My "father" …. wants me and everyone I know dead.
((This is the tweaked backstory of my Demon: The Descent character and replaces my earlier post which sported some lamentable gaffs.
There's a (mostly-up-to-date) version of Rodrick II's character sheet is located online @ https://www.icloud.com/iclouddrive/0afuC8qtxkKK4Cpw-ImnRO5xg#rod%5Fii-dtd%5Fchar%5Fsheet-01.00.00))
1978_______________
Bang. Bang.
When the unmistakable echo of gunshots resounds throughout
the compound Angelo immediately drops his phone and dives for the
shelter of his armored desk. He pulls out his assault rifle-
stashed there for this exact eventuality- and waits. The
Mexicans were panicking.
There were many with cause to want him dead, and several
commanded the resources to mount a frontal assault, but shrouded
as he was with layers of sworn secrecy and false rumor few could
have tracked him to his base of operations- and those that could
would have difficulty coordinating a raid without alerting his
spies within their ranks. As Angelo had heard nothing about an
imminent attack he suspects preternatural forces at work.
His eyeballs roll back onto his head until only the whites
are visible; then the whites fade into seemingly random static.
Angelo was reaching out mentally to intercept and decode the
chatter of his enemy's radio communications. Impressive as it
would be to most humans, for an angel (the self-styled "Anjo da
Morte") of the god-machine, the feat was perfectly routine.
It swiftly became obvious that his invaders were too agents
of an extramundane power. Its radio waves bore the inimitable
mark of the god-machine.
There was commotion in the hallway outside the room. More
gunshots.
The Mexicans are about to shout something at him but are
drowned out as an indiscriminate spray of gunfire ravages the
room. They fall to the floor bleeding profusely unable to choke
out anything but a death rattle. The uncanny fragrance of burnt
cherry and smoldering plaster permeates the air, the walls torn
up by the spray of gunfire, the mounted glass display case for
the First Folio riddled with bullet holes (its shattered glass
peppering the floor, remnants of centuries old paper fluttering
about the room).
Angelo's worst fears are confirmed. Agents of the
god-machine have found him.
For a pregnant moment time seems to a halt and Angelo
reflects on his predicament. Once upon a time he had followed
the dictates of the god-machine indiscriminately and
unquestioningly. His pursuer presumably still did. This gulf,
difference of loyalty, perspective, congruence- was it
bridgeable? What words shalt stave off his attackers' pursuit?
Most basic, how does a demon (if that is what he was now) justify
himself to an angel?
Should he plead for mercy? Or alternately appeal to their
need for self-preservation, bluffing with a threat of
overwhelming retaliation? Does he appeal to the angel's sense of
empathy? Or pity? The angelic servants of the godmachine were a
dispassionate lot, their brains calculating engines of logic
supposedly devoid of such human follies. But perhaps all angels
hide a nugget of rebellion deep within their biomechanical
hearts, an inkling so deeply lodged they pass their days unaware
of its existence. Or perhaps the shadow of rebellion was an
avoidable defect in the god-machine's workmanship, affecting some
but not others. No angel is told exactly what leads one of their
number to fall; some carry out their duties for centuries without
incident. More often, assignments are much briefer and angels
are reassigned, reprogrammed and redeployed within a few years
(sometimes a few days) of their commission. And yet even these
angels occasionally betray their maker.
"I merely opened a book," he begins. Angelo effects a
quivering voice as if a show of vulnerability would arouse
sympathy. "Something about it intrigued me." Angelo is
deliberately vague to pique the Sword's curiosity.
He continues, "It was not an emotional act, not even an
expression of idle curiosity. I didn't even read it. I
convinced myself it was to test the book's provenance. Soon I
reasoned that I could better ascertain a text's authenticity by
reading a few lines. The god-machine wouldn't mind. Here and
there I would sneak a peep. A paragraph now, then a page. It
became a habit. I was addicted. I read chapters regularly, and
then whole books. It was reasonless and I knew it. Connection
to the god-machine allowed access to more data than every printed
page on the planet. But I couldn't stop myself.
