Marchen - The Island of Domania
That afternoon found Monseiur Gaultiers house to be in a frenzy of activity.
Tailors descended from a large town to the North and each of the ernstwhile companions were measured and customs commenced.
In reality they were to have two apiece, a formal suit for the following evenings soiree and then a grand custom for the Rose Court Ball.
Otto or Colonel Flashmans outfit in reality was the simpliest drawn from standard military convention, Lord Reynolds was of course to err upon the more conservative with a dash of new romantic, Raz however was another story entirely.
The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
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arcanus
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
The Island of Domania - Marchen
The hour was late, the suns apex high enough to turn the moon from its usual bluish white to gold, a gold that it infused within its moonbeams and spun through the Domanian Manor house.
Montean Gaultier trudged wearily through its halls finally toward his bedchamber, with a sigh of relief he stepped into his chambers and smiled upon seeing his mistress.
Instead of falling into her arms he needed to talk, he was stressed, the visitors were exhausting between the temperamental dandy and his infernal if not enchanting singing or the well spoken one from the Green Archipelago to the big one who looked like a criminal who had drained his library and bombarded his staff with questions.
He found a want to spit, to have sunk so low as to have to consort with his great nations greatest enemy, they didn’t even have a King for The Architects sake.
Still the disgraced had little in the way of choosing their allies and by all accounts this motley trio, their monstrous hound and brazen consort had performed miracles ahead of reaching The Port of Pillars.
Such was what he needed to regain him his place back at home in the court, he just hoped the Jonome was correct, the thing he complained to his mistress was his sense of unease, of being watched since they’d arrived.
One of the final servants excused themselves after having delivered his nightcap, the valet bowing and closing the door behind him.
As he did he turned and looked at the dark shadows of the hallway, shivering he hurried upon his way back to the servants quarters.
From those self same shadows a figure smiled.
The hour was late, the suns apex high enough to turn the moon from its usual bluish white to gold, a gold that it infused within its moonbeams and spun through the Domanian Manor house.
Montean Gaultier trudged wearily through its halls finally toward his bedchamber, with a sigh of relief he stepped into his chambers and smiled upon seeing his mistress.
Instead of falling into her arms he needed to talk, he was stressed, the visitors were exhausting between the temperamental dandy and his infernal if not enchanting singing or the well spoken one from the Green Archipelago to the big one who looked like a criminal who had drained his library and bombarded his staff with questions.
He found a want to spit, to have sunk so low as to have to consort with his great nations greatest enemy, they didn’t even have a King for The Architects sake.
Still the disgraced had little in the way of choosing their allies and by all accounts this motley trio, their monstrous hound and brazen consort had performed miracles ahead of reaching The Port of Pillars.
Such was what he needed to regain him his place back at home in the court, he just hoped the Jonome was correct, the thing he complained to his mistress was his sense of unease, of being watched since they’d arrived.
One of the final servants excused themselves after having delivered his nightcap, the valet bowing and closing the door behind him.
As he did he turned and looked at the dark shadows of the hallway, shivering he hurried upon his way back to the servants quarters.
From those self same shadows a figure smiled.
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
Isa Dorador - Marchen
Something troubled Otto Von Weirdigan, spectral analysis revealed a miasma enshrouding the mountain, his Pursuant Vision still granted him the sight of ghostly apparitions roaming the hillside like lost birds.
The trouble was that clearly this wasn’t a natural phenomena, indeed despite the strangeness of this World he hadn’t encountered it before.
What troubled him was that this seemed a new occurrence to the mountain and if that was the case what had caused it!
Something was nagging at him, something he was missing.
***
Lord Roborough had often wondered whether Raz could truly hear all of the things he claimed, however over the past few hours he was beginning to revaluate this notion.
Upon the edge of his hearing he was the tinkling of small bells, at first he had treated them with suspicion however now his curiosity was piqued.
So he had began to follow them, for as he listened he began to discern a pattern, a variation in tone almost like playing a game of hot or cold.
Having followed the hot tinkles for some hours, surreptitiously he arrived at a point below the main lawn, one that came to a grassy path leading down the Cliffside.
As he began to cautiously make his way down the path, he flattened as a great clanging noise erupted around the hillside, mixed within it was shouting in a strange tongue, he remained hidden until it abated.
***
R’azeal Sephirol had also been plagued by noises but not those of bells, other things as if something stomped around, something big, yet when he looked or indeed listened he saw and heard nothing.
Raz cast a baleful gaze out over the grounds, something was amiss!
Something troubled Otto Von Weirdigan, spectral analysis revealed a miasma enshrouding the mountain, his Pursuant Vision still granted him the sight of ghostly apparitions roaming the hillside like lost birds.
The trouble was that clearly this wasn’t a natural phenomena, indeed despite the strangeness of this World he hadn’t encountered it before.
What troubled him was that this seemed a new occurrence to the mountain and if that was the case what had caused it!
Something was nagging at him, something he was missing.
***
Lord Roborough had often wondered whether Raz could truly hear all of the things he claimed, however over the past few hours he was beginning to revaluate this notion.
Upon the edge of his hearing he was the tinkling of small bells, at first he had treated them with suspicion however now his curiosity was piqued.
