Wrangling My Schedule

I spent last week sort of half-sick, and would have like to spend the weekend recovering. Alas, 'twas not to be; Secondborn decided that she needed a second prom, and went to one that a friend had mentioned -- at a community center about half an hour away. Which made for two one-hour round trip journeys Friday night, followed by the child's birthday party on Saturday. The birthday party theme was "Build Your Own Boffer Weapon" and I did an initial demonstration before turning the kids loose. They had some kind of Capture The Flag game over at the nearby park, ate a pretty fair amount of pizza, and generally had a good time. 

One of her friends gave her a harmonica, though, and I'm not at all sure we're going to survive that. 

I did my best to have a restful Sunday -- a bit of D&D (playing, not running), a bit of writing, a bit of reading Vampire Smut -- but was still a bit later getting down to sleep than I would have preferred. Not as late as Secondborn, though. I'm pretty sure she was still bouncing around at 4:30 a.m. and I think I'm going to have to inflict a bedtime on that child.

::SIGH::

I'm back at work and catching up this week, at least, which is kind of a relief. Still need to pull together some follow-up from the conference, and jump back on some things that slipped through the cracks and/or have proven ridiculously recalcitrant, but at least I'm in a condition to work on them again.

Valthor: Family Horrors

Valthor leaned on the railing and looked out over the ocean, trying to remember the dream. Sy, the cleric of the Harvest Maiden who had attached himself to their group, had suggested that the strange dreams he had in the darkness of the underground prison were likely to be significant, but...

His sister had come to him, he remembered that much. Darkness and mist... She'd spoken of the blade he'd taken from her corpse. Not his mother's work, as he'd initially suspected, but far older... it was a family blade, older than the Starfall, born of deceit, betrayal, broken oaths, and murder. To fully unlock its power would require him to follow in that family tradition... How had she put it? 

It will grow in power as you deceive, betray, and especially kill those to whom you are bound: benefactors, liege lords and loyal servants, friends, allies -- and of course, your kith and kin. 

If he was being completely honest with himself, Valthor didn't like the taste of that. He wouldn't mind killing some of his kin, and he certainly wasn't above a certain amount of artful embellishment when it came to certain kinds of facts, but if there was one thing he'd learned as part of a mercenary company, it was that he was strongest with trusting and trustworthy friends working together. Betrayal and Oathbreaking held no appeal for him... 

Well, mostly. As a jackalwere, his brother Vildern had always been stronger than he was, and his attentions were damnably hard to avoid.  He could see a scenario where he pledged his loyalty to Vildern with the intent of betraying and murdering him when the opportunity presented. So yes, he could probably work with this. 

More than that, though, could he change it? If it was a family blade and had taken its character from his family, could he afflict it with his own trust in well-chosen loyalties?

He'd have to see.

"Valthor?" 

He turned, blinking, to find Kiela standing beside him -- wiry, nimble Kiela who was frequently manning the crow's nest when she wasn't up in the rigging, inspecting the sails. "Oh. Hello." 

"Are you well?" she asked. "You looked pretty lost in in there..." She reached up and tapped the side of his head with a fingertip. 

"I was," he said. "I'm back now, though."

"Should I ask?"

"Probably best if you don't," he said. "I... A lot of my life is very difficult to explain."

"Oh." She hesitated, running a hand nervously through her short red hair. "Listen, a few of us were going to play cards down in the hold, and some of us would love to know how you and your friends managed a jailbreak out of that place. Would you--?" 

"I'd love to," he told her. 

DS: Companionship

It was just before dawn when Jalua slipped into the druid's pocket alongside Borgios. He had been dozing, but he stirred at her approach. "Wha...?"

"I found my father waiting," Jalua said, chittering in that way that only another wererat would understand -- though a good hunter could distinguish it from the sounds of ordinary rats. "He blessed us, said I could stay with you. He's worried by this demon -- there were stories, two generations back. We have to keep the clan informed, and they'll inform others."

"That's..." Borgios managed not to yawn. "That's wonderful." 

"Yes. For now, we get to be rats together."

"That was a quick decision," Borgios observed.

Jalua nipped gently behind his ear. "I told him about your clan. My father, he prizes survivors." 

