that it at least gives people a ton of energy. The Germans gave it to their troops in WWII so they could fight for 3 days straight without sleeping. It is one of the things that made their 1940 Blitzkrieg through Belgium happen.

Gilda is now firmly ensconced within the Crow-verse. We will be hearing from her more this chapter, and every one that follows, keeping her finger on the pulse of the nation.

Chad was originally going to be less repulsive. But I don't want it to seem like January is living in some sort of paradise. Bigotry is something she deals with every day. So I used Chad as an example of the misogyny she has to face. He is basically an Incel. I named him Chad out of a sense of irony. (Google the two terms if you don't already know them).

Unfortunately everything that Chad experienced was real. We will be learning more about that in today's episode.

This chapter will be a departure from the magic stuff. Though we will get back to the overall Summoner/Nátthrafn story arc in Chapter 6. I will roughly alternate between it and the mundane threats in a super world every chapter, until it finally wraps up.


Renee: Blood Raven/Branwen's father kept her completely out of the 'family business' of necromancy, the same with her mother. As Gandalf told Saruman, the Dark Lord does not share power. They were just a means to an end for him, a way to father more descendants that he could someday use to resurrect him if he was killed again.

You read that right. Branwen died when she was 30. She rose afterward as a vampire. He death could not be kept a secret. Especially since she had to be separated from temptations while she learned to control her new nature.

Yep, that is meth alright. Militaries use it for exactly the reasons you described. As I mentioned to Acadian, the German Army was big into it, using a brand name of meth called Pervitin.

Blood Raven did not get Chad. The same drug that gave him powers laid him out, as we will learn this episode.


treydog: I have had to work hard on my slang, both from today, and from 200 years ago. I have text files with terms so I don't forget.

January has some experience in public speaking, thanks to being a martial arts instructor. But that is not the same as speaking in front of the kids. It is just one piece of her evolution in dealing with the public. We will be seeing more of that in the future.





January's Backyard

Midtown/Lane State

The Whitney

The Michigan State Police Emergency Response Team is real, I just changed the name slightly



Book 5.2 - Crystal Death

January soared across I-94. The wind caressed her face, and danced across her wings. More than ever before, she felt like a bird. She almost wanted to flap her wings. But of course, they did not work that way. Still, she felt less like she was gliding, and more like she was actually flying than ever before.

Lighthammer had told her that she needed to keep working on her flying mojo, and she certainly had been. Between their regular training sessions at the Packard Plant she had taken whatever time she could in the evenings to practice her flying. All she had to do was walk out of the back door of the Witch House and into the woods beyond. There was a nature trail back there, winding along the Clinton River. The trees were so thick that there was no way for pedestrians to see her soaring above the green canopy. Besides, the dense branches gave her an added incentive to remain airborne.

Now she winged over a forest of concrete and steel, rather than the bucolic Sterling Heights park system. Below her stretched out a patchwork of apartment blocks, small businesses like pizzeria's and phone stores, and fairy tale chateaus that were either privately owned mansions or part of Lane State University. Speaking of the latter, the entire area was filled with the school's many classroom buildings, sprawled out across block and after block of the cityscape.

Unlike Macomb Community College, which had its own self-contained campus, Lane State was simply a hodge podge of buildings thrown across Midtown. It reminded January of dice scattered across the table on gaming night. Here was an alumni house next to a gas station, there was a party store beside a classroom building. It was a jumbled, chaotic mess. But January found that as much as she had liked MCCs neatly manicured lawns and cloistered atmosphere, Lane State's casually tossed-about nature felt more lively, and in touch with the real world. In contrast MCC had sometimes felt like that fabled ivory tower of academia everyone talked about, albeit a very small tower.

Perhaps she should go here for Fall Term after all?

Her earpiece dinged, and her heart instantly doubled its pace. That was for Official Business only. Carefully, so as not to disrupt her aerodynamics too much, she touched a finger to the side of her helmet to answer the call.

"Stormcrow," she said. She hoped she sounded confident, but not emotionless. She had been working on subduing her perky phone voice after all. She had to sound more professional, at least when she was caping.

"It's Trooper Mercado," a woman's voice said in her ear. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"Emilia!" January exclaimed in her perky phone voice. "It's so nice to hear from you again. Did you want to try playing Shadowrun after all?"

"That's not what I was calling about," January could almost hear the laughter in the Puerto Rican woman's voice. "This is more of a work thing."

"Oh yeah, work thing," January murmured. "So what is up?"

She soared above a tall, cylindrical apartment building that reminded her of the iconic Capitol Records building in Los Angeles, except on a smaller scale. She was tempted to set down on its roof and use it to leap frog back into the air to regain altitude. But she was almost where she wanted to go anyhow, and winged past it instead.

"Have you heard of crystal death?"

"No," January shook her head, which of course Emilia could not see on the phone. She was so used to Skype. Why did people even use phones for talking anyway? "But I am assuming it is like meth?"

"It looks like it, except that it is red," Emilia replied. "But in actuality, they are nothing alike. It gives people meta-human abilities, but only temporarily."

"What?" January almost lost control of her flight and crashed into the bronze cap of church steeple that had been green with verdigris for at least a century. "I didn't think that was possible?"

"It is now," Emilia sighed. "The abilities people manifest seem to be random. But what is consistent is that does something to the brain every time. It makes people angry, violent, and filled with delusions of grandeur."

"Which all go great with meta abilities," January noted.

"Oh, it gets better," Emilia continued. "The drug only lasts a short while. When it finally crashes, it takes the rest of the brain with it. It causes seizures, strokes, heart attacks, and massive brain damage. Half the people who have taken it are dead, the lucky ones who survive end up in a persistent vegetative state. Some of them never even get the meta abilities. They just go straight into a coma."

"Who would want to take that?" January said. Then she caught herself. "What am I saying, I bet people are lined up for miles."

"I'm sure they would be, if they knew about it," Emilia said. "The state police are keeping this quiet. All that the news knows is that it's a form of tainted meth that's killing people. They are hoping to find the source and stop it before the meta-human part gets out. But that's just one MeTube video away from happening."

"Why the secrecy?" January wondered. "Are they afraid that the demand for it will go through the roof?"

She was nearing her destination, and losing altitude rapidly. She skimmed over the flat rooftop of a long apartment building beside Woodward. Then she came to roost amid the gables, bays, chimneys, and dormers on the roof of the Whitney mansion. The grand, three-story Romanesque masterpiece was constructed from pink jasper. It was a majestic Old World statement among the modern apartments, fast food restaurants, and school buildings that surrounded it.

January wondered if she would ever have the money to eat inside. For the elegant manse had long ago been turned into an upscale restaurant. It was the kind of place where if you had to ask how much it cost, you could not afford it. But January always had to ask how much it cost. That was just the life of a young person in the 21st Century.

"No, there has actually been very little of this stuff on the street," Emilia said. "In fact, it almost looks like someone is testing it a little at a time, and tweaking the formula in between. Every time it gets more potent, and the aftereffects more devastating."

"So why the cover up?" January asked.

"No one will say it right out, but I think the real reason for the secrecy is that they want to keep capes out of it," Emilia explained.

"You mean Blood Raven," January sighed. She did not know who to be more exasperated at. Her many times great-grandmother for alienating the police, or the police for being too proud to ask for help from Detroit's only superhero. Well, maybe not the only one anymore.

"No, she's the least of their concerns," Emilia said. "They are afraid either foreign agents or some meta mastermind is going to get their hands on this. With it, they could create an army of superpowered foot soldiers. Assuming they can get it to work more reliably than it has so far."

January imagined that the CIA or Department of Defense would love to get their digits on it too. But she kept that to herself.

"They've got the Emergency Response Team on this one," Emilia explained. "But they aren't really detectives, even though their leader claims to be. They're more like a state police SWAT team. That's why me and all the other community resource officers are spending all of our time on social media looking for any clues that might lead us to the Death Dealer."

"The Death Dealer?" January whistled. "That's a catchy name. Sounds like a Frank Frazetta painting, or a Metal band."

"It's probably both," Emilia said. "But that's what everyone is calling whoever is making this stuff."

"So how do you want to work this?" January said. "Should I meet up with this Emergency Team?"

"No, no, no," Emilia said emphatically. "This is supposed to be a secret remember? I'll be lucky to just be fired if they find out I am talking to you. I'll probably go to prison."

"Are you sure you want to stay in this then?" January asked. "I can take it from here. Leave you completely out of the rest, so you have deniability. You don't have to put everything on the line like this."

"The last idiota to take this stuff went on a rampage in a club downtown. He put three people in the hospital before his brain turned to gumbo and he dropped dead," Emilia said. "It's just a matter of time before an innocent person gets killed, or a cop. I can't sit on my pompis and do nothing. Not if I can do something about it."

January could not fail to notice how familiar that sounded.

"So how do we do this?" January mused aloud. "You funnel information to me, and I go out and do the legwork? Hopefully we find this guy before the Emergency Response Team does?"

"Something like that, yes," Emilia said. "I'll send as much your way as I can. But my access is limited. You are going to be on your own for most of it."

"Wonderful," January breathed. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I'm not a detective like you. This should be the two of us, side by side, right out front. It's going to be harder. I'm going to have to bring in Gadget for starters. Don't worry, he won't leak anything about you."

"I expected you'd need the computer backup," Emilia said. "And believe me, I wish this was above-board. I've waited my entire life as a cop to do something like this. I don't want to do it in the shadows any more than you."

"What about Blood Raven?" January asked. She knew the other heroine was a sore spot with Emilia. But there was no dancing around it. She might need the help. "Let's face it, she's a lot better at this than I am."

"Bring her into this if you have to." Now it was Emilia's turn to sigh. "But I'm hoping it doesn't come to that. That would really be a slap in the face to some people if she's the one who brings the Death Dealer in."

"Ok, only if I have to." January frowned. She did not like any of this. Why did all these people have to put their egos above doing the right thing? She made a mental note to make sure that she did not let herself fall into that same trap. She only hoped that she remembered it when the day came that her vanity threatened to exceed her actual ability.

"I'm sending what I have to that share drive Gadget set up for us to use," Emilia said. "I'll be in touch if anything more comes through."

"Thanks Emilia," January said. "I appreciate you reaching out to me like this. I won't let you down."

The state trooper ended the call, and January took a moment to just breathe. Great, she had to do a secret investigation into a mad scientist making metas, all behind the back of the state police. What was she going to do after breakfast? Maybe solve climate change? Or create world peace?

She closed her eyes, and reached down for the mana inside her. She coaxed up that cool river of energy, and allowed it to flow gently through her body. She visualized it washing away her anxiety, and leaving her clean and calm. She let her breath synch with the energy, in and out, and soon found that her heart was beating slow and steady once more.

‘She had been working on subduing her perky phone voice after all.’ - -

A very well-crafted set up for the Stormcrow’s next quest. A notable challenge with numerous constraints. Looks like this one’s gonna take speechcraft and guile. I can imagine Gadget will be essential here.