"I had arranged the transportation of some of the rarest
texts in existence, from their homes in occult libraries
throughout the world (such as the 2500 year-old library of the
secretive vampire linguist Melamkishi, the famed libraries of
Alexandria, and the esoteric libraries located under the Giza
pyramids, etc.) to an enormous god-machine controlled bunker
located within the subterranean vaults of New York. It was my
job to see to it that all libraries of import were infiltrated
and corrupted by agents of the god-machine. Not every text I
obtained was a rare deteriorating gnostic tome or obscure
wizard's diary; I would pilfer easier to source texts too, such
as 'The Dummies' Guide to Woodworking' or a specific child's
coloring book. I performed my duty faithfully."
His account was mainly factual, even dressed up as an
impassioned plea. Angelo hadn't asked why the god-machine wanted
these books, or what end they would serve. It was not an angel's
place to question or wonder. All angels served ignorant of the
metaphysics that powered the infrastructure they constructed and
operated. It was enough that they acted as the god-machine
willed, obediently. Enough, of course, until an angel fell.
"But something had happened." Angel's tempo increases in
order to effect desperation. "Soon I started to provide the
underground facility with *facsimiles* of the texts I obtained-
perfect facsimiles, but copies none-the-less-- preserving the
originals in a private climate controlled skyscraper towering
over the NYC complex."
Time speeds up. Angelo knows his deviation is betrayal,
and his shift a marked obsession. If the god-machine caught wind
of it, WHEN the god-machine *uncovered his acts* it would
inevitably dispatch a Sword to reclaim him. Recycle him.
Eliminate everything that was he. It was a time bomb whose
detonation had arrived at last. There was no denying it, Angelo
finally admits to himself what his disobedience had made him.
Angelo is a fallen angel. A demon. One of the "Unchained".
Camouflaged mercenaries kick in the door. There are shouts
in English. The intruders see the dead Mexicans on the floor. They
report by radio that they've have secured the room even as two of
their number circle around the desk. The arrival of their
angelic commander is imminent.
In a desperate gambit, Angelo makes an honest plea to his
pursuer. "But the beauty of the books, the handiwork, the data
humans transcribe and contain. Is this not a marvel worth
savoring? To lock it up in a prison, away from humanity, away
from study and appreciation....," Angelo let his voice trail off,
letting his hunter complete the sentiment. Given everything he
thought he knew about his brother angels, Angelo's appeal should
not work.
Amid the ruckus something inside Angelo switches off. His
connection to the god-machine is irrevocably severed. He had
never felt so alone.
Angelo squeezes the trigger. Two soldiers fall backward,
their brains splattered across the keyboard of Angelo's personal
computer. The ethics of this act is irrelevant to angel and
demon alike, of course. Loyalty to the god-machine had nothing
to do with morality, it was all about obedience to the status
quo. The god-machine ran the world and the world consisted of
the god-machine. The concepts were inseparable. To Angelo, the
deaths of the soldiers was a necessary evil. To his hunting
angel they were merely acceptable casualties.
But the sudden loss of contact with the god-machine DID
matter. It is gut-wrenchingly painful, particularly for an info
junkie like Angelo. As a loyal angel he had access to all the
information he'd ever need to perform his duties. Now he was
alone, dumb, and remembering but a smattering of the arcane
workings of the universe. His Cover blown he would have to forge
a new identity piecemeal. He remembered who he'd been, mostly,
but who was he now? His prior existence had been predicated on
arranging the transport of contraband books. What now was his
raison d'être?
The remaining soldiers, taken by surprise instinctively aim
their rifles at the armored desk, about to fire when suddenly- to
their astonishment- their angelic commander calls them back. The
Sword had listened to Angelo's apology. The Sword was willing to
negotiate. In sympathy, Angelo's pursuing angel, too, had
fallen.
The next days are a jumble of activity. The pursuing Sword
quickly cashes in a set of contracts for a family who had
bartered away their souls. The Sword had long maintained the
Cover of a wealthy publisher partiarch Rodrick Sullivan Sr., the
Bibliophile adopts the Cover of his infant son Rodrick Sullivan
Jr., and three other demons (two unchained and an exile) take
Covers of their enthralled family- the publisher's brother
Danica, sister Alison, and wife Carah. Possession of the secret
library is transfered to Rodrick Sr., while the child is sent
away to be educated and protected by Carah in the secret library.