So he had began to follow them, for as he listened he began to discern a pattern, a variation in tone almost like playing a game of hot or cold.
Having followed the hot tinkles for some hours, surreptitiously he arrived at a point below the main lawn, one that came to a grassy path leading down the Cliffside.
As he began to cautiously make his way down the path, he flattened as a great clanging noise erupted around the hillside, mixed within it was shouting in a strange tongue, he remained hidden until it abated.
***
R’azeal Sephirol had also been plagued by noises but not those of bells, other things as if something stomped around, something big, yet when he looked or indeed listened he saw and heard nothing.
Raz cast a baleful gaze out over the grounds, something was amiss!
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
Isa Dorador - Marchen
R’azeal turned at the knock upon his door, a servant stepped in after an appropriate pause, bowed and delivered a message.
“Her Ladyship requests the pleasure of your Company Master Sephirol”
A broad grin crossed Raz’s face “Well its about time” he chirped, “I shall be within, I mean with her Ladyship within the hour, I must ensure I am properly attired”
“Of course sir” the servant bowed and respectfully retreated
As promised within the hour Raz had made his way up from the lower castle and towards the keep, the Ladies sentries allowing him entry to the tower, Raz bowed extravagantly and rather hurriedly skipped up the stairway to the Ladies chambers above.
***
Otto had taken to clearing his problem by walking in the grounds, as he did so he ran various formula through his cerebral matrix.
Finally something seemed to click, his neural pathways fired and a new matrix opened and formed, his Headband of Pursuance flared, his vision shifting into a different bluish hue of colour.
His eyes opened wide as across the grounds he spied large even gigantic figures seemingly patrolling the grounds, he turned as the impact found him, an immense club slamming into his torso and sending him flying.
***
The loud clanging having finished, Reynolds took a breath, checked his surroundings and pressed on, the feeling of being watched have abated.
His path shortly led him to a somewhat hidden cave entrance, his attention drawn almost immediately to a small burlap pouch hung from exposed roots from the caves ceiling.
Tentatively he took the pouch down and again equally tentatively opened it, he frowned as within it was a smooth stone or pebble with a hole worn through the centre, accompanying it were three pearlescent marbles each appearing to contain a small pulse of light.
R’azeal turned at the knock upon his door, a servant stepped in after an appropriate pause, bowed and delivered a message.
“Her Ladyship requests the pleasure of your Company Master Sephirol”
A broad grin crossed Raz’s face “Well its about time” he chirped, “I shall be within, I mean with her Ladyship within the hour, I must ensure I am properly attired”
“Of course sir” the servant bowed and respectfully retreated
As promised within the hour Raz had made his way up from the lower castle and towards the keep, the Ladies sentries allowing him entry to the tower, Raz bowed extravagantly and rather hurriedly skipped up the stairway to the Ladies chambers above.
***
Otto had taken to clearing his problem by walking in the grounds, as he did so he ran various formula through his cerebral matrix.
Finally something seemed to click, his neural pathways fired and a new matrix opened and formed, his Headband of Pursuance flared, his vision shifting into a different bluish hue of colour.
His eyes opened wide as across the grounds he spied large even gigantic figures seemingly patrolling the grounds, he turned as the impact found him, an immense club slamming into his torso and sending him flying.
***
The loud clanging having finished, Reynolds took a breath, checked his surroundings and pressed on, the feeling of being watched have abated.
His path shortly led him to a somewhat hidden cave entrance, his attention drawn almost immediately to a small burlap pouch hung from exposed roots from the caves ceiling.
Tentatively he took the pouch down and again equally tentatively opened it, he frowned as within it was a smooth stone or pebble with a hole worn through the centre, accompanying it were three pearlescent marbles each appearing to contain a small pulse of light.
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
Etheria I 1891 - Reynolds Lands - Epping Forest
Cool October sunlight crept across the drawing room, accentuating the Regency furniture and William Morris wallpaper, the fireplace was adorned with numerous mirrors surrounding the main piece, with another at a slant above it.
Polishing the silverware was in Samuel Brocklesby’s mind one of the simplest pleasures, akin to achieving that high shine upon your shoes and something never to be underestimated.
Looking around the Epping Cottages drawing room he smiled, noting the difference between this room and the ones back home, despite the Neo-Victorian era at home contemporary aspects had crept in, such as not crowding the walls with mirrors and pictures which in keeping with the period was the case here.
He found that despite this not being his native Worldline he liked Epping, it had a degree of the grandiose but fundamentally was a simple, happy place one that welcomed you.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted James, his would be nephew, in reality James was his alternate Great Grandfather, but the fact that Sam was clearly older had meant he was an uncle from Devon.
James seemed happier that his Lordship had returned, again Sam chuckled inwardly, if he only knew the half of it, looking up he watched as an Ether Flyer lifted into the heavens.
He didn’t really understand how they worked, but he did know that takeoff was the most difficult part, the closer to the ground you got the thinner the Ether for the ships drive to catch.
The ships hulls were constructed from Liftwood to provide buoyancy, but never the less the ship lumbered into the sky escorted by ornithopter barges to keep her from being blown off course.
He frowned as Raz’s all too modern song broke loose from its masters voice and the shower that had previously drowned it out, vexingly Miss Garrett joined in, he had to admit she was better than he’d probably have given her credit for but upon reaching a high note it set the glassware trembling.