My reaction to the drug at first was the same as Jan’s. If some people are stupid enough to commit suicide by drugs, what’s the problem? But, like Jan, after a couple moments of thought, problems do arise. Like those three folks Chad put in the hospital. Or the thought of someone spiking a cop’s jelly doughnut. Or a team of terrorists with no regard for their own lives. Yup, we got a problem here.

Yes, I think I remember reading Hitler himself was basically using meth at some points. Same with Jim Jones, once he moved his cult down to South America. He'd get wired and spend hours yelling over loudspeakers about how the outside world was coming to get them all! I went though a Jim Jones mega-obsession-read a couple years ago.



We can adjust that thing? I better find that instruction manual.




I love that part. Even while gliding high over the populaces, something most folks would be over-excited about, she's concerned about sounding professional.

Oh my gosh! She wants to play her game, so her perky phone voice returns! So much for professionalism.


There was some book I read years ago. I'm not going to remember its name. But it had a similar plot with some sort of super-drug making users super high for a short while, except it would make them super-intelligent if I remember correctly. It would mess up peoples' brains, of course. I can't remember how though.

Heee hee "MeTube"




I get it. So nobody stopped that guy when he wigged out, The drug's effect simply ended.

Looking forward to more Crystal Death. I'm hoping this set of chapters was easier for you to write about than ... Boris the Spider.

Acadian: Jan's perky phone voice will continue to vex her in her career as a superhero.

You are quite prescient that this one is going to take a lot of Speechcraft and guile. Unfortunately, Jan has still not spent enough experience points on the first. But she does have Gadget!

Crystal Death is kind of like a bomb in the form of a pill. Someone could easily walk into any place, take one, and cause untold horrors.


Renee: Hitler was incredibly strung out on a complicated cocktail of drugs all put together for him by his personal physician. Something he and Elvis had in common. Behind The Bastards talked about it, I think in this episode. But it could have been in their two parter on his sex life (He had something like seven girlfriends in his life. All but one committed suicide. Great guy!)

You're Wrong About had a good episode on Jim Jones too. As you pointed out, he was a real disaster by the end too. Obviously!

Jan definitely takes superheroing seriously, and wants to be seen as such. But it does not always work out!

The whole "deadly drug makes people super" has been done several times in various comics and superhero shows. It gives a writer a convenient way to make what might be an otherwise disparate group of people super, often in a chain one after another. So that gives you fodder for multiple issues/commercial breaks. It also creates some sort of mastermind behind it all. Basically everything you need for a 'standard' superhero story arc. I decided to use it in order to tie into a real life event here in Michigan, and give it a different dimension.

Yes, it was the drug itself that stopped Chad, not any cops or supers. My original draft of this chapter did not even have the scene with Chad at all. I put it in after I started going over it, because I realized I needed to show just what Crystal Death did to people.

Google must think I am a lunatic. One week I search the heck out of spiders and Native American mythological monsters, the next week it is abusing illegal drugs, then neo-fascists, then Chinese actresses...








Fire Lieutenant Randy


Fire Captain Henderson


Devil's Night In Detroit




Book 5.3 - Crystal Death

January opened her eyes with a smile, and looked across Woodward to Engine 66 of the Detroit Fire Department. The fire station was a two story affair, made from red and tan brick. A pair of huge, roll up doors were set to each side of the rectangular building. In the center of them was a pedestrian door of darkened glass, flanked by a planter overflowing with greenery, and a bench for people to sit on.

January felt for her power, and this time sent it into her legs. She crouched down, and pictured herself leaping across the wide boulevard. Her mana poured into that image, and she sprang into the air. She felt herself propelled higher and farther than she had ever leapt before. She could not resist throwing in a somersault halfway across Woodward, and dropped to her feet in front of the fire station a moment later. She stuck the landing out of habit.

Blood Raven had told her that she had been unconsciously using magic all this time. This was an example of what she could do when she intentionally focused her will. She knew that she could do so much more.

Cars honked their horns as they passed by. January paused to look and saw a car load of people waving at her. She smiled and waved back. Being a cape was not all angst and challenges. For once it was nice just to be appreciated for what she did.

She strode into one of the open bay doors, and threaded her way around an ambulance parked within. One wall of the garage was lined with firefighting equipment such as coats and helmets. Hoists hung from the ceiling over each lane. A tool chest decorated with stickers sat by another wall, along with a large American flag. It was cluttered, but not a mess. Everything was clearly in its place, and used on a regular basis.

A fold up table was set up behind the ambulance, and there January found a trio of firefighters. They were fiddling with a stack of smoke detectors, and had several of them taken apart. They looked up as she stepped into view, and their eyes nearly popped out of their heads.

"It's you!"

"It's me," January breathed. She tried to play it cool at professional. The way Blood Raven would do it. That lasted for less than a second. She could not conceal a grin that probably looked as goofy as she felt.

"She showed!" Another voice emanated from a doorway in the back of the garage. January saw that it was the lieutenant she had met the night of the Flying Dutchman fire. He was the young one, with bright blue eyes and what she now saw was short blond hair. He was followed by a pair of other firemen, both of whom looked twice his age.

"Of course I showed," January said, "you think I can afford to pass up on a free lunch? I didn't know you guys lived across from the Whitney. Is that where we're going to eat?"

"Oh hell no!" an older firefighter laughed. "Fredo's cooking up the fettuccini right now. You know he's serious about his sister right?"

"The one with the ah…." January let her words trail off suggestively.

"That's the one," a third firefighter declared. "I've seen 'em too. They should be declared a national treasure."

"Nicholas Cage might steal them then," January remarked, which brought a chorus of laughs. The next thing she knew, cameras were produced, and she was taking selfies with the crew. More of the crew came along, including Captain Henderson, with his salt and pepper mustache and craggy features. They gave her a coat and helmet, which she put on for more pictures with them, including one with the entire station's crew.

Afterward they gave her a tour of the station. January was crushed to learn that they did not have a pole to slide down from the second floor, or a Dalmatian sidekick. The lieutenant put the lack of both down to budget cuts.

"So is Blood Raven actually coming too?" one of the firemen asked as they sat down for an early dinner in the dining room.

"I asked her twice. But I don't think so." January shook her head. Blood Raven had most emphatically refused each time, but January was trying to be diplomatic.

"I think she's more the dark avenger lurking on Gothic steeples type of person," January explained, trying to make light of it. "She's not the Italian feasting and laughter kind."

"But you are?" the blond lieutenant asked - January thought his name was Randy.

"Oh, give me pizza every day for the rest of my life!" January exclaimed.

"I still remember the first time I ever met Blood Raven," the captain said as a very young fireman went around and filled with plates with steaming hot fettuccini alfredo and grilled garlic bread. January wondered if he was even younger than she was, and imagined that he was the newest, and thusly lowest, man on the firehouse's totem pole. "I was younger than Stevie here, and barely on the job a week when Devil's Night rolled around."

"Over 800 fires in one night," Captain Henderson's eyes glazed over, as if he were reliving the event once more. "It was a nightmare. All night, all the next morning, we were running from one fire to the next. The one's we could get to at least."

"And the Raven was there through all of it. Pulling people out of fires just like you did at the Flying Dutchman. She was rounding up arsonists too, mostly young punks. I heard she even stopped a double-murder that night. She'll always have a place at my table, even if she never comes to sit at it."

That was her litmus test, January mused, the bar she had to live up to. She might not do it Blood Raven's way. But she would do it nonetheless.

"So how many fires did you have last year before Halloween?" January asked.

"Five," the Captain said with a smile.

The fettuccini nearly dropped from January's gaping mouth.

"Since Mayor Archer started the whole Angel's Night thing back in the 90s, things really changed," one of the older firefighters explained. Thousands of volunteers were out every year, patrolling the streets. It kept the arsonists and vandals away."

"They finally cancelled Angel's Night last year, because it's such a non-event," the captain said. "Now the 4th of July is our big day."

"Now that fireworks are legal in Michigan, lots of folks celebrate Independence Day by burning down their houses with 'em." Another firefighter piped up.

January learned more about fighting fires in the next half hour than she had in the entire life beforehand. They were putting the plates away when the alarm went off. The firemen literally dropped everything and scrambled out of the dining room for the garage below. Captain Henderson paused at the door to look back at January.

"Well, you coming or what?"

"Oh frak yes!" January grinned. With one leap she was past the captain and into the hallway outside. She spilled down the stairway with them to the ground floor and burst out into the garage. They grabbed their gear and were out the door in less than a minute. January piled into the first truck, next to the captain.

It turned out to be far less dramatic than the Flying Dutchman fire. Instead it was a little home in a residential neighborhood. Apparently there had been a grease fire in the kitchen and someone had thrown water on it. That had led to consequences as spectacular as they were unfortunate.

The family had evacuated the house by the time they arrived. There had been little for January to do. She was able to rescue a cat that had been hiding under the bed in the parent's bedroom. Much like the dog she had pulled out of the Dutchman, it had not been a fan of crows like herself. She had barely managed to hang on to it as she raced it out of the house. By the time she had gotten out on the front lawn it was climbing up the back of her head. She was thankful for the hagfish armor that Gadget had so presciently built for her. It saved her from a mauling. She did not hand over the cat to the homeowners, so much as they rescued her from him.

"President Chips is usually such a nice kitty," the mother breathed.

"President Chips?" January found herself wondering aloud.

"He's the commander-in-chief of the couch," the father laughed.

She went back inside to help with the fire. But she mostly just stood around, and watched how the real firefighters worked. She was tempted to use a fire suppressant grenade. But she only had one, and did not want to waste it. Not when the men of Engine 66 had things so clearly under control.

When all was said and done they filed out of the house with most of it not only still intact, but untouched by the fire. The kitchen was a disaster of course. But the rest of the place looked livable to January's admittedly untrained eye. She was about to climb back aboard the fire engine when the sound of police sirens wailed in the distance.

She waved goodbye to Captain Henderson and his men. Then she leaped into the sky. She had more work to do.

January’s struggle with ‘perky voice’ is simply one of her quirks that serve to just make the young cape more endearing to readers.

Stormcrow’s mana-assisted spectacular launch in the opening scene shows us yet another significant advance to her flying. That she 'stuck' the landing is a nice tribute to her martial/gymnastics skills.

January’s nature and natural insights serve her well when it comes to tact and speechcraft. A stellar example of this was how she made Blood Raven’s apologies for not joining them.

Captain Henderson’s accounting of Blood Raven’s actions during Devil’s Night made me want to cheer for the older super heroine. I’m glad to see it also had a powerful effect on Stormcrow.

I could not help but think of Julian of Anvil during the cat rescue.

A nice interlude here that shows the Stormcrow building relationships with some of Detroit’s first responders. In this area, she is wise to forge her own way rather than follow the more. . . scorched earth example of Blood Raven.


Nits:
’In the center of them was a pedestrian door of darkened glass, flanked by planter overflowing with greenery, ‘ - - Perhaps ‘a planter’ or ‘planters’?
"But you are?" the blond lieutenant - January thought his name was Randy.’ - - This sentence seems to be calling for a speech tag like ‘said’ or ‘asked’ somewhere I think.