DS: And the return

Borgios slipped back down the alley. It was nearly dawn, and the sounds of a woman's voice were clearly audible: 

"That young man said he'd give me to someone who could get me home, and instead I'm just lying here in the palm of some drunken lout. A dirty back alley is no place for a woman of quality like myself. Tivros? Tivros, you promised to take care of me. Where are you? How could you forget you were carrying me around like that?"

Borgios slipped the gloves into the druid's pocket, then dropped the pile of clothing next to its unconscious -- but still living -- owner. All in all, a good night's work. He thought of the time he'd spent with Jalua. All in all, a good night. The temptation to depart here, join her clan, and stay with her was strong, but... I don't know. Rune was stronger than he was, and likely didn't need his help -- but he'd been kind enough to take in a stray rat when Borgios had been in desperate need of shelter, and as much as the wererat hated to think of himself as honorable, he still felt a debt there. 

"So this is your druid?" asked Jalua, from behind him. 

Borgios nodded. "This is him."

"Oh, great," said the amulet. "Now there are rats. Merciful Yondalla, I beg you to get me out of this place. I have always been a pious woman..."

"Why is his face glowing?" Jalua had slipped up into human form again, and was looking down at Rune. 

"He has a demon trapped inside him," Borgios said. "The runes hold it in. Its power is trapped separately."

"That sounds... worrisome. Are you sure you'll be safe?"

"He thinks I'm just a rat," Borgios said. "And besides... I owe him." 

DS: The Merchant's House

The merchant's house was protected, of course, but it wasn't too hard for a pair of perfectly-ordinary rats to slip inside during the hours just before dawn, when servants were drawing water and preparing for the day ahead. There were still plenty of shadows; evidently the merchant was a spendthrift when it came to candles or lantern oil. 

Jalua took the lead, and Borgios followed. She traced their way through long, expensively-appointed hallways, moved cautious across open intersections, and hesitated beneath a table at the bottom of the stairs while the servants carried heated water up for their master's bath. 

Their clothing was tucked away in a neat bundle just outside the back gate, which could have been awkward if wererats had any sense of modesty. Fortunately, they didn't; the transformation made nakedness far too commonplace to sustain any sense of embarrassment. 

It was a bare flash of nudity to open the door, and then they were both inside the merchant's bedroom. He snorted and rolled over, and they froze -- then dashed for the underside of the bed. 

He didn't rise, though. Likely he was used to servants coming and going while he slept. Servants would lay fires, prepare outfits, and who knew what else? Borgios certainly didn't.  

They rose up into their human forms, and Jalua glared down at the sleeping merchant with an expression that said she was considering smothering him with a pillow. With two of them here, it could be done, but... Borgios touched her shoulder, then mimed drawing on a glove. She hesitated, sighed silently, and then nodded, looking around. 

There was a pair of gloves on the table beside the bed, and Borgios raised his hands questioningly. Jalua grinned, then nodded. 

DS: Early Morning Adventures

"You left your druid behind," noted Jalua. "What is it you're looking for? Gold?"

Borgios shook his head. "No, he'd notice if that showed up in his pocket with me. I'm trying to figure out a way to smuggle some weapons for myself, and also stay in practice for the sorts of things we do. Something like a bag of holding, but smaller."

Jalua considered that, then grinned. "Gloves. Magical gloves. And I just happen to know of someone who has some. They'll only store one item each, but..." 

Borgios shook his shoulders out, tension dissolving into relief. "That could work. That could very well work."

He swept her up, spun her around, and set her back down. "Jalua, you're a genius. What do we need to do get these?"

"Well," she said, "We'll need to rob this merchant. The clan won't object; he keeps trying to stiff us, so an... object lesson like this might even help us. Come on, I'll show you where he lives." 

DS: Inconvenient Family Ties

"You're not one of our clan," said a voice from overhead. "One of us, but... outsider. What brings you here, Outsider?"

Borgios slowed, decided that this was interesting enough to justify postponing his plan. "A job went wrong some months back. I took shelter in the pocket of a drunken druid, who thinks I'm nothing more than a rat."

"And your clan?"

He swallowed. "Hunted by the guard and another band of adventurers," he said. "Father told us to go to ground."

There was a soft laugh, and then the whuff of impact, tuck, and roll behind him. He turned slowly, beheld a seemingly-human woman of roughly his own age behind him. A fellow wererat, of course; born into it, by her smell.  "You have a name?" she asked softly. 