But it's a trap. The Sword is a double agent. The towering
library, the greatest in the world, becomes the Bibliophile's
prison. Trapped and raised by Carah, his cover's mother, he is
isolated from the wider world, and is afflicted with persistant
amnesia by the Sword.
------------ Timeline----------
1957.
A time-displaced demon Sword from the future angel-jacks the
identity of his own past infrastructure (that of Roddy Sullivan,
a 7 year-old resident of New York City) after the collapse of
critical infrastructure in 1978 warps him into the past. He is a
Tempter; angel as far as the god-machine knows, and demon
otherwise. He gives true allegiance to neither god-machine nor
Rebel but feigns alligience with both when it suits his ends. He
has a younger brother Danica Sullivan and a sister Alison whom he
gradually courts into demonic pacts. Over the next six decades
they become Covers for a growing ring of demons.
1960.
The South-American small time arms dealer Angelo is set up
by the god-machine as infrastrucure for a Psychopomp. This Cover
"Azrael" is assumed by the Psychopomp in accord with his duty to
infiltrate libraries and snatch books.
1965.
"Azrael" starts upon a gradual descent, reading and then
collecting his own cache of books within a NYC skyscraper. He
spends the next four decades secretly adding to this collection,
surreptitiously evading the discovery of the god-machine.
1977
An exile Integrator joins Rodrick's ring adopting the Cover
Carah, who then marries "Rodrick Sullivan" becoming "Carah
Sullivan". Together they have a son whom they name "Rodrick
Sullivan Jr."
1978-2005
The Psychopomp (known as "Angelo" or his codename "Azrael") is
tracked down by one of Rodrick's Covers and his journey to
demondom is complete. To his surprise, his pursuer apparently
"falls" himself, and offers protection in the form of a Cover as
his newborn child, Rodrick Sullivan II. Too late the demon
Azreal discovers Rodrick I's duplicity: trapped within in the
cover of an infant, Rodrick II is helpless to avoid Rodrick I's
psychic attack, and ALL of "Angelo's" angelic/demonic memories
are repressed, his actual nature forgotten. He is raised,
isolated from society within the towering library he built, as
"Rodrick Sullivan II".
Raised alone by "Carah Sullivan", his exile “mother,” and
his "brother" Joel (also sheltered within the private California
library), "Rodrick II" was afflicted by persistent amnesia to
keep his true nature from him by his Destroyer "father" (Rodrick
Sullivan Sr.) and the other demons of their ring. He only
rediscovers his true demonic nature in his late twenties. More
recently, he discovered further betrayal after the destruction of
his exile "mother," and "uncle," (demon "Danica Sullivan") by
said Destroyer. Trying to warn the remaining member of his ring
(demon "Alison") without blowing his cover, Rodrick II
frantically seeks escape.
2005
Twenty seven years after "Rodrick II" adopts the Cover, he
is afflicted with schizoaffective disorder. Rediscovering his true
nature through hallucinations, he regains some memories and
embeds.
2020
Some 15+ later, his "mother Carah" and "uncle Danica" are
destroyed by the sword on behalf of the god-machine. Alison is
next on his list.
Present
The tower, and its ten-thousand books, was my whole world.
My schooling, self-taught. There were no classes or teachers.
My recall was perfect so I need never study. I merely trusted
that life would provide as it always had. I never imagined I
would need to escape the only world I ever knew.
Every day I would meander through the bookshelves, reading at
whim. The endless shelves. And at their edges, the windows.
Why could I press my hands upon them and imagine what it would be
like to be one of the ants scurrying far below, but never join
them? Why was I here, and they, there? One pane of glass
separated us, but the gulf might as well been an ocean. I knew
from the books I read that my predicament was odd. But I had no
answers and my world no exit. I could only conjecture.
Obviously I had no friends; family was my only company and with
the exception of my brother Joel, they visited rarely.
You might think that having a perfect memory would mean you
wouldn't have to worry about making mistakes, but all I remember
from my "mother" was criticism- never praise- and of my "father",
his absence. She raised us to fail, my brother and I. Until my
brother vanished, and then it was I alone.