Hey, thank you for the Jim Jones link there. That really is a gift, I mean, I got really obsessed with that guy until I couldn't read anymore ... because. After awhile, it gets to be too much. He was a horrible man, but also oddly, he also did a lot of good things too, early on. Especially with civil rights for blacks, that really fascinated me, because there are all sorts of interviews on the 'net from 'minorities' who joined his cult early on.

She's trying to act professional again! I love all that!



She's a kinder, friendlier sort of cape.

Oh gosh, more selfies. I wonder if I was a millennial if I'd be a smartphone owner myself? Obsessed with picture after picture, putting them all online.

Sorry. Sidetracked again.

Is she standing there eating pasta with her superhero gear on? Either way, it's a good thing Blood Raven isn't there, maybe. She would probably disapprove heavily.

In general, it is interesting to see January working through her identity. She's frequently comparing herself to Raven, deciding what is right and what is wrong. Unsure in some ways if she's to follow directly in her great x20 aunt's footsteps, or go her own way.

4.6



Firefly and appreciating Tom Waits on first hearing are among my “tests.”

And the Junior Stormcrow reminds us why Jan does what she does.

And she is also still dealing with the fact that whatever she does as Crowgirl is suddenly significant in all sorts of ways- not all of them positive. And that conversation did a wonderful job of showing not telling.

4.7



No. Just... not. We had a wolf spider in the house for a while- and when you see something that big, with that many legs- that runs toward you....



4.8

Having a Gadget in one's ear is a great help- and shows that strength comes from teamwork.

Acadian: I love Jan's perky phone voice. As you said, it is one of the things that keeps her down to earth.

Stay tuned for some even greater advances in January's flight later this chapter.

January is definitely committed to her goal of reaching out to people rather than trying to be a Lone Wolf. That won't always succeed of course.

Thank you for catching those nits. Having a proofreader helps immensely.


Renee: January will keep trying to act cool and collected and a consummate professional. You can probably guess already that is not going to work out...

These days life is all about posting pictures online. People live on social media as much as they do in the physical world. And social media is all about subtly one-upping all of your friends by showing how cool and perfect your life is. So it becomes more important to show that you were at the Lady Gaga concert with pictures on Twitter, than it is to actually enjoy the show. It is one reason I avoid all forms of social media.

She was sitting there eating pasta with her super outfit on. Like you said, at times that has to feel silly. But under the circumstances, there really was no other option except not show up at all. The life of a superhero...

January is definitely working on her identity, and defining who she is, and who she is not. Blood Raven plays a huge role in that, as she has been Detroit's only superhero for over 50 years. There was one other back in the 20s and 30s who fought the Purple Gang, but I have not even figured out his name yet. I keep circling around something like Model T. There are capes elsewhere, like the Sentinels in Chicago, but Blood Raven is the one January actually knows. So in many ways she is what Jan compares herself to.


treydog: The Junior Crow was inspired by a scene in the Supergirl TV show, where the gang all went to see a school play, in which all the kids were dressed up at Supergirl. James Olson whispered into Kara's ear: "They don't want to be you, they are inspired by you." I wanted to do something similar, and show a person inspired by January's example.

A spider was not my first choice for the monster in Pride. But the more I thought about it, the more and more it sounded like the ideal choice for our introduction to the Creatures of the Abyss. There is just something so altogether wrong and sinister about something with that many legs and eyes.

January would not get far without Gadget. He's as much a super as she is. Eventually he will come out of the shadows and suit up alongside her.









Midtown Apartments, church, and Lodge Freeway

University Foods



Book 5.4 - Crystal Death

"Frak girl, when you do lunch, you really don't mess around," Gadget's voice came over her headset.

"What do you have?" January replied. Her eyes scanned to either side as she winged toward the wail of the sirens. She soared west above the side street that the house with the burning kitchen had been on. She came to a Baptist church and an apartment complex. Beyond that the ground flattened out in a freeway.

She was not sure if she had enough lift to glide across the numerous lanes of traffic. So she came down on top of one of the apartment buildings and disengaged her wings. She ran for a few steps along the shingled roof, then rocketed back into the sky once more. Her wings snapped back out and caught air once more. By now this was all second nature.

All those weeks of practice with Lighthammer were really paying off. He had said that he could not understand how she did it. Her glide ratio was completely wrong for a person in a wingsuit. Thanks to meeting Blood Raven, she now knew that it was because of magic. Her magic was holding her aloft, far beyond what should be possible for the glider wings that Gadget had built into her cape.

That meant that one of these days she would be able to do more than just glide, but actually fly. Maybe someday she would do it without Gadget's wings at all. After all, magic was about reshaping reality. All she had to do was change the law of gravity, at least where it pertained to her.

No problem.

She soared across the John C. Lodge freeway. It was a sunken highway, cut down into the earth like the Death Star trench. As always it was a river of cars that screamed along at breakneck speeds. She would sooner take on Whitewater Security again than chance riding her motorcycle on it. Every day down there was the Grand Prix.

"Ok, I got it," Gadget declared. "University Foods just got robbed. It's just west of the Lodge from you."

January saw the red and blue lights of police cars, and banked hard right toward them. She lost some altitude in the maneuver, but still had plenty of lift remaining beneath her wings to get where she needed to be. She lined up on the supermarket and little strip mall beside it, and a moment later she soared over the rectangular buildings.

The parking lot spread out before her. The service drive to the freeway was directly to the right. Straight ahead across Warren Avenue was a gigantic parking lot for Lane State's football and baseball fields, which sprawled out even farther beyond.

The lot beneath her was a kicked over anthill of activity. Police cars blocked the only exits, with their lights flashing and doors hanging open. Police officers took shelter behind the vehicles, and aimed their guns into the lot. People were running everywhere through the area, or likewise taking shelter behind cars or trucks.

A rusted white minivan came to a screeching halt in front of one police car. January noted that all of the cops had their weapons pointed at it. She banked slightly to turn herself once more, in order to close in on the van. All she needed was a few more seconds, and she would be on top of it.

Then it lurched backward, and began to careen through the parking lot in reverse. It weaved its way drunkenly through the lines of cars, nearly shearing off bumpers or staving in quarter panels on more than one occasion.

Clearly, this was not going to end well.

January triggered off her wings and dropped to the pavement. She hit the asphalt and turned her momentum into a forward roll, and sprang back to her feet. The van was coming right for her now. Her elemental mantra sang in her mind, and she concentrated upon Earth.

Earth give me strength, keep me grounded, protect me from harm.

But the old rust-bucket veered off at the last moment. Whether that was because the driver had seen her, or if it was just by accident, January could not even guess. She could see that its new course would send it careening into a Honda which an old man and a young girl crouched behind.

January could easily see events play out in her mind. The van would crash into the Honda. It in turn would be sent flying backward, and crush the two bystanders into the broad body of the Lincoln just a foot behind them. It took only an instant for this disturbing image to play out in January's head. That left her plenty of time for action.

Rather than earth, she became water. She flowed, and then she crashed. It almost seemed as if the world reshaped itself around her. For a moment later she was between the van and the Honda. She absentmindedly noted the bumper stickers on the back of the Chrysler. One proudly proclaimed that the driver's student was on the Honor Roll, while the other implored January to Coexist.

She stretched out her hands, and caught the back doors of the oncoming vehicle. She felt herself being shoved back by the mountain of steel. But now she was stone, she was the mountain, she was adamant. Her feet became part of the earth, and the earth did not relent. The Chrysler minivan shuddered and ground to a halt. January heard loud thumps from inside, as if several large objects had been thrown backward through its interior.

"Either a soccer mom decided to rob the grocery store, or that van is stolen," Gadget said in her ear. "DMV says it's owned by Alicia Washington, a 50 year old from the East Side."

The minivan's tires ceased to strain against the asphalt. January warily let go, ready to grab the vehicle again if it began to move once more. She spared a quick glance back to the old man and the young girl behind her, between the Honda and the Lincoln.

"This would probably be a good time to relocate," January suggested gently. She turned back without waiting to see if they complied. She did not like taking her eyes off the van for even a second. There was no telling what might happen.

Looking through the rear window of the Chrysler, she could see green dollar bills scattered everywhere. Some still fluttered down through the air like the particles within a snow globe. Someone was sprawled across the driver's seat, and another person had fallen between the passenger seat and the long bench seat in the middle of the van. Both were clawing their way back up. She noted a gun in the hand of the one in the back.

She tried to think of her options. She could try opening the back door of the van and going inside after them. But then the driver could still take off and ram the innocent bystanders behind her. The same if she simply tried going around to either side of the vehicle. She could go for the driver and subdue him, then put the car in park. But that would give the passenger free reign to use his gun.

The van, or the gun, which was the bigger threat?

"See if you can get a flash grenade in there," Gadget suggested.

January fumbled at the back door. She could have just ripped it off, but this was clearly not the robber's van. She did not want to destroy what was probably someone's only way to get back and forth to work, and everywhere else. She knew that it was taking her too long. She was giving the thieves time, too much time. But she saw no other option.

She had the door open just in time to find both barrels of a sawed off shotgun in her face. Her Krav Maga training instantly took over. She grabbed the shotgun with both hands and pivoted the barrel up in the air. She would have kicked the gunman in the knee at the same time, but that just was not possible inside the minivan. Instead she shoved the gun back into his face, and slammed the steel barrels into his forehead.

He staggered, and let go of the weapon. She yanked it from his hands, and cracked it open while he was still seeing butterflies. A red plastic shell fell out of each of the barrels. She tossed the now harmless weapon down to the blacktop behind her. The gunman was coming back around by the time she was finished. Before he could get his bearings, she grabbed both his wrists and pulled them around a seatbelt that hung from the ceiling. With a zip tie from her utility belt, she bound his wrists together around it.

He snarled like a caged beast, and actually tried to bite her. January paid him no mind however. He was done. She turned her attention to the driver, who bolted out his door as soon as she clapped eyes upon him. But the van was still in reverse. January felt it instantly begin to creep backward, toward the Honda, and the two people that for all she knew were still hiding behind it.

She was air. She sprang through the back of the van, over the bench seats in the middle, and went head-first into the driver's seat. Her passage disturbed the money scattered everywhere, and kicked it up into a shower of green bills. She slammed down hard on the brake with one hand, and brought the van to a halt. Then she reached up and grabbed for the gear shift with the other hand, and jammed it into Park.

She felt the man in the back fumbling at her ankles. She absentmindedly sent a kick his way. She held back, as she always did to avoid killing people. But she still felt flesh give under her heel. She did not bother looking back to appraise her handiwork. Instead she scrambled out of the open door. She allowed herself to fall face first into the pavement. She turned that into a forward handspring, and bounced back to her feet.

She found the driver just a few feet away, hands grabbing for the clouds. Three Detroit Police officers had their guns trained upon him. In defiance of the adrenaline that rocketed through her veins, January forced herself to relax. She eased herself out of her fighting stance, and showed the police her open hands. She was not going to give them an excuse to shoot her. As a Queer person, she had learned that lesson long before donning the cape.

