New York 2/2006: Sins of the Present
The tone of her voice was off, something about it strained despite the calm demeanor. That was what got Roland's attention. The Councilor had called them all together, after allowing the assembled magi to roam about for a few hours. He had caught something in the air though and drew closer, looking for whatever was bothering him. His thought was seemingly confirmed as he saw Jack edging closer as well. Straw was like a lodestone for trouble, his uncanny knack for being in either the absolute wrong or right place at the right or wrong time was something the Moros had never been able to figure, even after almost a decade in the same cabal. Lucy walked up beside Roland, half paying attention through the bass beating rhythms of her headphones. He could feel her at the edge of his conscious mind, through the telepathic link she had forged between the cabal and K-Run.
The woman began to speak, and every nerve in Roland’s body tensed. His sight flared to life with Supernal activity as spells slammed home around her, something regarding Fate from what little he could gather. Then someone was beside her, looking like the vanished Hierarch of New York, but covered in magics of a different resonance than Roland would have suspected. The female magi twitched and spasmed as some unseen force struck her. With Deathsight Roland watched the soul torn free from her body without the use of a spell and everything fell into place for him. The past welled up from the Moros’ memory with a sharp stab of pain and loss. He knew immediately what he was facing.
Both aloud and through the mind web he called a warning to the others. Two simple words filled with his personal hate and pain.
Tremere Lich.
His sword was in his hand and bared without a moment’s hesitation. The bastard had somehow grabbed Jack by the throat, and was looking at him with the relish of a man about to eat a looked forward to dinner. Spells sounded throughout the room as various magi surrounded themselves in shields or moved to attack. Someone dropped a warding on the room which prevented escape or entry. Roland shouldered in with his sword on the heels of a devastating psychic attack by Lucy, only to pull back his weapon rather than leave Jack with one less ear. “Shit…” he swore and stepped to the side for a better angle. Havoc was wrecked with gravity around the left-hander, likely Gypsy’s doing, as crushing forces slapped him almost to one knee. Another unknown magi’s claws were turned aside by a shielding spell. In the press of the melee Roland felt rather than saw Abbadon use one of his greater Arts against the foe, just as a telepathic warning sounded in his head from K-Run.
We got one over here!
Even as the words faded he watched the space around the Tremere warp for a second as an image of another person bled over into it, then the double vision vanished as quickly as it appeared. The Mastigos’ spell was a particularly deadly one and Roland eyed the pattern of the Lich’s shields as they struggled under the weight of so many attacks. It was a layered system of protections woven from Fate and Prime, but there were gaps. Finding them would be the difficult part.
A fierce contest sprung up between Mr. Black and the Lich as they struggled with spell and counterspell. A wave of temporal magic passed over the Mysterium magus from somewhere in the back of the room, and Roland could feel a stutter as reality skipped a beat like a scratched record. The Stygian spell which would have unmade the body of the woman Councilor failed as Black’s Prime Rote shattered it pieces. The Tremere growled in anger when another spell settled into place around the room and the cordite stench of electrical discharge filled Roland’s nose as the security system overloaded.
Lucy’s second attack was turned aside by the mystical shield, but Roland watched as the ripples in their patterns began to snap back into place, leaving tiny fractures. The Moros’ sword swung downward a half-heartbeat later and through one of the cracks, clipping the Tremere in the chest and dropping him to the floor like a broken doll. Jack tumbled free of the grip, looking unruffled as usual. Other magi rushed in to restrain the stunned Hierarch, while a second commotion began over the appearance of one of the other councilors. Mr. Black shouted for them to take him as well.
In the confusion Roland looked down at his swordpoint, red-stained in the dim lighting, and then past it to the fallen form of the Councilor. An image of his mother, lying bloodied on the ground outside their family home even as a fire raged inside, filled his mind. The burning smell of the shorted electronics was in his nose, only to him it tasted like charring pine and oak in the evening air. Roland could feel the heat on his face while his father dragged him away from the ones who had com to kill them all. Before he could think about his actions the Adamantine Arrow had moved towards the unconscious Lich. He could faintly hear a voice calling in his mind, but all he could feel was pain and anger. Lucy was yelling for him, but he couldn't hear her. She pulled on his coat, but she didn't have his father strong arms to pull him back this time.
Calling on the same powers the treacherous Hierarch had tried to use on his Councilor, Roland reached down and lifted the Tremere’s body from the floor with one hand, gripping it by the face. From inside his palm blossomed the raw destructive power of Death, a hungry darkness which spread out to consume whatever flesh, bone, or other living matter it touched. Roland held the Hierarch suspended off the ground while the face collapsed into rotted meat and then dust, watched the light die in the man’s eyes.
Arrow!
The word was spoken with the High Speech, and to the ear of the Awakened the subtleties of its translation were varied. In Atlantean the word contained a blended meaning of soldier and protector, of duty and responsibility. Weighted so with mystic signifigance to a member of the Claws of the Dragon, the sound managed to cut through the red and black haze, to draw Roland back to the present. He saw what he was doing, and allowed the body to drop to the floor. Shock took hold of him. The Moros' face turned in the direction of the word and he saw Abbadon looking on with concern. For the Hierarch the warning was too late, the spell had already killed him.
The Moros stepped back and sheathed his sword which had been hanging numbly in his grip out of reflex. He had taken another life, something he strove not to do. A part of him still raged about revenge, about justice for his mother and father, and everyone else the Tremere had taken from him. But for now it was drowned by the guilt of his actions. Roland turned back to the other magi, who were crowded around the fallen councilor or holding his unwilling accomplices. It occurred to him that he could still help, and perhaps restore a life for the one he had taken.