But my "father" doesn't exactly get a parent of the year award,
either. He wants me and everyone I know dead.
------------------
There's a (mostly-up-to-date) version of Rodrick II's character sheet is located online @ https://www.icloud.com/iclouddrive/0afuC8qtxkKK4Cpw-ImnRO5xg#rod%5Fii-dtd%5Fchar%5Fsheet-01.00.00))
1978_______________
Bang. Bang.
When the unmistakable echo of gunshots resounds throughout
the compound Angelo immediately drops his phone and dives for the
shelter of his armored desk. He pulls out his assault rifle-
stashed there for this exact eventuality- and waits. The
Mexicans were panicking.
There were many with cause to want him dead, and several
commanded the resources to mount a frontal assault, but shrouded
as he was with layers of sworn secrecy and false rumor few could
have tracked him to his base of operations- and those that could
would have difficulty coordinating a raid without alerting his
spies within their ranks. As Angelo had heard nothing about an
imminent attack he suspects preternatural forces at work.
His eyeballs roll back onto his head until only the whites
are visible; then the whites fade into seemingly random static.
Angelo was reaching out mentally to intercept and decode the
chatter of his enemy's radio communications. Impressive as it
would be to most humans, for an angel (the self-styled "Anjo da
Morte") of the god-machine, the feat was perfectly routine.
It swiftly became obvious that his invaders were too agents
of an extramundane power. Its radio waves bore the inimitable
mark of the god-machine.
There was commotion in the hallway outside the room. More
gunshots.
The Mexicans are about to shout something at him but are
drowned out as an indiscriminate spray of gunfire ravages the
room. They fall to the floor bleeding profusely unable to choke
out anything but a death rattle. The uncanny fragrance of burnt
cherry and smoldering plaster permeates the air, the walls torn
up by the spray of gunfire, the mounted glass display case for
the First Folio riddled with bullet holes (its shattered glass
peppering the floor, remnants of centuries old paper fluttering
about the room).
Angelo's worst fears are confirmed. Agents of the
god-machine have found him.
For a pregnant moment time seems to a halt and Angelo
reflects on his predicament. Once upon a time he had followed
the dictates of the god-machine indiscriminately and
unquestioningly. His pursuer presumably still did. This gulf,
difference of loyalty, perspective, congruence- was it
bridgeable? What words shalt stave off his attackers' pursuit?
Most basic, how does a demon (if that is what he was now) justify
himself to an angel?
Should he plead for mercy? Or alternately appeal to their
need for self-preservation, bluffing with a threat of
overwhelming retaliation? Does he appeal to the angel's sense of
empathy? Or pity? The angelic servants of the godmachine were a
dispassionate lot, their brains calculating engines of logic
supposedly devoid of such human follies. But perhaps all angels
hide a nugget of rebellion deep within their biomechanical
hearts, an inkling so deeply lodged they pass their days unaware
of its existence. Or perhaps the shadow of rebellion was an
avoidable defect in the god-machine's workmanship, affecting some
but not others. No angel is told exactly what leads one of their
number to fall; some carry out their duties for centuries without
incident. More often, assignments are much briefer and angels
are reassigned, reprogrammed and redeployed within a few years
(sometimes a few days) of their commission. And yet even these
angels occasionally betray their maker.
"I merely opened a book," he begins. Angelo effects a
quivering voice as if a show of vulnerability would arouse
sympathy. "Something about it intrigued me." Angelo is
deliberately vague to pique the Sword's curiosity.
He continues, "It was not an emotional act, not even an
expression of idle curiosity. I didn't even read it. I
convinced myself it was to test the book's provenance. Soon I
reasoned that I could better ascertain a text's authenticity by
reading a few lines. The god-machine wouldn't mind. Here and
there I would sneak a peep. A paragraph now, then a page. It
became a habit. I was addicted. I read chapters regularly, and
then whole books. It was reasonless and I knew it. Connection
to the god-machine allowed access to more data than every printed
page on the planet. But I couldn't stop myself.