But the police were less interested in her, and more in searching and handcuffing the driver. They had him face down on the asphalt in moments, and pulled a handgun from one of his pockets, and a knife from the other. January glanced back, and saw more cops reaching into the minivan to take the second thief into custody. From the red mess in the middle of his face, she could see that his nose was broken. She wondered if that was from smacking the shotgun back into his face, or the kick she had sent his way later?

"That was quick thinking Stormcrow, catching the van like that," one of the cops said to her. "That could have hit someone."

"I'm just glad I could help," January murmured. She knew that sounded lame. It was the stock answer every athlete gave when they were interviewed after a game. But the truth was that she had no idea what to say. People complimenting her was not exactly something she was used to. The Detroit Police doing so even less so. Obviously they were not all like Captain Feldercarb, from the night of the Flying Dutchman fire.

She took a moment to find the old man and young girl she had protected, and learned that she was indeed his grandchild. As seemed to be the post-battle tradition, she took selfies with them and the police. She could just imagine Blood Raven rolling her eyes, especially at the latter. But while she certainly respected the older superheroine, January knew that she was going to do things differently than she did.

I enjoyed Jan’s musings about her flying ability and especially her realization that she had not yet reached the limits of her envelope.

'The lot beneath her was a kicked over anthill of activity.'
A wonderful description that I’d expect from an aviatrix.

’The van was coming right for her now.’
Having carefully followed January’s growth since the beginning, I was pleased that this was all the clue I needed to know her plan – become earth and physically stop that van. And with a slight unexpected veer, that’s what she did!

"This would probably be a good time to relocate," January suggested gently.'
Jan's calm, quirky manner of phrasing here ever so much reminded me of Blood Raven’s first words to Jan at that big fire. The same old world courtesy and unusual choice of words that characterizes Blood Raven’s speech. Superbly done!

And how ‘January’ to open the stolen van’s back door instead of just ripping it open/off out of consideration for its owner.

This whole incident in the parking lot showcased Stormcrow’s skills, caring nature and sound judgment under fire. She certainly banked some cred points with Detroit’s finest here. You continue to show us how alike and different she is from Blood Raven. Both have the courage to forge their own paths. . . but those paths are not at all identical.


Nits:
’One proudly proclaimed that the driver's student was on the Honor Roll, while the {other?} implored January to Coexist.’
’She would sooner take on Whitewater Security again that {than?} chance riding her motorcycle on it.’

What are Lighthammer and Blood Raven's opinions of each other? Maybe this has been mentioned before but I can't remember.

You have Coexist bumper stickers in Michigan too.



Probably sounded professional though, without forcing her voice!

More comments later. Time for dessert on this lovely summer day.

Acadian: There will be a lot more flying later this chapter, and Jan exceeding the limits of her envelope.

I don't have to tell you that the world looks different from hundreds of feet above it. I do have to remind myself, and put myself in that bird's eye view. Google Maps/World helps, since I can use it to see the world from high up.

I worked a lot on that "relocate" line, and went back and forth to get it right.

It is so very Jan to think about not breaking things. She would not be allowed in the Marvel movie universe with an attitude like that.

As ever, thank you for being my proofreader.


Renee: It is funny you mentioned Blood Raven and Lighthammer's views of one another, because they are both going to appear in a few more episodes, and that will be main eminently clear.

We do have Coexist bumper stickers here too. My guess they are everywhere. I wanted some sort of cue that the van probably did not belong to an armed robber. That and the honor roll student bumper sticker seemed like good hints.











Book 5.5 - Crystal Death

A few days later January stood in the Gadget Cave. The eponymous owner of the basement workshop sat at a long table. He had one of those giant, illuminated magnifying glasses strapped to his forehead, making him look every inch the mad scientist that he was. Her Stormcrow armor was spread out along the table, and he took his time, sewing, screwing, and otherwise attaching new pieces of gear to the original woven fiber material of the suit.

"Gilda Gadfly here folks, with the latest cape update."

January glanced over to see the blonde reporter on one of Gadget's many monitors. A moment later she was replaced by a series of pictures of January in her Stormcrow armor, with an agitated cat crawling all over her head and shoulders.

"It seems our loveable Crow is not a cat-person, as these pictures taken a few days ago from the scene of a Detroit fire reveal. She went in to rescue the cat, but in the end it looks like she was the one who had to be saved from the feisty feline. Maybe she's more of a dog-person. But that's ok Crowgirl, we still love you anyway!"

"I thought you said Gilda was nothing but shallow tripe?" January noted.

"She is," Gadget insisted. "But you have to admit, those videos of you and the cat are hilarious."

"Well, I guess if I am not saving people, I may as well entertain them," January breathed. Not that she really minded. It was good to laugh, and if one of her misadventures made people happy for a little while, so much the better. There was so little to be happy about in the world these days…

"So have you thought about what you are going to do for school this fall yet?" Gadget wondered aloud. "The registration deadline must be coming up soon."

"I've been thinking about that," January frowned. She turned from the table where Avery tinkered away on her suit. She walked over to the Blob, and laid an affectionate hand upon the old punching bag's duct-taped leather surface. "There's no point going back to the community college anymore. They don't offer an English degree. My mom wants me to go to Michigan State, like she did. But that's all the way out in Lansing. It's too far to commute, and I don't want to live in a dorm."

Not being trans, January thought, but did not say. It made life hard enough as it was. But trying to living communally? That was a just begging for abuse.

"You could look for a single-room dorm," Avery offered up, as if reading her mind. "Not sure about the bathrooms though."

"Most are communal, I checked," January frowned. "They say there are some single use bathrooms. But that means waiting for how long every time I need to take a shower? No thanks."

"Okay, what about Lane State?" Avery asked. "It's a lot closer. Ryo's going there. If your classes line up, you could ride down there with him."

"I like Lane State," January admitted. "I've been down there in Midtown a couple of times now. It's a lot cheaper than MSU too."

"So what do you want?" Avery paused what he was doing, and spun around on his stool to look at her.

"To be honest, I am not sure that I even want to go to school anymore." January plopped down on the tattered old couch in the center of the basement. She cradled her face in her palms, and frowned. "What's the point? Just so I can say I have a degree? I don't need one to be a writer, or to be a martial arts instructor. Sometimes I think I'm just doing it because my mom wants me to."

"I thought you liked going to college?" Avery scratched his head. His hand looked gigantic when it passed behind the magnifying glass. Like a space monster attacking his face.

"I do," January felt no urge to laugh at how silly he looked. That was how serious this felt. "It's nothing like high school. Or should I say hell school? The classes I've taken in just the last year have exposed me to books I never would have read otherwise. I've learned so much, even from the stories I didn't particularly like."

"But it always comes down to money," January sighed. "It's not like we live in Doctor Heisen's technocracy, where school is free for everyone who can make the grades. You know I'm not rich, now less than ever. And when can I make the time with work at the dojo, my physical training, my magical training, my writing, and this whole cape thing? I'll have to drop out of gaming night again, like I did last semester."

"I want to start writing now, for real, and start selling my stories. Maybe even make a comic," she said. "Then I could quit the dojo. That would give me more time for training and supering. Look, I've been waiting all day to show you this!"

She bounced to her feet, and pulled out her phone. She worked her thumbs on the Hamsung's relatively small screen, and proudly turned it to Avery. The slender black man rose to his feet and took the phone in his hands. His smile literally lit the room.

"This Spell For Hire!" he crowed. "You scruffy nerf-herder, you did it! Your first book is for sale. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," January said. She did not also mention that she did not want to jinx it by talking about it before hand. Or that even she did not believe that it was possible, until she actually saw it in pixels herself.

"It's not a real book though," she admitted. "I had to self-publish online. But you can get it on Amassona.com, or Bartleby and Aristocracy."

"It's as real as any other book," Avery insisted. "I can't wait to read it."

He handed her back the phone, and pulled out his own nerdcore communication device. It looked like an I-Phone from the outside. But January knew that the plastic case was the only thing it had in common with anything sold by Apple.

"You already have," January said. "I decided to scrap that Seven Samurai idea I was working on. I went back and adapted one of the stories I wrote last year, the fantasy detective one."

"The one where Aela and Loria have to stop the assassin?" Avery mused. "I liked that one."

"I went over it again, did some updates, and changed the setting to use the world I created for the samurai story," January mused. "I like how it turned out, and it gives me a lot of room for more stories. I can make an open-ended series out of this if I want to."

"There," Avery said, "you just sold a copy. And at $3.99, it's a steal."

"Well it's not a full novel," January admitted, "only about 30k words. Maybe I can write something longer in the future. But then again, I see a lot of shorter stories like this online. It's the perfect place. I can charge less, since I don't have to worry about printing costs. Now I just need to get people to buy it."

"No problem," Avery said. "I'll be done in a few minutes. You can get suited up, and I'll take some pictures of Stormcrow reading the latest in fantasy fiction. I'll have them all over the web faster than you can say 'influencer'."

"I couldn't do that!" January was aghast. "That's, that's…"

"Capitalism?" Avery offered up. "Being poor isn't noble. It just stinks. There's nothing wrong with being able to pay your bills. Look at Thunderbolt and Riven. They sold their wedding photos to Person magazine! I will bet you that new fusion power plant Stinger and Zero Point are building for Chicago is going to net them some change as well. Besides, it doesn't have to be that blatant, just a pic of you reading the story on your tablet."

"I don't know…" January found herself biting her lip. She stopped. She didn't want to get lipstick on her teeth.

"You know, you really can be too Lawful Good sometimes," Avery shook his head. He returned to his worktable, and went back to giving her armor his tender loving care. "There is a point where it becomes Stupid Good you know."

"I know," January murmured, "I know. I guess I could. I just don't want to be selfish, you know? Too many people in this world don't stop to think about how their actions affect others. They just want to get rich now, and don't care about the consequences."

"Well, you are hardly Leopold II, or Enron," Avery insisted. "It's not like you're cheating people. Your writing is good. Everyone who reads it, likes it. You bring some joy into people's lives, at least for a little while. That's worth spreading the news about. Besides, every time a celebrity or podcaster does an interview it is to pimp their latest project. They always plug their movies, or books, or websites at the end. Seriously, it's ok to toot your own horn once and a while."

January could not help but wonder if King Leopold II said the same thing to the people of the Congo? Not that she thought of herself as a genocidal colonialist. But when did shameless self-promotion become, well, shameless?

She wished there was a giant spider around to smash. That would be a lot easier to grapple with.

"So what's this about a comic?" Avery said. From his tone, she knew that he was pretending to be nonchalant. But really, he was incredibly excited.

"It's an idea my mother gave me," January said. "I've worked it out. I have a character, and a basic story. Artemis Argent, aviatrix of the Republic of New Orleans, or maybe Haiti. I still have a few details to hammer out."

"Artemis Argent?" Avery said. "That is like the coolest name ever. Is she any relation of Cleopatra Jones?"

"Well, she is a person of color," January could not stop herself from blushing, "and she does kick booty. She's got an artificial arm made from silver, or titanium, or something silvery at least. She flies an airship. It's steampunk, set in an alternate 1800s."