His attention called back to duty, he watched as James quickly recognised the tones of his Lordship and Otto Von Weirdigan chatting as they made their way down to breakfast.
His nephew hurried through careful not to meet their gazes as such would be untoward from a servant, to ensure that all was in order for breakfast.
A sense of relief had collectively washed over them upon arrival, a place of relative safety, although poor master Medzt and his abductors were also presumably here, so their rest would be very short lived.
Cool October sunlight crept across the drawing room, accentuating the Regency furniture and William Morris wallpaper, the fireplace was adorned with numerous mirrors surrounding the main piece, with another at a slant above it.
Polishing the silverware was in Samuel Brocklesby’s mind one of the simplest pleasures, akin to achieving that high shine upon your shoes and something never to be underestimated.
Looking around the Epping Cottages drawing room he smiled, noting the difference between this room and the ones back home, despite the Neo-Victorian era at home contemporary aspects had crept in, such as not crowding the walls with mirrors and pictures which in keeping with the period was the case here.
He found that despite this not being his native Worldline he liked Epping, it had a degree of the grandiose but fundamentally was a simple, happy place one that welcomed you.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted James, his would be nephew, in reality James was his alternate Great Grandfather, but the fact that Sam was clearly older had meant he was an uncle from Devon.
James seemed happier that his Lordship had returned, again Sam chuckled inwardly, if he only knew the half of it, looking up he watched as an Ether Flyer lifted into the heavens.
He didn’t really understand how they worked, but he did know that takeoff was the most difficult part, the closer to the ground you got the thinner the Ether for the ships drive to catch.
The ships hulls were constructed from Liftwood to provide buoyancy, but never the less the ship lumbered into the sky escorted by ornithopter barges to keep her from being blown off course.
He frowned as Raz’s all too modern song broke loose from its masters voice and the shower that had previously drowned it out, vexingly Miss Garrett joined in, he had to admit she was better than he’d probably have given her credit for but upon reaching a high note it set the glassware trembling.
His attention called back to duty, he watched as James quickly recognised the tones of his Lordship and Otto Von Weirdigan chatting as they made their way down to breakfast.
His nephew hurried through careful not to meet their gazes as such would be untoward from a servant, to ensure that all was in order for breakfast.
A sense of relief had collectively washed over them upon arrival, a place of relative safety, although poor master Medzt and his abductors were also presumably here, so their rest would be very short lived.
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
Etheria I 1891 - St Giles Rookery - London Docklands
The streets were filled with hooligans, a washer woman screeched at him and scrambled towards him a rolling pin aloft, a stout swing of his truncheon knocked her to the floor.
The Clockwork officers began scattering the mob, steel fists cracking heads, the newer models carrying a pressured water tank and hose, blasting the miscreants to the floor.
The Rookery was a seething den of human filth normally but of late, it had become a warzone The Mims and Hectors were constantly scrapping, now one of the gangs had brought in some outside toughs.
Gilsby staggered as a chunk of red brick took his Custodian helmet off his head, the peelers ducked as hooligans on the rooftops started to pelt them with rubble, Constabulary ornithopters swooped, dropping smoke bombs.
The fight surged too and through, until the mob finally scattered, in all twenty constables had been injured, the price of controlling the Rookery was too high.
An eerie silence descended throughout the maze of alleys, the stench of human waste was joined with the heavy coppery scent of blood, as his heartbeat settled he was struck by another sound that of coitus, looking down a side lane barely wide enough to move side on he saw a trollop and her tom rutting like pigs.
Gilsby could only shake his head, his attention was snapped back to the present
“SERGEANT, SERGEANT” shouted an officer, accompanied by his closest officers he made his way through the winding maze coming into a small square, where he immediately spotted the prone form of an officer.
“Its Webbly Sarge”
It didn’t require medical training for Gilsby to see that the Constable had savagely passed from this world, he felt his gorge rise, several of his men were retching, Webbly had been cut down by repeated blows from a hatchet or cleaver.
Stones started to once again rain down upon them, he snarled looking at the Mims started to regroup “BREAK THEIR HEADS” he bellowed, the automatons charged down the alleys to renewed screams.
“Sergeant” he turned to look over at the officer who was stooped over yet another corpse, Gilsby gasped as he spotted this one “God in heaven, what is it?” he asked
None of the Constables could answer him.
“CHARGE” Sergeant Gilsby roared in almost resignation, the automatons lumbered forwards side by side through the narrow alleys, the entire Rookery was a maze of thin alleyways winding in upon themselves.Current Affairs: The maze of Victorian politics and mad science spreads throughout the solar system in this steam-punk world.
Divergence Point: 1824; Lord Byron survives to become King Giorghios I of Greece and back Babbage’s experiments.
The streets were filled with hooligans, a washer woman screeched at him and scrambled towards him a rolling pin aloft, a stout swing of his truncheon knocked her to the floor.
The Clockwork officers began scattering the mob, steel fists cracking heads, the newer models carrying a pressured water tank and hose, blasting the miscreants to the floor.
The Rookery was a seething den of human filth normally but of late, it had become a warzone The Mims and Hectors were constantly scrapping, now one of the gangs had brought in some outside toughs.