"Borgios," he told her. 

"Jalua," she responded. "You're in our territory, so I can't let you do anything that might draw attention to us. I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on you." 

"Oh?" he asked, trying to sound suspicious rather than intrigued. "In that case, come along. Or lead me where you would." Yes, he was definitely prepared to overturn his plans for the opportunity of some seemingly-friendly company. Keeping himself hidden for the last few months had been more of a strain than he cared to admit.

DS: Friends in Low Places

"...Who? Where?" Borgios kept his voice soft. 

"Down here," said the voice. 

He turned, frowning as he scanned the mouth of the alleyway. 

"On the ground. Just over..." 

"I see you, I think," said Borgios, bending down to pick up a silver necklace with an unfamiliar amulet suspended from it. 

"Yes! That's me. Oh, thank you, kind sir." It was a woman's voice, despite coming from a piece of jewelry. "I do so hate being down in the dirt like that, but my husband Tivros... well, he was drinking, and forgot I was in his hand. If you could return me to him, I'd be most grateful."

What in the Nine Hells and all the elemental planes? A talking amulet was definitely going to be a liability for anything he did tonight. Borgios considered, then decided that the easiest way to handle this was to pass the burden. "I fear my time is limited," he told the amulet. "I must return to being a rat before too long -- a family curse, and no escape from it. But I will deliver you to someone who can see you safely back home in the morning."

"Well, I suppose if you can't do it yourself..." There was hint of... not exactly accusation, but definitely disappointment... in her tone. "...Then yes, please get me to someone who can help."

Borgios turned and retraced his steps up the alley, then set the amulet in Rune's unconscious hand. "There you go," he said, then turned and fled.

DS: I Smell A Rat

Borgios slipped out of the druid's pocket as the two orcs dragged him to the back door and tossed him out into the alley. Neither of them noticed, but then neither of them would likely have cared. Riding around in Rune's pocket was actually a pretty sweet deal: he was warm and clean, and got to eat his share of scraps, and then when Rune wasn't paying attention he could slip out and take care of his own business -- which mostly meant keeping his skills sharp, and remembering how to move around in human form.

It could be awkward; unlike Rune, when Borgios changed shape his clothing and equipment didn't change with him. So his first step was usually to sneak around as a rat until he could find some clothing to steal. 

Fortunately, Rune wasn't the only one who had passed out inside The Old Wastrel and been carried out the back. There were two others, a human and a halfling, and the human's clothing would--

He aborted his transformation just in time, as the back door banged open again, and the two orcs emerged carrying a bloody-faced human. One of the fighters, maybe? Or maybe the woman had injured herself when she passed out. Regardless, Borgios waited patiently -- just another rat -- as the orcs dropped her beside the wall. 

"They should really know better," growled one of the orcs, reaching down to empty the purse at her belt. 

"Eh, good ale can make a fool of anybody," said the other.

When they'd gone back inside, Borgios changed and set to stripping the human male. The fit was close enough -- Borgios had been small and wiry all his life, probably thanks to his heritage -- and when he straightened he felt inconspicuous enough to stroll casually down the alley. The night was warm; likely the man wouldn't freeze to death, and he could drop the clothing beside him when turned back into a rat. 

He had just reached the end of the alley when a voice out of nowhere said, "Hello?" and he very nearly pissed himself. 

StV: The Uncertain Soldier

Paul Caswell sat in a pool chair behind his Alpha Hound and did his best not to gape openly. It was, he reminded himself, his first real mission as a Hound, and he still didn't know how everything worked. This, though... this was a lot to take in. 

He glanced at Tara, but she was apparently focused on the conversation. Either she didn't find this disturbing, or she was much better at hiding it than he was. 

We were sent here to find whatever Deviant was stealing people's bone marrow, he thought, frustrated. Then we find a whole group of Deviants in the damned hospital with the the victims, and Bloodhound -- the Alpha Hound who's acting as our Hunter -- not only fails to give the order to bring them in, but leads them back here to the hotel to talk. Clearly, Bloodhound knew these people. 

Try as he might, Paul couldn't figure it. Was Bloodhound a traitor? She couldn't be. Her own Hunter, Hearne, would have reported her. Was she expecting a bunch of deviants to help them? That didn't seem possible either. He knew her stats and her rep; Bloodhound might be younger than he was, but she'd brought in everyone she'd ever been assigned to capture. 