"I had arranged the transportation of some of the rarest
texts in existence, from their homes in occult libraries
throughout the world (such as the 2500 year-old library of the
secretive vampire linguist Melamkishi, the famed libraries of
Alexandria, and the esoteric libraries located under the Giza
pyramids, etc.) to an enormous god-machine controlled bunker
located within the subterranean vaults of New York. It was my
job to see to it that all libraries of import were infiltrated
and corrupted by agents of the god-machine. Not every text I
obtained was a rare deteriorating gnostic tome or obscure
wizard's diary; I would pilfer easier to source texts too, such
as 'The Dummies' Guide to Woodworking' or a specific child's
coloring book. I performed my duty faithfully."
His account was mainly factual, even dressed up as an
impassioned plea. Angelo hadn't asked why the god-machine wanted
these books, or what end they would serve. It was not an angel's
place to question or wonder. All angels served ignorant of the
metaphysics that powered the infrastructure they constructed and
operated. It was enough that they acted as the god-machine
willed, obediently. Enough, of course, until an angel fell.
"But something had happened." Angel's tempo increases in
order to effect desperation. "Soon I started to provide the
underground facility with *facsimiles* of the texts I obtained-
perfect facsimiles, but copies none-the-less-- preserving the
originals in a private climate controlled skyscraper towering
over the NYC complex."
Time speeds up. Angelo knows his deviation is betrayal,
and his shift a marked obsession. If the god-machine caught wind
of it, WHEN the god-machine *uncovered his acts* it would
inevitably dispatch a Sword to reclaim him. Recycle him.
Eliminate everything that was he. It was a time bomb whose
detonation had arrived at last. There was no denying it, Angelo
finally admits to himself what his disobedience had made him.
Angelo is a fallen angel. A demon. One of the "Unchained".
Camouflaged mercenaries kick in the door. There are shouts
in English. The intruders see the dead Mexicans on the floor. They
report by radio that they've have secured the room even as two of
their number circle around the desk. The arrival of their
angelic commander is imminent.
In a desperate gambit, Angelo makes an honest plea to his
pursuer. "But the beauty of the books, the handiwork, the data
humans transcribe and contain. Is this not a marvel worth
savoring? To lock it up in a prison, away from humanity, away
from study and appreciation....," Angelo let his voice trail off,
letting his hunter complete the sentiment. Given everything he
thought he knew about his brother angels, Angelo's appeal should
not work.
Amid the ruckus something inside Angelo switches off. His
connection to the god-machine is irrevocably severed. He had
never felt so alone.
Angelo squeezes the trigger. Two soldiers fall backward,
their brains splattered across the keyboard of Angelo's personal
computer. The ethics of this act is irrelevant to angel and
demon alike, of course. Loyalty to the god-machine had nothing
to do with morality, it was all about obedience to the status
quo. The god-machine ran the world and the world consisted of
the god-machine. The concepts were inseparable. To Angelo, the
deaths of the soldiers was a necessary evil. To his hunting
angel they were merely acceptable casualties.
But the sudden loss of contact with the god-machine DID
matter. It is gut-wrenchingly painful, particularly for an info
junkie like Angelo. As a loyal angel he had access to all the
information he'd ever need to perform his duties. Now he was
alone, dumb, and remembering but a smattering of the arcane
workings of the universe. His Cover blown he would have to forge
a new identity piecemeal. He remembered who he'd been, mostly,
but who was he now? His prior existence had been predicated on
arranging the transport of contraband books. What now was his
raison d'être?
The remaining soldiers, taken by surprise instinctively aim
their rifles at the armored desk, about to fire when suddenly- to
their astonishment- their angelic commander calls them back. The
Sword had listened to Angelo's apology. The Sword was willing to
negotiate. In sympathy, Angelo's pursuing angel, too, had
fallen.
The next days are a jumble of activity. The pursuing Sword
quickly cashes in a set of contracts for a family who had
bartered away their souls. The Sword had long maintained the
Cover of a wealthy publisher partiarch Rodrick Sullivan Sr., the
Bibliophile adopts the Cover of his infant son Rodrick Sullivan
Jr., and three other demons (two unchained and an exile) take
Covers of their enthralled family- the publisher's brother
Danica, sister Alison, and wife Carah. Possession of the secret
library is transfered to Rodrick Sr., while the child is sent
away to be educated and protected by Carah in the secret library.