Gilsby staggered as a chunk of red brick took his Custodian helmet off his head, the peelers ducked as hooligans on the rooftops started to pelt them with rubble, Constabulary ornithopters swooped, dropping smoke bombs.
The fight surged too and through, until the mob finally scattered, in all twenty constables had been injured, the price of controlling the Rookery was too high.
An eerie silence descended throughout the maze of alleys, the stench of human waste was joined with the heavy coppery scent of blood, as his heartbeat settled he was struck by another sound that of coitus, looking down a side lane barely wide enough to move side on he saw a trollop and her tom rutting like pigs.
Gilsby could only shake his head, his attention was snapped back to the present
“SERGEANT, SERGEANT” shouted an officer, accompanied by his closest officers he made his way through the winding maze coming into a small square, where he immediately spotted the prone form of an officer.
“Its Webbly Sarge”
It didn’t require medical training for Gilsby to see that the Constable had savagely passed from this world, he felt his gorge rise, several of his men were retching, Webbly had been cut down by repeated blows from a hatchet or cleaver.
Stones started to once again rain down upon them, he snarled looking at the Mims started to regroup “BREAK THEIR HEADS” he bellowed, the automatons charged down the alleys to renewed screams.
“Sergeant” he turned to look over at the officer who was stooped over yet another corpse, Gilsby gasped as he spotted this one “God in heaven, what is it?” he asked
None of the Constables could answer him.
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Raz
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Re: The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusil
Etheria I 1891 - Reynolds Lands - Epping Forest
It was the first day upon this new, yet old world. Raz and Annette both felt rested, and it was during this quiet time that Raz could notice the latent talent within Annette. A note of power that until recently had remained dorment and unheard. But Raz heard it now, and could see all manner of possibilities.
One of the most potent images of the last couple of weeks that remained in Raz's mind was the image of the supposed friend Gaultier laid on top of Annette, trying his best to have his wicked way. Annette, for all her bravado, was helpless, and would soon have weakened under the weight of the lardy ponce. Raz had to start her training, if she were to accompany them, as it seems, she would need to be able to fight her own corner.
Annette was skeptical at first, but as they seemed to have an empty schedule for the day she relented and sat down with Raz in a quiet room in the house.
"Raz, if this is another pick up line I won't be happy" she sighed at him.
The elf ignored the quip and say down in a chair across from Annette. "OK, let's go over the basics. You have a talent, whether you believe it or not, you have power. I can hear it, and soon you will too."
"This sounds like-" she started to say but Raz interrupted.
"Quiet, this is important" he barked.
Oddly, Annette complied. There was an authoratative sound to Raz's voice which she hadn't heard before. It was a surprise. She stopped talking.
"Like I said. The basics. All magic is essentially the same. People can use energy to manipulate their surroundings. That's what magic is. Manipulating energy. Traditional mage are able to control naturally occuring magical energy; mana. They channel it, control it, and make it do what they want. When a mage blasts a fireball across a room they are channeling mana and making it ignite the air. Psychics use the energy of their mind. They generate so much energy that it changes the world around them. They can lift things, crush things, even change what people think with the energy from their mind." He paused to let it all sink in.
"Right" she said, as if being taught how to suck eggs.
"We are different." Raz continued, "We don't need mana, or energy from our minds, we just need sound. We can shape the energy of sound and use it to change the world around us..." he paused dramatically.
"Hmm, well, you can for certain" said Annette, "But I'm pretty sure I can't"
"That's where you're wrong, you can. You're doing it right now"
Annette looked puzzled. "Raz, I'm just talking to you, that's all"
"Exactly. You're conveying your thoughts to me by sound!"
Annette didn't look impressed, but Raz pressed on. "When you talk you pass air from your lungs across your vocal chords, making a noise. Creating sonic energy. The energy passes through the air. It wasn't there before. You create it."
"Well... if you look at the physics of speech, technically yes. But everyone can talk, does that mean everyone is... magical?"
"To an extent yes, but so weak it makes no difference. You've no doubt heard of opera singers who can shatter a crystal glass with their voice?"
"Yes, they hit a high pitch which cracks the crystal"
"Yes." agrees Raz. "They have slightly more power than most. They create a pure note, which is higher in energy, and focus it on the crystal, which is very brittle anyway. Simple. So on to the first lesson!" Raz smiles.
Raz stands and walks behing Annette's chair. Many years ago, on a world far away, Raz's uncle started his training in the very same way. His words now coming from Raz's mouth.
"Imagine there is a sun, hovering an inch in front of your mouth. Your words are the rays of the sun, when you talk the rays shine in all directions, filling the room. That is how I can hear you, even when I'm behind you. This sun, and it's rays, are your vocal-light. You must picture this in your mind, as controlling your vocal-light is the key. Anyone can talk, or shout, or scream, but only the talented can focus the energy of that sound. You will learn how to focus the energy of your vocal-light, like a lens can focus the rays of the sun."
Annette stayed quiet. She didn't beleive that she would actually be able to do anything, but it did make a little sense. And it was nice to see the usually flamboyant elf in a different mood. She noted that the showman, the flirt, the ego had gone. In their place was the teacher. In recent weeks it had dawned on her why Raz was like he was. He was constantly horny, full of ego and confidence, immature and head strong. He was, in human terms, a teenager. A walking bag of hormones. It didn't matter that Raz was technically older than Annette's mother, maybe even grandmother. In elf terms he was a teenage kid, giddy with power.