Kneeling down he laid a hand on the Councilor’s still form. He could feel its emptiness. The Tremere knew his work well. The severing was near complete, part of the horrific gifts granted to the Liches. Gathering the few threads of sympathy from her body and her name that he could find Roland called out in Atlantean for her soul. His summons rang out into the Styigan realm and down towards the Underworld.
A very small amount of his grief fell away when he felt its return.
The woman began to speak, and every nerve in Roland’s body tensed. His sight flared to life with Supernal activity as spells slammed home around her, something regarding Fate from what little he could gather. Then someone was beside her, looking like the vanished Hierarch of New York, but covered in magics of a different resonance than Roland would have suspected. The female magi twitched and spasmed as some unseen force struck her. With Deathsight Roland watched the soul torn free from her body without the use of a spell and everything fell into place for him. The past welled up from the Moros’ memory with a sharp stab of pain and loss. He knew immediately what he was facing.
Both aloud and through the mind web he called a warning to the others. Two simple words filled with his personal hate and pain.
Tremere Lich.
His sword was in his hand and bared without a moment’s hesitation. The bastard had somehow grabbed Jack by the throat, and was looking at him with the relish of a man about to eat a looked forward to dinner. Spells sounded throughout the room as various magi surrounded themselves in shields or moved to attack. Someone dropped a warding on the room which prevented escape or entry. Roland shouldered in with his sword on the heels of a devastating psychic attack by Lucy, only to pull back his weapon rather than leave Jack with one less ear. “Shit…” he swore and stepped to the side for a better angle. Havoc was wrecked with gravity around the left-hander, likely Gypsy’s doing, as crushing forces slapped him almost to one knee. Another unknown magi’s claws were turned aside by a shielding spell. In the press of the melee Roland felt rather than saw Abbadon use one of his greater Arts against the foe, just as a telepathic warning sounded in his head from K-Run.
We got one over here!
Even as the words faded he watched the space around the Tremere warp for a second as an image of another person bled over into it, then the double vision vanished as quickly as it appeared. The Mastigos’ spell was a particularly deadly one and Roland eyed the pattern of the Lich’s shields as they struggled under the weight of so many attacks. It was a layered system of protections woven from Fate and Prime, but there were gaps. Finding them would be the difficult part.
A fierce contest sprung up between Mr. Black and the Lich as they struggled with spell and counterspell. A wave of temporal magic passed over the Mysterium magus from somewhere in the back of the room, and Roland could feel a stutter as reality skipped a beat like a scratched record. The Stygian spell which would have unmade the body of the woman Councilor failed as Black’s Prime Rote shattered it pieces. The Tremere growled in anger when another spell settled into place around the room and the cordite stench of electrical discharge filled Roland’s nose as the security system overloaded.
Lucy’s second attack was turned aside by the mystical shield, but Roland watched as the ripples in their patterns began to snap back into place, leaving tiny fractures. The Moros’ sword swung downward a half-heartbeat later and through one of the cracks, clipping the Tremere in the chest and dropping him to the floor like a broken doll. Jack tumbled free of the grip, looking unruffled as usual. Other magi rushed in to restrain the stunned Hierarch, while a second commotion began over the appearance of one of the other councilors. Mr. Black shouted for them to take him as well.
In the confusion Roland looked down at his swordpoint, red-stained in the dim lighting, and then past it to the fallen form of the Councilor. An image of his mother, lying bloodied on the ground outside their family home even as a fire raged inside, filled his mind. The burning smell of the shorted electronics was in his nose, only to him it tasted like charring pine and oak in the evening air. Roland could feel the heat on his face while his father dragged him away from the ones who had com to kill them all. Before he could think about his actions the Adamantine Arrow had moved towards the unconscious Lich. He could faintly hear a voice calling in his mind, but all he could feel was pain and anger. Lucy was yelling for him, but he couldn't hear her. She pulled on his coat, but she didn't have his father strong arms to pull him back this time.
Calling on the same powers the treacherous Hierarch had tried to use on his Councilor, Roland reached down and lifted the Tremere’s body from the floor with one hand, gripping it by the face. From inside his palm blossomed the raw destructive power of Death, a hungry darkness which spread out to consume whatever flesh, bone, or other living matter it touched. Roland held the Hierarch suspended off the ground while the face collapsed into rotted meat and then dust, watched the light die in the man’s eyes.
Arrow!
The word was spoken with the High Speech, and to the ear of the Awakened the subtleties of its translation were varied. In Atlantean the word contained a blended meaning of soldier and protector, of duty and responsibility. Weighted so with mystic signifigance to a member of the Claws of the Dragon, the sound managed to cut through the red and black haze, to draw Roland back to the present. He saw what he was doing, and allowed the body to drop to the floor. Shock took hold of him. The Moros' face turned in the direction of the word and he saw Abbadon looking on with concern. For the Hierarch the warning was too late, the spell had already killed him.
The Moros stepped back and sheathed his sword which had been hanging numbly in his grip out of reflex. He had taken another life, something he strove not to do. A part of him still raged about revenge, about justice for his mother and father, and everyone else the Tremere had taken from him. But for now it was drowned by the guilt of his actions. Roland turned back to the other magi, who were crowded around the fallen councilor or holding his unwilling accomplices. It occurred to him that he could still help, and perhaps restore a life for the one he had taken.
Kneeling down he laid a hand on the Councilor’s still form. He could feel its emptiness. The Tremere knew his work well. The severing was near complete, part of the horrific gifts granted to the Liches. Gathering the few threads of sympathy from her body and her name that he could find Roland called out in Atlantean for her soul. His summons rang out into the Styigan realm and down towards the Underworld.
A very small amount of his grief fell away when he felt its return.