"How are you going to do the whole, you know, comic part of the book?" Avery wondered.

"I'm going to talk to Rus about illustrating it. He did my cover for This Spell For Hire." January said. "I know he doesn't want to work at his dad's tool and die shop for the rest of his life. His art is good. Better than a lot I see in mainstream comics."

"What if he says no?" Avery asked. "He might not be able to, you know."

"Then I write it as prose and self-publish on the internet," January declared. "I can go either way. Honestly, it would be easier just doing it as a novel. But I like the idea of doing a comic. It would be stretching, a challenge."

"Careful, you're starting to sound like a motivational poster," Avery chuckled. "But I agree. I think it would be great if you two could step outside your comfort zones a little, and make it work. You might be the next Neil Gaiman."

"Just don't say anything to Rus about it yet," January insisted. "I don't want to go to him until I have my drek together."

After Gilda’s review, I’d recommend Jan consult with Julian of Anvil about rescuing cats.

"I thought you liked going to college?" Avery scratched his head. His hand looked gigantic when it passed behind the magnifying glass. Like a space monster attacking his face.’
- - Such a perfect bit of background for this scene that adds some welcome levity to a serious discussion of Jan’s choices regarding college.

This Spell For Hire! The scruffy nerf-herder sure kept her book a secret from Avery! A perfect title for an Aela and Loria adventure. It is so nice to see Jan moving her writing along.

Ah yes, that point where Lawful Good becomes Stupid Good.

How much time overall has passed so far? What month / year did this begin, and where are we now? I get obsessive with dates in a lot my own stories & updates. If it's too much trouble, don't worry, I just get curious hon.

Gilda Gladfly's report sounds just like a cheesy news update, from the "light" section of the news.



Plus, this is one way she'll differentiate herself from the grim, more serious-minded Branwyn.

Sh1t she's dropping out of school. That's what i did. I really wish I hadn't. If I could go back I'd major in Languages. Lopov has inspired me over the years. I get where Jan's coming from, of course. She's got a huge career ahead of her if she wants this, to be her own boss.



Aww. I can relate.





Hey for what it's worth, I think Jan should go ahead and put her books (podcast, blog, whatever) out there. Maybe she's a little apprehensive though because she's worried about what the intimidating Blood Raven, who is also a writer, will think.

Acadian: January could definitely use some pet rescue training. Her record so far is being bitten by a dog, and clawed by a cat. Good thing she has armor!

This Spell For Hire is a play on This Gun For Hire. It sounded perfect for a pair of magical detectives. The original movie from the 40s had a for cable tv remake in the 90s with Robert Wagner, which I really liked. I wish I could find it somewhere, because I would like to see it again sometime.

Lawful Good and Stupid Good, and telling the difference, will be a recurring theme for January, as she tries to do the right thing, without going too far in the direction of being Lawful Stupid, or too far in the direction of being Stupid Good on the other. The life of a Paladin is not always as simple as punching a Lich in the face.


Renee: At this point only a month has passed. Roughly a week between each chapter. If you look at the first episode I post of each chapter, I will give the date range of the entire chapter. Chapter 1 started in early May. This one takes place from June 1st - 9th. I do have a timeline written down, so I don't get tripped up on dates. I remember seeing a discussion on whether or not to keep a timeline in some writer's forum (maybe Reddit?), and one person said that after they had created a timeline of events in his novel, it turned out that it would have taken years longer than he had originally thought if he kept it as he had originally wrote it. So he went back and cleaned it up.

Here is the timeline so far, including events that happened before the first story began:

Timeline
March 24 = The Conjurer summons an Abyssal during the Nain Rouge Parade. it is not anchored, and easily banished
May 4 and 5 (Saturday and Sunday) = Stormcrow Rising
May 5 = The Conjurer summons an Abyssal during Cinco De Mayo, using elemental symbols to anchor it, making it immune from banishment
May 14 and 15 (Tuesday and Wednesday) = Stormcrow Recycled
May 25 = The Conjurer summons an Abyssal during Technofest, anchoring it with an animal sacrifice
May 25 and 26 (Saturday and Sunday) = Stormcrow Burning
May 27th = Memorial Day.
May 27 - June 1 (Monday -Saturday) = Stormcrow Pride [Ferndale Pride on Saturday]
June 1 = The Conjurer summons an Abyssal during Ferndale Pride, anchoring it with a human sacrifice
June 1 - 9 = Crystal Death [Motor City Pride]
June 1 = Chad overdoes on Crystal Death at Leland City Club.
June 8 = January called out to the Mills house on a false Crystal Death tip.

Gilda is definitely the lighter side of reporting. She is kind of the gossip columnist for all the cape news. Behind the scenes I know that she was a "serious" reporter, but had to turn to the more click-bait, sensationalist, style because she had a severely autistic child. She simply could not pay for his care on a regular reporter's salary. So she turned herself into a veritable media powerhouse. She has a national TV show, a radio show that also gets picked up by stations across the country, a podcast, a newspaper column, etc... She is a total media blitz.

You are right that January's comedic misadventures is one thing that will differentiate her from the dour Blood Raven. Stay tuned for January's decision about advertising her writing as Stormcrow. She will come up with a solution that goes far beyond what Avery suggested. Likewise, school comes up this episode once more.











Zoomer

The Goat

January's new logo

Nanotwinned Cubic Born Nitride




Book 5.6 - Crystal Death

"Okay," Gadget nodded as he fitted a piece of metal to one forearm of the suit. "But I think you're wrong about school. I think you should stick with it and get your degree. I know it's a lot of money, and a lot of time. But I think it's good for you. You spend too much time alone, especially since you moved into the new house. It's good for you get out."

"I don't see how I can," January frowned. "Without school I can spend more time on my writing. I can quit the dojo, and still save up money for surgery."

"I get it," Avery agreed. "And maybe quitting the dojo is a good idea. Or at least just cutting down on your hours there, and spending more time writing instead. Remember what Joseph Campbell said: 'Follow your bliss'. Let's face it, for you that's writing. I think school will make you a better writer. Not just for what you learn in class, but for the people you meet there, and the experiences you'll have. Don't worry about the money, it will come. One day you are going to be richer than Croesus thanks to your stories."

"It isn't someday I'm worried about, it's today," January groused. "I could get a student loan, but then I'd be in debt for the rest of my life. I'd rather not get a degree at all if that's my only other option."

"Hey, your mom said she would help," Avery said, "and don't you have a rich aunt now too? Have you asked her for help with tuition? I'm sure she'd be willing to part with some of those fat stacks of Wicca book cash she has."

"I haven't," January frowned again. "I kind of want to do this on my own, if I can. I don't want to be some loser Zoomer begging their parents for money."

"All kids beg their parents for money!" Avery laughed. "It's how we get payback for them embarrassing us in front of our friends for our entire childhoods. You think Bill Gates worked his way through college, or Warren Buffett? You don't have to do everything on your own. It's okay to have help you know."

"I know." January was distinctly aware of her face turning red.

"I'll make you a deal," Avery spun around on his chair and looked her in the eyes. "If I go to college, you go to college."

"You?" January fought to keep her eyes in her skull. "But I thought you said it was pointless, since what you did with tech was not really science, but more like art?"

"I know, I know," Avery held his hands up in self-defense. "But I was wrong. Not about the art part. But I don't think it's pointless. I think knowing how the universe works matters. That's why I enrolled at Harvard for the Fall Term."

"You what?" January leaped to her feet and rushed over to wrap her arms around her friend. "You got into Harvard! That's… that's…. the Goat!"

"Well, it's only online courses from the extension school," Avery said. "So don't get too excited. I'm not actually going to Massachusetts. But I can still learn a lot, and get a degree. I'm thinking of either a nuclear or quantum physics specialization. In six, maybe seven years I'll have a PhD."

"But how can you afford a place like Harvard, even the extension school?"

"If I can make a fusion reactor for your bike, I can do it for some billionaire's private island," Avery declared. "I've got one I'm working on right now that is going to need a home. I'm sure it will cover my tuition and still leave plenty left over, in case your mom or aunt can't come through with the lucre."

"My Avery, a real life Doctor," January did blush then, and tried to brush aside his offer to pay her way through school. Avery had never really worried about paying for things. Not with his inventive genius. But she never wanted him to think that she was only his friend for the money he was bound to make in the future. "You'll be Doctor Gadget, or maybe just The Doctor."

"Doctor… Who?" Avery's eyes sparkled with laughter.

"Hey now, watch the trademark infringements!" January did laugh. "You're going to get me sued when I write our life stories and turn them into a book series."

"I'll be the first one to buy them, and go watch the movies," Avery said. Then he turned more serious. "The best part is that with this being online, I can still stay home and watch my Nana. And I can be around to watch your back when you're out doing that hero thing."

"I don't know what I would do without you," January replied honestly. Looking back on her life, she could not imagine living it without him being there.

"So that's settled then," Avery insisted. "You are going back to school for Fall Semester, just like me."

"I guess I am," January smiled. Then she remembered what Branwen had told her about magic.

A magician is absolute in her certainty. Do it, or do not. There are no other options.

"I know I am," she insisted. "Looks like Lane State it is."

"Excellent!" Avery exclaimed, "and to celebrate, let me introduce you to the Stormcrow Armor 2.0!"

He waved his arms in a stage magician's flourish, and nodded to the armor laid out on the table. At first January did not see any difference. Then she noted the solid armor plating over the shoulders, and along the forearms and shins. There was even a plate that covered the front of her chest.

Also, she noted a new logo stenciled in the middle of that chest piece. It was the classic raven banner image, of a raven in flight. The lines of the bird were all in white, contrasting sharply with the black background of the rest of her armor.

"It's beautiful!" January breathed. "But that's the raven banner. I'm the Stormcrow, remember?"

"It is a crow," Gadget insisted. "Look at the tail feathers. They make a fan shape. That is a crow."

"You are right," January stared in near shock. "A raven's tail feathers make a 'V' shape, a crow's look like a 'C' on its side. How did I never notice that?"

"Apparently no one ever has," Gadget remarked. "Or maybe people just think raven banner sounds cooler than crow banner."

"It does kind of," January admitted. She reached out and rapped a knuckle against the hard metal chest plate. "So what gave you the idea for all this steel? Did Isaac just have a bunch of it laying around, and you decided to play with it?"

"After that giant spider bit through your tunic, I thought it might be a good idea to give the hagfish fibers a little help," Avery explained. "But that is not steel. These new plates are made of nanotwinned cubic boron nitride, or c-BN. I traded a guy some gadgets for a bunch of the stuff."

"Cubic... Boring... Twins?" January raised an eyebrow. "What the yotz is that?"

"It's a thermal and chemically resistant refractory compound of boron and nitrogen that..." Avery stopped after January's eyebrow continued to rise in bewilderment. "Ok, the wiki version is that it's slightly harder than diamond. It's also non-conductive, for the next time you play with lightning."

January closed her eyes and called up her mana.

Fire give me passion and energy Transform me in the night sky.