"You must learn to focus your vocal-light, Annette. Not as hard as it sounds. I want you to say something."
"Say what, for example oh learned one?"
"That'll do. I could hear every word, even behind you. Your light is shining, filling the whole room. I want you to concentrate, and they and focus your vocal-light to just shine in front of you."
Annette turned in her chair to face him, "How do I do that exactly? With my hands?"
"Just visualise it. Picture the small sun in front of you, picture the rays shining forwards, not backwards."
"That's it? Visualise it!?", Annette sounded a little sceptical.
"Yes, you picture what you want to happen. Your body will do the rest. You have the talent, Annette, it's there. You just have to tell it what to do." Raz remembered his uncle's words as he was given this lesson. They came to him, comforting him. "It's like walking. When you walk your muscles work to move your legs, your brain constantly analyses your balance, moves your centre of gravity, all thousands of times a second, yet you don't think about it. You don't control each muscle. You just do it, you tell your body to walk and it walks."
She settled in the chair, facing forwards, closed her eyes and pictured a small, glowing sun by her face. She tried to focus the rays, to push them forward, to cast a shadow on the rear, and spoke. "Caaaan yooooou heeeeeear me?"
"Yes. That wasn't it. Try again. Concentrate. Visualise. See the sun."
It took less than an hour. Raz, eyes closed, could feel Annette's voice broadcasting. He could see the sonic waves easily in the quiet house, see them radiating from her mouth. Slowly, but surely, the pattern began to change, the rays of sound started to change. Instead of radiating out in all directions there started to be pockets of vocal shadow. Small, temporary areas where her voice wasn't going. She definitely had talent. She was learning fast. Very fast. Could she one day be more powerful than Raz?... Naah.
"That's it! You're doing it! That's bloody it!!" Raz couldn't contain his pride. Annette beamed.
"Now what? Now what, can I hurt someone?" she asked excitedly.
"Now, we focus even more. We create one pure note of sound and concentrate it, focus it into one single tiny point!"
"How, how do we do that?!"
"We bring in the magnifying glass...."
Many hours later, as light was fading, Raz and Annette came into the kitchen giggling like a couple of school girls. Otto sat at the table reading through a local paper, getting accustomed to the local events and news. He glanced up as the two entered, sighed and returned his attention to the news of a gang war somewhere in the city.
Raz and Annette sat at the table opposite Otto, huddled together, still giggling.
Otto raised his paper so he wouldn't have to look at them, muttered something, and tried his best to ignore them.
All was silent. The clock on the mantel above a large fireplace ticked.
Otto glanced over the top of his paper again. Both Raz and Annette were staring at his mug. A nice mug of steaming tea. 4 sugars. Nice.
"If you want one make it yer bloody selves."
Then Annette started to hum.
It was at that point Otto decided he'd had enough of these two gibbering idiots. He would finish his tea, then leave them to it. He picked up his mug.
Annette's humming increased in volume.
Otto brought the mug to his lips.
Annette's humming reached a crescendo, then stopped sharp. The sudden silence was tangible, silent except for the ticking of the clock, and a slight ceramic 'ping'.
"FACK!" yelled Otto as the mug separated from the handle and poured hot, sweet tea all over his lap. "Happy now, you twats!" he yelled, but Raz and Annette were gone, laughing maniacally and running down the corridor.
Back in the room where they trained, Annette allowed Raz a congratulatory hug. She had done it! She had broken the mug just where the handle met the mug, with her voice! They were both ecstatic.
"That was amazing! I can do magic!" cried Annette, "What's next? I want to learn how to hurt people, in case we meet another frisky Gaultier! Not going to stop anyone by breaking a mug..."
"No, true." Agreed Raz, "You can focus your voice into one tiny point, which isn't going to kill anyone, but stick 'em in the eye and they'll drop like a sack of shit. Horny or not, it'll slow them down."
"OK, so let's practice!" Raz had to admire her determination. Once she was set on a course, nothing could sway her.
"Plenty of time for that, but first we need to give thanks."
"Give thanks? To who?"
"To the Goddess, to Jobe. You broke that mug just now because of her. It's her gift. Her power. We need to say thanks, as it's your first time. We need to go to church!"
Annette was a little taken aback. "Church? Hang on, how will that help? Won't we offend your God if we go to another's house?"
"Our God" Raz corrected her, "And no. She doesn't care about the building, she just wants to hear us. She doesn't care about religion or other Gods. We just need a church. Any church."
Annette still looked perplexed
"What do all religions have in common?"
No answer.
"They all sing"
It was the first day upon this new, yet old world. Raz and Annette both felt rested, and it was during this quiet time that Raz could notice the latent talent within Annette. A note of power that until recently had remained dorment and unheard. But Raz heard it now, and could see all manner of possibilities.
One of the most potent images of the last couple of weeks that remained in Raz's mind was the image of the supposed friend Gaultier laid on top of Annette, trying his best to have his wicked way. Annette, for all her bravado, was helpless, and would soon have weakened under the weight of the lardy ponce. Raz had to start her training, if she were to accompany them, as it seems, she would need to be able to fight her own corner.