What the hell was going on here? Mind control? Something else? 

He'd wait, he decided. He'd wait, and watch, and then figure out what he needed to do.  

StV: Florida Man: After The Trial

Hey kid,

I was hoping to see you at the trial but I guess you were busy. It went... I was gonna say "badly," but it's you so... "badly" is better than I expected. Gonna have to spend some time in prison, and that means no drinking and only fighting if I have to. And no powers. I mean, I've still got them, I just can't use them if I want them to let me out. 

But it's a three year stint, and I think I can do it. You were right about the meds. Huge help. I'm very, very angry with you about that. So thanks. 

You were right about the offers, too. Some mercs, some even bigger assholes, but some... I mean, I wouldn't think that many people would want a guy with alligator powers to work for them, especially with my history, but I got an offer from the damned park rangers. Said it'd be nice to have someone on the payroll who could protect the Everglades from Anomalous threats. Pay's not as good as some of the other offers, but there's retirement. 

Hell, kid. Never even thought about that before. Anyway, sorry I didn't get to see you again.

~Florida Man

* * *

Tom Wilson, you fucking idiot, 

I was right there. Red wig, heavy makeup, nice skirt and suit jacket. Any of that ring a bell? You winked at me four times from the witness stand. Swear to Jesus, I thought you'd figured out it was me. And yes, the trial went badly for you, but it could have been so much worse. I was very, very impressed. 

Tell you what. Keep your head down, do the time and stay out of trouble as best you can, and when you get out we can schedule a big old knock-down, drag-out fight if that'll make you feel better. I know I did you kind of dirty bringing you in like that, but I still think you have what it takes to be a lot better person than you realize. 

Meanwhile, you take care of yourself -- in a good way, this time. 

~Cloudburst

 * * *

Kid, 

Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I'm glad you were there, but this. Awkward. I know I can be kind of a creep, but I don't hit on high school students. Thanks for showing up for me. Again.

Might take you up on that fight. Might not. Gives me something to think about besides being in prison, though. Araktul, you really are good at this. 

Keep writing. 

~Florida Man 

 

PotM: Prisoners and Evaluations

He had to be the Moon. Somehow Leandra had found him, and given him a Key, and sent him back to end the Interregnum. Ser Liosha Sobinhan, Chosen Marshal of the Sun, was sure of it. Something had changed; something in the air, in the sky overhead, in the ground beneath her feet. She couldn't see it yet, but that could be the dark of the moon -- the time of hidden movements, stealth and secrecy, and betrayals performed or redressed. 

She could not reveal that to the knights gathered here, not matter how much it might give them hope. It would cause too much of a stir, and despite all their efforts there might still be spies among them.  No, if the Prince had returned he must be preserved and kept secret, and so this was only a lone traveler, uncorrupted, who had stepped in to aid a pair of knights in their time of need, and then nobly submitted to arrest until they could establish that he wasn't a spy. 

There would be other questions as well: he carried blades that were not him. To most of her troops, that suggested a magus who might intend to restore those knights. Keeping him locked away with the blades prevented the knights from asking him too many questions, and increased his value if he did turn out to be an ally. 

It gave this Sean Paul Keegan a certain cachet, but also allowed her to surround him with guardians who would both imprison and protect him. Liosha served the Sun, not the Moon, but even with some things still unknown and other poorly understood, she knew that the return of the Moon was critical to re-awakening the Sun. Their enemy would know that as well, and likely in more detail and with a better understanding. 

With the enemy once more on the move -- actively, not infiltrating and corrupting -- she wanted to keep this quiet for as long as possible. He didn't look like the prince she remembered being selected forty-seven years ago, but if he'd spent all that time in the mortal realms, infected with mortality...

That was the plan, she thought, and was overwhelmed with momentary rage. That was the basis of the Usurper's whole plan... 

StV: Powers and Responsibilities

"Okay, here's what I don't understand," Cloudburst said softly, as they sat beside the fire. "You can give yourself new powers. You can adjust other people's powers, or give them new ones. So... why did you shove all your new powers into your Blood God form? Why not just give yourself those powers, um, outright?"

Harbinger leaned closer to the fire, closing his eyes to feel the heat on his face. "Given the choice, I wouldn't have them at all. I wouldn't need them. Do you know how many lives paid for those powers?"