She was in the armor, and her tights and Nightgirl tee shirt were laid out on the table in the armor's place. She took a few moments to feel the extra weight on her shoulders and arms. It was a little more, but not much. Granted, she imagined that someone without her magically-enhanced muscles might have a different opinion on what "a little more" meant.

She flexed her arms, and rotated them. It did not feel like the plates were inhibiting her range of motion at all. They were small enough not to cover her joints, which were still sheathed in the hagfish fibers. But at the same time it would not be difficult for her to use the cubic boron plates to block a hit.

As an experiment she bent over backwards, went into a handstand, and followed through with the motion into a roll, and bounced back up. Then she grasped the bare studs of the floorboard above between her fingers and thumbs, and pulled herself up into the air. She held her body parallel to the floor in a horizontal Iron Cross for long moments. Then she let herself drop enough to pull her feet in, and rotate them through her spread arms. She let go, dropped to her feet, and did another back flip.

All of it came smooth as silk. She looked back up to see a look of amazement in Avery's eyes. As if she had done something special. Really, it was just some simple gymnastics.

"It feels good," January noted. "I can feel the extra weight, but it doesn't hinder movement at all."

"I could barely lift those solid plates..." Avery murmured. Then he spoke more confidently. "Check your wrist."

January turned over both her armor-plated forearms. She found that the inside of the left hand one had a panel that slid aside with a flick of her fingers. That revealed a touch screen beneath that automatically glowed to life. She immediately started pushing buttons, and found a phone, radio, computer, and everything else a girl might need.

"Wow, it's a pip-boy!" she exclaimed.

"Yep," Avery crowed. "Now you don't need me to be your operator. You can make your own phone calls. Or play candy crush. There's a word processor in there too, so you can write. And its voice activated of course."

"Sága," Avery said clearly, "mask."

Thin metal plates slid down from her helmet and covered her upper lip and jaw, except for several vertical slits that were filled with a fine mesh of fibers. That left her entire head encased in her helmet. For that matter, her entire body was now completely sheathed in armor.

"I got that breath mask working," Avery explained. "It will filter out smoke and most toxins. But I haven't tested it out on the more exotic stuff like anthrax or sarin of course. If you really want to be careful: Sága, scuba."

Now even those breathing slits sealed up. January took a deep breath, and smelled a distinct change in the air. It was nothing she could put into words. In fact, it was nothing at all. The scent of Avery's vanilla air freshener was gone. It was just plain, bland, air.

"Now I can fight giant squid!" January laughed. "Or go to the moon."

"Well, just make it a quick trip," Avery chuckled. "The air supply is limited. But it should see you though any more fires, or scuba dives."

January glanced down at the computer readout on her inner arm, and saw it set her air at 100%. She pressed a few buttons, and the mask slid back away from her mouth, returning her helmet to normal.

"Sága is keyed to recognize both our voices," Avery said. "But I don't think her name will come up often in conversation."

"I like that for a digital assistant." January smiled. "Sága, show me the share drive."

The screen on her wrist immediately shifted to reveal a graphical display of the folders of the drive that Avery had created. She tapped a few times experimentally, and looked over the information that Emilia had sent her about the Death Dealer. Sadly, there was nothing new, and nothing substantial.

"Wow," she breathed, "just wow. I don't even know what to say. With this I can do stakeouts and write at the same time."

Great advice from Avery about the total ‘school’ experience helping Jan become a better writer for exactly the reasons he laid out. As both a Superhero and a writer, I’d imagine Blood Raven could offer some valuable advice. Perhaps, as Avery mentioned, even offer some help.

Wow, the new mithril steel Storm Armor 2.0 beats anything Ironman’s got! Impressive features and wonderfully presented to readers. Gadget’s been working hard!

Thanks for the running glossary of newspeak terms. This old paladin probably needs it as much as Branwen does.

Wow, thanks for that timeline! That's awesome. A lot has happened in a really short time. She's really been quite busy. No wonder she's thinking of putting everything extra aside.

Loser Zoomer. I've never heard that term before... zoomer. I'll have to tell my daughter since she's Z.

Off-topic, but I recently wanted to see how we have defined all these generational classifications through Wikipedia. All this time I assumed it started with Baby Boomers, but actually the terms go back quite a few decades before boomers. My folks are actually from the Silent Generation, for instance (I always assumed they are boomers, but they're born in the early '40s, which makes them part of the McCarthy generation).

In fact when I got to Gen X, I was surprised to learn how accurate a lot of it was. The term that got me was "latchkey kids". That's totally the difference between X and earlier generations: both parents were working, which meant me (as the eldest) was in charge of keeping all the keys for the house, and also eventually driving my sister around when I turned 16. It was like this for a lot of my peers.

Yah, totally, Avery will ace Harvard. He'll maybe get in trouble for maybe wanting to do things his own way (He's too smart for his teachers), but then, maybe that won't happen since he's taking online courses.

Have you ever heard of Marcus Hutchins? I'm thinking you have. If not, here's a good read. Avery is starting to remind me of Marcus. Elon who?

The discussion between Avery and January is touching. I wonder if this means she'll be going back to school in person? Or merely online.




I love that. Avery's getting a little defensive as he tries to teach his friend the difference.



Oh goodness! In general I can just imagine her brand-new armor + computer suit. Totally unscuffed and smelling of faint metallic fibers and some sort of polishing oil. Twinkling a little. Death Dealer's got it coming!




You'd have to pry me away at this point!

Acadian: Blood Raven will indeed be putting her two pence in on the subject of Jan's writing career. Not this episode, but next week's.

Gadget is getting a lot of experience at building suits of armor, with and without power and onboard computer systems. Plus he has a spare fusion reactor laying around. Almost as if he was working his way toward something...

I have to work on the newspeak myself too. I have a text file filled with it. Listening to podcasts helps immensely.


Renee: Jan has had a busy life since she became a hero. Generally speaking, I have been going with a week between 'adventures'. But that won't always be the case. Thankfully she is not like Batman, and does not go around 'patrolling' to fight common street criminals. Otherwise she would never get anything done.

Your daughter is a Zoomer, so she probably knows the term. Though it's not always a complimentary one. Still, it is better than Ok Boomer (she probably knows that one too).

Your experience as a Gen-X'er is much like mine. In my case my mother took my brother and I to work with her in the evenings when there was no one to watch us.

Avery will definitely ace Harvard. His biggest problem will be that as a meta-inventor, he is used to sidestepping the laws of physics and just making things work with his superpower of building things. But as a student, he's going to have to obey the laws of nature for a change.

I have heard of Marcus Hutchins. I think my company got slagged by Wanna Cry in fact. We kept it out of our corporate data centers because we had spent the money on security to keep things like that out (firewalls, port forward security, etc...). But they went cheap on the factories, and it infected them all. In the end I think they paid the ransom. To this day the company refuses to admit anything ever happened.

Avery pointing out the differences between a raven and crow's feathers is not so much him being defensive, as just him showing his work. It is something I only noticed recently. It has been called the Raven Banner for a thousand years. But in fact, it is a crow. No one seems to have ever recognized that.

I see Jan going to school in person. At least for the rest of 2019. Once 2020 rolls around in fiction it will have to be remotely, given Covid. Assuming I decide to use it in her fiction (I probably will).

Jan is re-armed and ready for major action. She is going to need it, because there are things waiting for her that can slice through diamond as if it were butter.














The Packard Plant


Split S




Book 5.7 - Crystal Death

January soared over the Packard Plant. One abandoned building after another slid by under her nose. She took a moment to close her eyes and just feel the wind hugging her frame, but only a moment. She did not need Lighthammer to remind her that literally flying blind was not a good idea.

The vigilante flew alongside her in his glowing armor. Light spouted from his legs to give him thrust, while smaller puffs of the same energy occasionally jetted from his arms when he needed to make subtle course changes.

Unlike him, January flew more like a bird. She had even taken to thrusting her arms out to either side parallel to her wings at all times now. It helped her visualize her wings as being a literal part of her, rather than just her cape hardened into a different shape. By now, they almost really were a part of her.

She adjusted her legs and tummy under Lighthammer's direction, to create the most aerodynamic form. But she also pulled at that well of mana that bubbled deep within her. She visualized her flight, saw herself as a true creature of the air, and poured her power into that. She willed that reality into action. She did not want to fly, or hope she could fly, she knew she would fly. There was no other option.

"Looking good Crowgirl," Lighthammer noted. "You're actually gaining altitude right now, without using an updraft."

January nodded. She wanted to grin. But was afraid it might take too much of her attention away from her flight. She wanted to be perfect in her training sessions, or at least as near to it as possible. This was the time she was teaching her body to react by reflex. She wanted to make sure that the reflexes she instilled in herself were the right ones. So when the time came when she could not concentrate on her form, it would come as naturally as riding a bike.

They ran out of derelict factory buildings, which obliged January to turn back, lest she overfly the residential areas that surrounded the old industrial complex. It was time to push herself, and see if all these weeks of Lighthammer's tutelage had paid off. She allowed more of her mana to flow into her form. Then she rolled upside down, and dropped into a descending half-loop. Rather than spilling the air from her wings and falling like a stone, she executed the Split S flawlessly. A moment later she was sailing back in the opposite direction, at a slightly lower altitude, but with increased speed.

Even Lighthammer was surprised. January glanced back to see him execute a Wingover, the exact opposite of her Split S. He pulled up into his loop first, and then rolled to reorient his belly to the ground. That put him above her, but trailing far behind. Now January did allow herself a smile. She was becoming more comfortable with her wings.

January glanced to either side. She noted a short line of cars parked in an otherwise empty side street that ran parallel to the factory buildings. Some people stretched out on the car hoods, with their backs propped up against the windshields. Others stood, and a few even lounged in lawn chairs. All were watching her and Lighthammer. Many held phones up in the air to record it all.

She was going to have to find a new place to practice. Word had gotten out, and now her training sessions had turned into a spectator sport. Thankfully Detroit still had plenty of other abandoned industrial parks to choose from.

She tasted copper on her tongue. January knew what that meant. Blood Raven was near. She scanned the horizon, and picked out Detroit's other champion arrowing in over the southern horizon. She was a black and scarlet wound that cut across the blue of the sky. As always, her cape and hair streamed out behind her, like a glorious scarlet halo. January wondered if that was accidental, or an intentional use of her magic? Blood Raven certainly knew how to make an overawing impression after all.

January picked out an expanse of rooftop in the center of the complex, one that was free of trees, and nosed down toward it. Her momentum surged as the faded and cracked tar of the roof filled her vision. She pulled her arms down in a great sweep, and her wings with them, and caught the air upon them like a parachute. That cut her speed, and caused her to nearly stall in mid air. Then she triggered off the wings entirely, and dropped the last few feet to the top of the building.

With a blue-white glow, Lighthammer came to a far more graceful landing beside her. He seemed perfectly at ease in the air. Almost as if he was born there. It was clear to January that while her flight skills were improving, they were still nowhere near a match for his ability.

"Holy sh-" he stammered with less grace. "You really do know her?"