Annette was skeptical at first, but as they seemed to have an empty schedule for the day she relented and sat down with Raz in a quiet room in the house.
"Raz, if this is another pick up line I won't be happy" she sighed at him.
The elf ignored the quip and say down in a chair across from Annette. "OK, let's go over the basics. You have a talent, whether you believe it or not, you have power. I can hear it, and soon you will too."
"This sounds like-" she started to say but Raz interrupted.
"Quiet, this is important" he barked.
Oddly, Annette complied. There was an authoratative sound to Raz's voice which she hadn't heard before. It was a surprise. She stopped talking.
"Like I said. The basics. All magic is essentially the same. People can use energy to manipulate their surroundings. That's what magic is. Manipulating energy. Traditional mage are able to control naturally occuring magical energy; mana. They channel it, control it, and make it do what they want. When a mage blasts a fireball across a room they are channeling mana and making it ignite the air. Psychics use the energy of their mind. They generate so much energy that it changes the world around them. They can lift things, crush things, even change what people think with the energy from their mind." He paused to let it all sink in.
"Right" she said, as if being taught how to suck eggs.
"We are different." Raz continued, "We don't need mana, or energy from our minds, we just need sound. We can shape the energy of sound and use it to change the world around us..." he paused dramatically.
"Hmm, well, you can for certain" said Annette, "But I'm pretty sure I can't"
"That's where you're wrong, you can. You're doing it right now"
Annette looked puzzled. "Raz, I'm just talking to you, that's all"
"Exactly. You're conveying your thoughts to me by sound!"
Annette didn't look impressed, but Raz pressed on. "When you talk you pass air from your lungs across your vocal chords, making a noise. Creating sonic energy. The energy passes through the air. It wasn't there before. You create it."
"Well... if you look at the physics of speech, technically yes. But everyone can talk, does that mean everyone is... magical?"
"To an extent yes, but so weak it makes no difference. You've no doubt heard of opera singers who can shatter a crystal glass with their voice?"
"Yes, they hit a high pitch which cracks the crystal"
"Yes." agrees Raz. "They have slightly more power than most. They create a pure note, which is higher in energy, and focus it on the crystal, which is very brittle anyway. Simple. So on to the first lesson!" Raz smiles.
Raz stands and walks behing Annette's chair. Many years ago, on a world far away, Raz's uncle started his training in the very same way. His words now coming from Raz's mouth.
"Imagine there is a sun, hovering an inch in front of your mouth. Your words are the rays of the sun, when you talk the rays shine in all directions, filling the room. That is how I can hear you, even when I'm behind you. This sun, and it's rays, are your vocal-light. You must picture this in your mind, as controlling your vocal-light is the key. Anyone can talk, or shout, or scream, but only the talented can focus the energy of that sound. You will learn how to focus the energy of your vocal-light, like a lens can focus the rays of the sun."
Annette stayed quiet. She didn't beleive that she would actually be able to do anything, but it did make a little sense. And it was nice to see the usually flamboyant elf in a different mood. She noted that the showman, the flirt, the ego had gone. In their place was the teacher. In recent weeks it had dawned on her why Raz was like he was. He was constantly horny, full of ego and confidence, immature and head strong. He was, in human terms, a teenager. A walking bag of hormones. It didn't matter that Raz was technically older than Annette's mother, maybe even grandmother. In elf terms he was a teenage kid, giddy with power.
"You must learn to focus your vocal-light, Annette. Not as hard as it sounds. I want you to say something."
"Say what, for example oh learned one?"
"That'll do. I could hear every word, even behind you. Your light is shining, filling the whole room. I want you to concentrate, and they and focus your vocal-light to just shine in front of you."
Annette turned in her chair to face him, "How do I do that exactly? With my hands?"
"Just visualise it. Picture the small sun in front of you, picture the rays shining forwards, not backwards."
"That's it? Visualise it!?", Annette sounded a little sceptical.
"Yes, you picture what you want to happen. Your body will do the rest. You have the talent, Annette, it's there. You just have to tell it what to do." Raz remembered his uncle's words as he was given this lesson. They came to him, comforting him. "It's like walking. When you walk your muscles work to move your legs, your brain constantly analyses your balance, moves your centre of gravity, all thousands of times a second, yet you don't think about it. You don't control each muscle. You just do it, you tell your body to walk and it walks."
She settled in the chair, facing forwards, closed her eyes and pictured a small, glowing sun by her face. She tried to focus the rays, to push them forward, to cast a shadow on the rear, and spoke. "Caaaan yooooou heeeeeear me?"
"Yes. That wasn't it. Try again. Concentrate. Visualise. See the sun."
It took less than an hour. Raz, eyes closed, could feel Annette's voice broadcasting. He could see the sonic waves easily in the quiet house, see them radiating from her mouth. Slowly, but surely, the pattern began to change, the rays of sound started to change. Instead of radiating out in all directions there started to be pockets of vocal shadow. Small, temporary areas where her voice wasn't going. She definitely had talent. She was learning fast. Very fast. Could she one day be more powerful than Raz?... Naah.