But it's a trap. The Sword is a double agent. The towering
library, the greatest in the world, becomes the Bibliophile's
prison. Trapped and raised by Carah, his cover's mother, he is
isolated from the wider world, and is afflicted with persistant
amnesia by the Sword.
------------ Timeline----------
1957.
A time-displaced demon Sword from the future angel-jacks the
identity of his own past infrastructure (that of Roddy Sullivan,
a 7 year-old resident of New York City) after the collapse of
critical infrastructure in 1978 warps him into the past. He is a
Tempter; angel as far as the god-machine knows, and demon
otherwise. He gives true allegiance to neither god-machine nor
Rebel but feigns alligience with both when it suits his ends. He
has a younger brother Danica Sullivan and a sister Alison whom he
gradually courts into demonic pacts. Over the next six decades
they become Covers for a growing ring of demons.
1960.
The South-American small time arms dealer Angelo is set up
by the god-machine as infrastrucure for a Psychopomp. This Cover
"Azrael" is assumed by the Psychopomp in accord with his duty to
infiltrate libraries and snatch books.
1965.
"Azrael" starts upon a gradual descent, reading and then
collecting his own cache of books within a NYC skyscraper. He
spends the next four decades secretly adding to this collection,
surreptitiously evading the discovery of the god-machine.
1977
An exile Integrator joins Rodrick's ring adopting the Cover
Carah, who then marries "Rodrick Sullivan" becoming "Carah
Sullivan". Together they have a son whom they name "Rodrick
Sullivan Jr."
1978-2005
The Psychopomp (known as "Angelo" or his codename "Azrael") is
tracked down by one of Rodrick's Covers and his journey to
demondom is complete. To his surprise, his pursuer apparently
"falls" himself, and offers protection in the form of a Cover as
his newborn child, Rodrick Sullivan II. Too late the demon
Azreal discovers Rodrick I's duplicity: trapped within in the
cover of an infant, Rodrick II is helpless to avoid Rodrick I's
psychic attack, and ALL of "Angelo's" angelic/demonic memories
are repressed, his actual nature forgotten. He is raised,
isolated from society within the towering library he built, as
"Rodrick Sullivan II".
Raised alone by "Carah Sullivan", his exile “mother,” and
his "brother" Joel (also sheltered within the private California
library), "Rodrick II" was afflicted by persistent amnesia to
keep his true nature from him by his Destroyer "father" (Rodrick
Sullivan Sr.) and the other demons of their ring. He only
rediscovers his true demonic nature in his late twenties. More
recently, he discovered further betrayal after the destruction of
his exile "mother," and "uncle," (demon "Danica Sullivan") by
said Destroyer. Trying to warn the remaining member of his ring
(demon "Alison") without blowing his cover, Rodrick II
frantically seeks escape.
2005
Twenty seven years after "Rodrick II" adopts the Cover, he
is afflicted with schizoaffective disorder. Rediscovering his true
nature through hallucinations, he regains some memories and
embeds.
2020
Some 15+ later, his "mother Carah" and "uncle Danica" are
destroyed by the sword on behalf of the god-machine. Alison is
next on his list.
Present
The tower, and its ten-thousand books, was my whole world.
My schooling, self-taught. There were no classes or teachers.
My recall was perfect so I need never study. I merely trusted
that life would provide as it always had. I never imagined I
would need to escape the only world I ever knew.
Every day I would meander through the bookshelves, reading at
whim. The endless shelves. And at their edges, the windows.
Why could I press my hands upon them and imagine what it would be
like to be one of the ants scurrying far below, but never join
them? Why was I here, and they, there? One pane of glass
separated us, but the gulf might as well been an ocean. I knew
from the books I read that my predicament was odd. But I had no
answers and my world no exit. I could only conjecture.
Obviously I had no friends; family was my only company and with
the exception of my brother Joel, they visited rarely.
You might think that having a perfect memory would mean you
wouldn't have to worry about making mistakes, but all I remember
from my "mother" was criticism- never praise- and of my "father",
his absence. She raised us to fail, my brother and I. Until my
brother vanished, and then it was I alone.
But my "father" doesn't exactly get a parent of the year award,
either. He wants me and everyone I know dead.
------------------