"Yeah, we've worked together a few times," January said. She was still not used to super talk. Or whatever it was when she dealt with other capes one on one. Blood Raven was family, so that made things easier. Lighthammer was not. He was an ally for certain. But she was always aware that could change in the future.

"Damn, she's tight, you know for a woman her age," Lighthammer breathed quietly.

January stifled a laugh. If he only knew that she was two and a half centuries old!

"So are you two… you know?"

It took a moment for January to realize what the vigilante was intimating. "Oh goodness no," she finally coughed. That was her seven times great-grandmother! Not that she could say that of course.

"She's just a friend."

"A'ight," Lighthammer stood up a little straighter. January was sure that if he had not been wearing a helmet, he would have smoothed back his hair, and maybe even straightened his tie. As it was, he seemed to puff up his armored chest, if that was even possible, and planted his legs widely apart. He could have been posing for a statue, or a recruitment poster. January tried not to laugh.

Blood Raven was not amused however. She frowned as she drew near and stared down at January's companion. She hung there in the air for a moment, scarlet hair flowing in the breeze, and cape flapping out behind her. January absentmindedly noted that while she herself needed wings to fly, and essentially did so like a bird; and Lighthammer did the same with jets created by his powers, Blood Raven floated through the sky with no obvious source of the ability. The veteran heroine simply moved through the air as if gravity was not a thing to defy, but something to be ignored with impunity.

Now that January had some practice with using magic, she could sense the energy that Blood Raven used to enable her flight. Just as she had sensed the other heroine's arrival, she could feel the currents of mana in the air around her. It actually reminded her of how she used magic to assist her own flight in a more practical manner, by increasing lower pressure on the upper surface of her wings and higher pressure on the underside. Except that Blood Raven had gone so much further that she did not even need to emulate mundane flight. She remade reality around her to conform to her will.

"I greet you Stormcrow," Blood Raven did not even spare a glance at Lighthammer as her feet gently came down upon the cracked and peeling tar that coated the roof. "Are you aware that you are being live-streamed right now? Apparently your practice sessions have become quite the spectacle."

"Yes, I saw them down in the street," January had to fight the urge to rub the back of her head, as Avery always did when he was nervous. Why did she suddenly feel like she was back in school, and the teacher was asking her for the homework that she had forgotten to do? "We are going to have to find a new place."

Lighthammer loudly cleared his throat.

January closed her eyes for a moment. She had literally forgotten him under Blood Raven's almost scolding words.

"This is Lighthammer," January turned to introduce the blue, white, and silver armored vigilante. "We have been training together for a while now. Lighthammer, this is Blood Raven."

"It's an honor," Lighthammer said. "I grew up hearing stories about you, even down where I'm from."

Lighthammer extended his hand to the scarlet-maned heroine. She did not take it.

"Your reputation precedes you as well sir." Her words were nothing but polished civility, but her tone was ambiguous. "If you will excuse us, Stormcrow and I have a private matter to discuss."

Blood Raven turned and began to walk away, a clear invitation for only one of them to follow.

"Umm, okay," January looked at Lighthammer and shrugged. She caught up to the black and red armored heroine with one short, lightning fast leap.

"Just ignore me, I'm not even here at all. Just go about your business." Lighthammer grumbled from behind her. For a moment January thought he meant her, but then she realized he was referring to Blood Raven's rebuff. Or at least she hoped that he was.

"That wasn't very nice," January breathed quietly. "You could at least shake his hand."

"On camera?" Blood Raven replied. "That would be sending a clear message to the world. One I do not intend to promulgate."

"Like the message I send every time I work with you?" January shot back.

"Yes." January was certainly not expecting that response. "Every time you are recorded with me, it harms your chances of ever gaining official recognition from the attorney general, let alone the cooperation of individuals within the city and county governments here. I know you are desirous of attaining legal empowerment, as the Sentinels possess. You should consider that when you choose your allies, myself included."

"I am more desirous of building relationships with individuals I can trust," January replied.

Was she truly though? Well of course. A piece of paper that said she was a legally-appointed officer of the peace was not nearly as important as her friendship with Avery, or anyone else close to her. Friends who stuck by you were few and far between for a person like herself. While people in authority, well she had learned what use they were…

"I urge caution in trusting that one," Blood Raven declared. "He has been active for only few months longer than you. In that time he has cut a bloody swath through the drug trade in and around Ohio. He is driven by passion, not principle. He has his own agenda. At the moment it might align with yours. Do not expect that to remain the case forever."

"Hey, that one is standing right over h-" Lighthammer grumbled from across the rooftop.

Blood Raven raised one hand, and suddenly the world went silent. Not only was Lighthammer's voice cut off, but everything else around them - the sound of traffic from the highway to the north, of the birds roosting in the empty buildings, of planes flying overhead. It was as if all of it had been walled off. The only sound came from their voices, and the crunching of their boots upon the slowly decaying rooftop.

January stopped, and planted her hands on her hips. She was absolutely not going to look all awestruck by the elder heroine's casual display of power, nope, not at all.

"I am well aware of his history, of all of our histories." January declared. "Maybe you should stop and think about building bridges with people, rather than walls. You know, I admire you. For most of my life, I wanted to do the things you do. But I will never be you. I can't do this lone wolf thing you have going. I am going to reach out to people, and yeah, I know sometimes it will end badly. But I have to try."

"Sometimes you are so like Jack…" Blood Raven murmured. January thought she heard the other woman's voice hitch for a moment on the name of her great-grandfather: Jack Parsons. But even in the silence, she could not be sure. What she could clearly see however, was the warmth shining in the red-haired woman's eyes.

"You remind me of him so much at times." Blood Raven laid a comforting hand upon January's armor-plated shoulder. "You have his willfulness, his creativity, his zest for life. You have truly inherited the best of our bloodline. I only pray you can escape from the worst."

January smiled. She had no idea what to say. Blood Raven - for she could not think of the other woman as Branwen when she was clad in her armor - could be so infuriating. She was cold, standoffish, and even imperious one moment. Then overflowing with compassion and understanding the next.

For not the first time January wondered if the latter was her true nature, and the harsh attitude was an emotional bulwark she had been forced to adopt in order to survive for centuries? She wondered what she would be like herself in fifty years. Dare she even say a hundred?

Nice flyin’, Crowgirl! I see her first split-S turned out notably better than my first one.

I think Jan is right to cordially accept Lighthammer’s help while never letting her guard down as far as fully trusting him.

’The veteran heroine simply moved through the air as if gravity was not a thing to defy, but something to be ignored with impunity.’
- - This wonderful sentence not only sings with evocative creativity, but so perfectly suits the woman to which it refers.

Stormcrow is delightfully endearing. Blood Raven is magnificent in her mysterious aloofness that only occasionally offers glimpses into her heart. The only thing better than either of them is the two of them together. The conversations you craft between them are a joy to read.


Nit? 'All were watching at her and Lighthammer.'
- - I’m guessing this passage at one point read ‘were looking at her’. Then perhaps you edited it to ‘were watching her’ but somehow left the ‘at’. At least that’s the kind of thing that often happens to me during my edits.

I told her about Zoomer and she's claiming she never heard that term! But I also know how it is with kids. They sometimes keep things to themselves. There isn't as much of a generational gap between her and I as she and her friends think. Not like it was between my Silent Generation parents (who were sort of hippy-ish in the '70s) and whatever their parents were termed.

Aw, I can just imagine going to work with your mom. We did the same thing, sometimes.

Oh I'm getting dizzy! They're flying together over that ruined complex and I'm afraid of heights!

Yes, she is going to need somewhere new to practice without any prying eyes. Or cameraphones.

Uh oh, she smells copper. Will Raven be ... I don't know... jealous? Nonchalant? I imagine a nonchalant response might be even worse, in a way. I can just imagine what that must look like... seeing her protege come flying out of the distance. Like a shark suddenly honing in on a scuba diver from the depths.

Oh my gosh, Lighthammer talks like one of the Lost Boys, or something.



I am laughing! But uh oh... Blood Raven is not amused. Just as I thought. She's cold. In fact, I almost think she might be hypnotizing her great great great great great (x?) niece.

Acadian: I hope you didn't crash on Split-S! Thankfully crows have a tighter turning angle than F4s.

It is always a treat to bring Blood Raven into the mix. Whenever she and January are together, they both test one another's beliefs, without being belligerent. They really are so very different, but fit together so very well.


Renee: She never heard of Zoomer? Maybe your daughter just isn't hip enough? Or maybe she only hears it is a pejorative.

I do have an new area in mind for January and Lighthammer's practice sessions. A place much more remote than the Packard Plant. I am not sure when I will be able to work it into the fiction though.

I am glad you are connecting January's sense of copper with her Blood Raven detection power. She can always sense when her great-grandmother is near now. And yes, Blood Raven is not thrilled with January's relation with Lighthammer. She does not trust him.

Lighthammer was fun to write in this. I was able to inject some humor into him, to show that he isn't just some dour vigilante.








Book 5.8 - Crystal Death

"I saw Crow Tales on Instantgram," Blood Raven murmured as she began to walk once more. "That was a clever account name for recommending books. Mary Shelley's novel was an excellent choice to begin with. Though as you said yourself in your review of the novel, I fear many modern readers will find it difficult, given the preconceptions that the films create about her story. Not to mention that storytelling conventions have changed greatly since Mrs. Shelly penned her magnum opus. I was pleased to see that you pointed out examples of that, so that readers today will better understand why she included the plot elements she did. Such as the bag of books that the monster so conveniently finds when it is time to move the story along with him developing his own philosophy."

"Thank you," January felt her back straighten, and a spring add itself to her step at the other woman's praise. "I plan to recommend a book or short story every week. I have read so many in the last few years that I have material to last me a decade."

"Will you be recommending something more current?" Blood Raven asked slyly, "perhaps one about a young human witch and her elven best friend?"

January knew she was turning red. Her back did not feel quite so straight any more, nor her step so springy.

"I will, this Saturday," was all she could say.

"I thought you might," Blood Raven replied. "I do not have to tell you the risk of associating one identity with another. I am not saying you should not. Many other capes do this sort of thing much more blatantly. That is the nature of living in a capitalist world. Those who possess official recognition receive financial compensation. The rest of us must pay our own way in the world. When I first took up the cape, the Spider over in New York used to take pictures of himself in action and sell them to the newspapers. Just be careful not to leave any breadcrumbs that might be traced back to you."

"I know," January insisted. "That is one reason I am doing Crow Tales. My own book will be buried in with the rest."

"One reason?" Blood Raven inquired.

"I helped my mom with the summer reading program at her library," January said. "It reminded me how important reading is in general. But also how what people read shapes their perceptions of the world. What they read in books or see on TV bleeds into what they believe is real. Then what they believe is real inspires what is created for new books and shows. It is a loop that constantly feeds on itself, often in very bad ways."

"I want to give people something positive to perceive in the world," January declared. "So people don't only see stories that treat women as disposable objects solely meant to prove that the male protagonist is heterosexual, or that kill every gay character, or show all people of color as criminals, and so on. Sometimes it seems that only fascists are on the internet. We need to give people more than just their fear and hate. Virtual spaces are just as real as physical ones these days. It is where people live. We need to have a presence there, even if it just something as simple a few hours of entertainment."