"That's it! You're doing it! That's bloody it!!" Raz couldn't contain his pride. Annette beamed.
"Now what? Now what, can I hurt someone?" she asked excitedly.
"Now, we focus even more. We create one pure note of sound and concentrate it, focus it into one single tiny point!"
"How, how do we do that?!"
"We bring in the magnifying glass...."
Many hours later, as light was fading, Raz and Annette came into the kitchen giggling like a couple of school girls. Otto sat at the table reading through a local paper, getting accustomed to the local events and news. He glanced up as the two entered, sighed and returned his attention to the news of a gang war somewhere in the city.
Raz and Annette sat at the table opposite Otto, huddled together, still giggling.
Otto raised his paper so he wouldn't have to look at them, muttered something, and tried his best to ignore them.
All was silent. The clock on the mantel above a large fireplace ticked.
Otto glanced over the top of his paper again. Both Raz and Annette were staring at his mug. A nice mug of steaming tea. 4 sugars. Nice.
"If you want one make it yer bloody selves."
Then Annette started to hum.
It was at that point Otto decided he'd had enough of these two gibbering idiots. He would finish his tea, then leave them to it. He picked up his mug.
Annette's humming increased in volume.
Otto brought the mug to his lips.
Annette's humming reached a crescendo, then stopped sharp. The sudden silence was tangible, silent except for the ticking of the clock, and a slight ceramic 'ping'.
"FACK!" yelled Otto as the mug separated from the handle and poured hot, sweet tea all over his lap. "Happy now, you twats!" he yelled, but Raz and Annette were gone, laughing maniacally and running down the corridor.
Back in the room where they trained, Annette allowed Raz a congratulatory hug. She had done it! She had broken the mug just where the handle met the mug, with her voice! They were both ecstatic.
"That was amazing! I can do magic!" cried Annette, "What's next? I want to learn how to hurt people, in case we meet another frisky Gaultier! Not going to stop anyone by breaking a mug..."
"No, true." Agreed Raz, "You can focus your voice into one tiny point, which isn't going to kill anyone, but stick 'em in the eye and they'll drop like a sack of shit. Horny or not, it'll slow them down."
"OK, so let's practice!" Raz had to admire her determination. Once she was set on a course, nothing could sway her.
"Plenty of time for that, but first we need to give thanks."
"Give thanks? To who?"
"To the Goddess, to Jobe. You broke that mug just now because of her. It's her gift. Her power. We need to say thanks, as it's your first time. We need to go to church!"
Annette was a little taken aback. "Church? Hang on, how will that help? Won't we offend your God if we go to another's house?"
"Our God" Raz corrected her, "And no. She doesn't care about the building, she just wants to hear us. She doesn't care about religion or other Gods. We just need a church. Any church."
Annette still looked perplexed
"What do all religions have in common?"
No answer.
"They all sing"
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
The motley trio absconded from the somewhat broken tower of St Barnabus Church at pace.
R’zeal could hear the pent up Arcane power literally singing from Otto’s form, however it was a decided relief compared to the infernal ticking that Annette had inflicted upon him.
Lord Roborough having dusted himself off had given the pair a severe look, for the rather explosive approach they had managed to get a fix on their runaway, near Trinity Square in the north of the Capital.
They had quickly ducked into the Shaftsbury Pub where his Lordship had left some items of particular use in the upper rooms.
Otto had travelled on to avoid losing the scent.
***
Jimmy Ambrose nodded to Frank, who as usual greeted him whilst he wasn’t the other one.
Raz had already downed several shots for courage, Jimmy shrugged and knocked back a dishwater scotch for measure.
As the pair turned to leave, Raz whispers in the corner drew his attention
“I wuz him I’d shut up shop” grumbled a grizzled old hawker
“Why’s zat” said his drinking partner
“Four pubs ave been dun over tonight, some bladesharp carved every wun up”
An eyebrow arched and the pair left the Shaftsbury
R’zeal could hear the pent up Arcane power literally singing from Otto’s form, however it was a decided relief compared to the infernal ticking that Annette had inflicted upon him.
Lord Roborough having dusted himself off had given the pair a severe look, for the rather explosive approach they had managed to get a fix on their runaway, near Trinity Square in the north of the Capital.
They had quickly ducked into the Shaftsbury Pub where his Lordship had left some items of particular use in the upper rooms.
Otto had travelled on to avoid losing the scent.
***
Jimmy Ambrose nodded to Frank, who as usual greeted him whilst he wasn’t the other one.
Raz had already downed several shots for courage, Jimmy shrugged and knocked back a dishwater scotch for measure.
As the pair turned to leave, Raz whispers in the corner drew his attention
“I wuz him I’d shut up shop” grumbled a grizzled old hawker
“Why’s zat” said his drinking partner
“Four pubs ave been dun over tonight, some bladesharp carved every wun up”
An eyebrow arched and the pair left the Shaftsbury
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
The Constitution Gentleman’s Club - Piccadilly, London
Sir Alexander Carmichael Bruce adjusted himself in the plush maroon leather seats of the club.
Sat to his right was Inspector Alwitcher of the Yard, across their fireplace seating area was the renowned Hunter and Explorer Robert Archer and his new companion a hawkish man of European origin.