Cloudburst shook her head. "I know you fought your way out of the DAAT compound. That's all anyone's said about it."

"I'm a murderer, Cloudburst. Or at least a killer, since it was self-defense. So primus, I don't like the idea of just... strengthening my usual self that way. Secundus, I don't want to get in the habit of using that kind of power. I need it -- my parents are millennia-old gods who might show up looking for Charm and me at any time -- and I need some way to..." He hesitated for a long moment. "...to discourage them if they do. Which is why I've gathered that much power at all."

"Self-defense," she said, and squeezed his hand.

He nodded. "Charm is a talented sorceress, and getting better all the time, but our Mom is also a sorceress and has a power like mine -- and several thousand years of using it to strengthen herself. If we want to be able to force our independence, then we're both playing catch-up -- and that's not even accounting for our father, who has... very definite ideas about how personal power relates to leadership and godhood. Having them both show up would be... catastrophic." 

She nodded slowly. "So you... what? Gave yourself enough power to be hard to kill, but not so much that you're a danger to other people, but still keep the option to go to your Final Form in an emergency?"

He nodded. "Something like that, yeah. Because if I were carrying that much power around all the time, I'd want to use it. I already do, but at least this way I'm not out there doing horrible things to horrible people constantly. I don't want to become Solar."

Cloudburst nodded, then stood and found another log to place on the fire. "Lead us not into temptation," she said quietly. Solar was a famous villain, at least as far as the media was concerned; she was arguably an Anomalous Rights Advocate, but she was also a radical and had publicly incinerated several prominent politicians in at least three countries, and organized other Anomalies to act as terror cells. No, Harbinger wouldn't want to become that. He understood just how double-edged those kinds of actions were. 

PotM: Secrets Shared

Leandra pretended to be surprised, though she'd long since figured it out. The Moon and the Sun brought forth children, with each other and sometimes with other members of the court; occasionally, their attractions fell differently, and only a few heirs were introduced. Given their other responsibilities, that was considered an acceptable outcome to the matching, and various nieces, nephew, and cousins moved into play as potential replacements when the Sun and Moon ended their reign and ascended at the end of their thousand years. 

There were no such issues this cycle. Vishan was one of six borne of the Moon, with the Sun as their father; there were two others raised to the role, one from the Moon and her Lord Crescent and the other from the Sun and his Lord Marshall. He worked dutifully to learn the things he would need should he be chosen as either Sun or Moon here in the Neverworld, but so far as Leandra could tell he wasn't depending on any particular outcome. If two of his siblings were chosen to rule the next cycle, he would be utterly content to have earned his blade and serve as a knight or lord. 

Leandra knew she would never be more than a knight; her origins were too humble for anything else. She also knew that once she earned her blade, she would pledge herself to Vishan in whatever role he eventually rose to in the Realm. He was, and would always be, her first friend here.

So she smiled, and promised not to speak of it to anyone else, and clenched their friendship with secrecy and trust.

When her father and mother returned at the six-month anniversary of her arrival at Margull, they found her standing in the company of a knight in crimson and gold, with a young man in dull grey watching from behind and grinning madly as the knight handed out the judgement of the school: Leandra was worthy, and would continue her training until she earned her blade.  

More Dreams - the hidden beast at the renfaire

Slept hard last weekend, and woke up late. Dreams were... something to do with an eldritch monstrosity showing up at, more or less, a renfaire or at least a small community that existed in a sort of perpetual state of renfaire. I was a kid of about twelve -- not my actual self at that age, just this one kid -- and there was a lot of running into the woods and hiding in the brush or behind the piles of *stuff* that everybody had accumulated for their projects. 

There was also, I should note, a whole-ass renfaire going on at the time, with booths, and people in garb wandering around, and shops, and like several hundred people any one of whom could be the monstrosity.

When the monster finally found me, it was in the form a woman with a sort of fractal array of arms and legs, which was a singularly disturbing image. I woke up shortly after that. 

Ah, the Ritual...

Having come into a bit of money, we're now looking at moving to England. Found a lovely fixer-upper at a very affordable price, and it's probably not even haunted. So... look for big changes (and probably a serious disruption to my writing here) over the next six months or so as we start getting ready for this next stage in our lives. 

Where will we be living? Well, take a look!