"That is very Awoke of you," Blood Raven nodded. "I must admit, this internet of yours took me by surprise. I still grapple with its implications."

"It's just 'Woke'," January said. "Well it was. Not many people really use that term anymore. We just say things like 'empathetic' or 'kind'. But you are doing better than most people of your generation. I think even Ben Franklin called it 'teh internets'."

"I am rather certain that is what is now called fake news," Blood Raven said dryly. "It was John Adams who said that. I was there."

January did laugh, and even Blood Raven smiled.

"I did enjoy This Spell for Hire very much," Blood Raven said more seriously. "Your characters are very likeable, and even I could relate to their struggles, and enjoy their friendship. Have you considered releasing it in print?"

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," January said. "I mean I read a bit about it. It seems very daunting. I've read that most publishing houses don't even consider unsolicited work. And This Spell for Hire is too short to really be a novel, but too long to be a short story. Ebooks really seem like the ideal format. Maybe after the next one, I can put them both together into a printed book?"

"I can speak to some people in the industry," Blood Raven offered. "I do not write in the same circles as you. But I do meet people, and they know other people. I can talk to some who work in magazines, and see if any of them will accept your story. I should very much like to see your work on my shelf one day."

"Thank you," January said honestly. Money and her career were one of the few things in life that worried her more than giant monsters rampaging through the streets. At least monsters you could punch.

"So what was this you wanted to talk about?" she asked.

"I understand that Motor City Pride shall take place within a few days," Blood Raven said, "even though there was the Pride festival in Ferndale last weekend. Are there many of these LGBTQ+ gatherings? Is that even the right word? Language changes so quickly, it is difficult for a person of my age to remain abreast of current terminology."

"I kind of prefer 'Queer' to the alphabet soup terms," January said. "But not everyone likes a straight person saying that. It was an insult until just a few years ago. You might want to stick with the alphabet soup version."

"Now the whole thing with the parades is complicated. I don't really understand it all. I know it started in Ferndale, decades ago. Then Motor City Pride decided to go Downtown. I guess just because it had gotten so much bigger. But the people in Ferndale apparently still wanted it, so they kept having their own festival there as well. Fashionable Ferndale is the gayest place in Michigan after all. Then on top of that is Hotter Than July. That's a black Pride Fest in Palmer Park that's been going on at least as long as Ferndale's."

"That is very confusing for an old lady like me," Blood Raven sighed. "But it is heartening. So much as changed. When I was a child the idea of an… LGBTQ+… parade taking place on the Common was pure insanity. Walking on the moon was more likely. Now we have done both."

It took January a moment to realize that she had meant Boston Common. Sometimes she forgot that Blood Raven had literally been born before the American Revolution. Then little statements like that brought the full weight of her years back to the fore.

"In any case, it is but a few days until Motor City Pride takes place Downtown," Blood Raven continued. "I fear that the Summoner may strike there either Saturday or Sunday. He has proven to possess a fondness for large gatherings - the Nain Rouge parade, the Electronic Music Festival, Ferndale Pride. I should like to be prepared for him this time, in the event that he does call up another Abyssal. I feel it would be wise to combine our forces for this undertaking, and be on hand together to stave off any threats to the populace."

January had to fight the urge to jump up in the air and shout for joy. Blood Raven wanted to officially team up! Not just a case of being in the same place and time and working with one another. But an honest to goodness partnership! It was the kind of thing dreams were made of.

But of course, she had to say no.

"I wish I could," January's steps faltered. She stared down at her feet. She could not believe what she was about to say. "But I sort of have another thing going. It's kind of stalled right now, since all of our leads have turned up empty. So maybe I can do it. But things might come up on short notice."

"Another… thing?" Blood Raven raised an eyebrow.

"She didn't want me to tell you," January murmured. "But I think you have a right to know. Have you ever heard of Crystal Death?"

Blood Raven shook her head. So apparently the state police's efforts to keep the truth of the new drug's effectiveness a secret had worked. January changed that when she related everything that Emilia had told her.

"Sadly, none of this is truly a surprise," Blood Raven sighed. "Ever since Tunguska both scientists and magicians have striven to discover a means to artificially create meta-humans. Most have not even met this level of success. That the police would attempt to keep it a secret… Well I suppose you shall tell me that it is all my fault for alienating them. You will probably be right."

"I'm not saying that at all," January replied. She was thinking it however.

"You are gracious," Blood Raven said. "And you are correct that this is important, certainly as much as the rogue summoner. You must continue to pursue this. I will remain vigilant against the Summoner. If fortune smiles upon us, we shall both claim victory in our endeavors."

"So you are ok with this?" January ventured.

"Of course," Blood Raven said. Now she laid both hands upon January's shoulders, and looked her in the eyes. "I will not lie. I was very concerned when I learned you were the Stormcrow. I still fear for your safety. But I respect your decision to write your own destiny. You must follow your own stars granddaughter. At times like this, I am glad that you do. For too long this city has had but one champion. I cannot be in two places at the same time. But we can."

"When all this over, I'd like to start working more closely together," January said. "I know you have a computer specialist who supports you. I think you know I have an online partner too. I'd like us all to meet, put our heads together, and be actual partners."

"Build bridges rather than walls," Blood Raven smiled. "Yes, I should like that very much. I shall discuss it with Cray. Though I see no objections he might raise. Speak with your friend Gadget, and we shall form a covenant."

A covenant, it sounded like something that one of the characters she wrote in fiction might say. But the way Blood Raven said it was not at all ludicrous. It was not the way people spoke anymore. But it was the way their hearts wanted to speak. With a grandeur and glory that was all too absent from ordinary life.

"A covenant it shall be then," January said in her best posh British accent. She knew it was awful. But Blood Raven's eyes sparkled nonetheless.

The flame-haired superhero waved a hand, and all the sounds of the city came rushing back in. The steady thrum of traffic on I-94, the singing of birds, the beeping of a garbage truck nearby, and the faint strains of music reaching up from the cars parked in the street beside the abandoned factory.

Then Blood Raven did what she had that night of the fire. One moment she was standing there. Then the next her form shattered into dozens of black, flapping shapes. A conspiracy of ravens took flight. Their raucous voices croaked on the wind, and the wings beat the air wildly. They rose up into the sky for long moments, then faded into the horizon.

January glanced down at the cars that lined the street beside the industrial complex. She hoped they had gotten that on video. She would like to see it again herself.

She turned back to Lighthammer, to find the armored vigilante staring with his mouth open. She did not think any less of him. She had much the same reaction the first time she had seen Blood Raven perform that trick.

"I'm sorry," January said. "She can be a little… standoffish. But she warms up once you get to know her."

Lighthammer composed himself, and was once again his normal cool, collected self by the time that January had walked back to where he stood.

"So you have something going?" he said, nodding in the direction that the ravens had departed.

"I don't ask you about what you do…" January said.

"Because you don't want to know," Lighthammer finished her sentence. "I get it. But I do want to know."

"Why?" January said it plainly.

"Because I want in," Lighthammer said just as plainly. "You know, you don't have a monopoly on wanting to do the right thing. Yeah, my hands are dirty. But that doesn't mean I don't want some grace too. I am not one of the bad guys."

"I never said you were," January stated.

"You're too polite," Lighthammer countered. "You think it, way in the back of your head. You think 'he's no different from the people he fights'. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am just an animal. But maybe I want to be something more too. Maybe I want to be a knight, and not just a thug in shining armor."

"Okay, I believe you" January nodded. Of course she did not believe him. But they had been training together for weeks. She had some trust in him, even if not much. He deserved the chance to earn more. "But I can't bring you into what I'm working on. I can't bring her into it. But she's working on something you might be able to help with, even if she doesn't know about it."

"No, you don't believe me," Lighthammer said. "But that's ok. I'd be cautious too. How can I help?"

"Just be in Detroit this weekend," January said. "Motor City Pride will be going on in Hart Plaza. Stay nearby, but out of sight. And definitely bring your armor. Maybe things will be nice and quiet, and nothing will happen. Or maybe things will get weird. I don't know. But you can be our ace in the hole."

"You mean like giant spider weird?" Lighthammer asked. "I saw that on MeTube. That was whack!"

"That is exactly what I mean," January said. "But remember, this all has to stay on the down low."

A nice interlude that really showcases Blood Raven.

"You are gracious," Blood Raven said. "And you are correct that this is important, certainly as much as the rogue summoner. You must continue to pursue this. I will remain vigilant against the Conjurer. If fortune smiles upon us, we shall both claim victory in our endeavors."
- - As Jan will note to herself in a few paragraphs, Blood Raven’s old world manner of speech is delightfully refreshing and does indeed lend itself to an epic feel.

"You must follow your own stars granddaughter. At times like this, I am glad that you do. For too long this city has had but one champion. I cannot be in two places at the same time. But we can."
- - It is clear this invitation from the veteran Super Hero comes from more than blood affection. The Stormcrow has truly earned her cape!

"A covenant it shall be then,"
- - I wanted to cheer here. The double meanings of both pact/alliance and group of witches is so perfect for this situation!

I’m admiring Jan’s cautious but optimistic approach to handling Lighthammer. It remains unclear whether he is truly interested in whitening his hat some or if he is a silver tongued scoundrel with his own darker agenda.

Edit: Oh, and Blood Raven's clever response about John Adams vs Ben Franklin was fabulous!

My daughter's pretending to be hip, I think. By keeping me out of the loop about Zoomer. All generations of kids want to keep some stuff to themselves, right?

Yeah, Lighthammer is so corny. He is more like the classic type of superhero. Even when his feelings get hurt. It's like he's such a mighty fellow on one hand, but his ego is so easily penetrated.

The Spider in New York ... okay so New York has its own heroes.

I still think January's secret will be discovered at some point. It's like with Marcus Hutchins. After he began to get out of his criminal phase, he began posting anonymously in some hacker forums, and also had Twitter feed with tens of thousands reading his posts every week or whatever. He did not reveal his true identity. Well, there was ONE girl who went to school with him, and she remembered that his Twitter screen name was the same as some random name he used briefly back in school. Bam, cover was blown. The whole world knew who he was. He even had reporters camped outside his parents' house.

It's just that everything Jan does is under a huge microscope. No doubt there are geeks who spend all day just trying to figure out her mundane identity.



Yup. I get it.

Is it fair to say that gay people have owned the word queer? Sort of like blacks taking the N word for their own?

Uh oh, the Conjurer. So this person has a name. How could anybody feel relaxed at any large gathering in Detroit!

Interesting how Raven says "for so long our city has had one champion" Poor Lighthammer. He's not even a passing thought to her.




Exactly my thoughts. If one of my fellow co-workers (or somebody more modern) said something like "we should form a covenant" I'd have to stifle laughter. It's only somebody old world who can get away with this. Maybe an older priest, for instance. There would be no stifling then.

Oh no. Poor Lighthammer. He's been there the whole time, locked out of the Blood Raven Cone of Silence.