It was this man who continued their conversation, briefly interrupted by a valet bringing them fresh drinks.
“As I was saying Commissioner her ladyship has been missing for several hours, it is imperative we locate her!”
Bruce considered this “I’m a little confused sir, we have people go missing all the time, and young ladies have a tendency of disappearing in order to garner attention”
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself entirely clear, my apologies Sir Bruce, the girl is a ranking noble from a small province in the New Worlds, a province that has many enemies her disappearance would not be due to a tantrum but to nefarious activity!”
“By New Worlds you mean off World” responded Bruce
“That’s absolutely what I mean Sir Bruce” replied the stranger, “Without recourse to be disrespectful I’m sure the Yard could avoid any further bad publicity, failure to locate her would cause significant embarrassment in International Circles”
Bruce stiffened “What do you need”
“A couple of your Special Branch Detectives, it’s the official stamp of approval, my people are quite capable of tracker her down, however we would not want to contravene any English Law or cast the constabulary in a bad light, far better if we can proceed with your blessing?”
Alwitcher listened with intent, the man was certainly persuasive, almost mesmerizing, he shook his head to clear it
Bruce considered this and then seemed to sag, “Very well, they’ll meet you in Bedford Square in an hour”, a previously unseen black suited man stood up from a nearby chair and hurried off.
“Excellent, the Ambassador will be high complimentary of your assistance Sir Bruce”
The man and Archer stood, nodded respectfully and left.
Alwitcher regarded the Assistant Commissioner, who looked incredibly tired, he was unsure why he had been asked to attend the meeting, it hadn't been by Bruce instead by Burridge and how he’d learnt of it at such short notice was another mystery.
***
As the pair left the club, Archer turned to his companion who finally spoke “Find her scent, the Blades tactics are too slow and obvious”
“What about the detectives, the last thing we want is police attention” replied Archer stiffly
The man smile in condescending reply “My dear Archer, leave them to me, now go!”
Sir Alexander Carmichael Bruce adjusted himself in the plush maroon leather seats of the club.
Sat to his right was Inspector Alwitcher of the Yard, across their fireplace seating area was the renowned Hunter and Explorer Robert Archer and his new companion a hawkish man of European origin.
It was this man who continued their conversation, briefly interrupted by a valet bringing them fresh drinks.
“As I was saying Commissioner her ladyship has been missing for several hours, it is imperative we locate her!”
Bruce considered this “I’m a little confused sir, we have people go missing all the time, and young ladies have a tendency of disappearing in order to garner attention”
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself entirely clear, my apologies Sir Bruce, the girl is a ranking noble from a small province in the New Worlds, a province that has many enemies her disappearance would not be due to a tantrum but to nefarious activity!”
“By New Worlds you mean off World” responded Bruce
“That’s absolutely what I mean Sir Bruce” replied the stranger, “Without recourse to be disrespectful I’m sure the Yard could avoid any further bad publicity, failure to locate her would cause significant embarrassment in International Circles”
Bruce stiffened “What do you need”
“A couple of your Special Branch Detectives, it’s the official stamp of approval, my people are quite capable of tracker her down, however we would not want to contravene any English Law or cast the constabulary in a bad light, far better if we can proceed with your blessing?”
Alwitcher listened with intent, the man was certainly persuasive, almost mesmerizing, he shook his head to clear it
Bruce considered this and then seemed to sag, “Very well, they’ll meet you in Bedford Square in an hour”, a previously unseen black suited man stood up from a nearby chair and hurried off.
“Excellent, the Ambassador will be high complimentary of your assistance Sir Bruce”
The man and Archer stood, nodded respectfully and left.
Alwitcher regarded the Assistant Commissioner, who looked incredibly tired, he was unsure why he had been asked to attend the meeting, it hadn't been by Bruce instead by Burridge and how he’d learnt of it at such short notice was another mystery.
***
As the pair left the club, Archer turned to his companion who finally spoke “Find her scent, the Blades tactics are too slow and obvious”
“What about the detectives, the last thing we want is police attention” replied Archer stiffly
The man smile in condescending reply “My dear Archer, leave them to me, now go!”
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arcanus
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The Interdimensional Campaign of The Third Snowdon Fusiliers
The Albert Pub, Pudding Lane.
The 17th Century furnishings were shattered, its customers beaten and cut.
A thin layer of blood covered the floor, Harry Burns looked through his one not so swollen eye at the demonic woman dressed in red leather standing over him.
She painfully squeezed his balls, he trembled, daring not to move due to the razor sharp knife at his throat.
“Much as I’ve enjoyed this Arry, the girl the snitch in the Bow and Bells said you’d picked err up, err and some toff?”
Bloody spittle dribbled from his mouth, as he tried to speak
“Now where did you drop em” she snarled
The 17th Century furnishings were shattered, its customers beaten and cut.
A thin layer of blood covered the floor, Harry Burns looked through his one not so swollen eye at the demonic woman dressed in red leather standing over him.
She painfully squeezed his balls, he trembled, daring not to move due to the razor sharp knife at his throat.
“Much as I’ve enjoyed this Arry, the girl the snitch in the Bow and Bells said you’d picked err up, err and some toff?”
Bloody spittle dribbled from his mouth, as he tried to speak
“Now where did you drop em” she snarled