Rorye Shannon-Kearney

ARMA
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About Rorye Shannon-Kearney

  • Rank
    Nicely Seasoned

CHARACTER PROFILE

  • GENDER
    Female
  • PLAY-BY
    Gemma Arterton (Olga Kurylenko as Red with permission)
  • SEXUAL ORIENTATION
    Heterosexual
  • RACE
    Altered Human, Physical
  • JOB
    Owner of The Book of Kells; ARMA Informant
  • 'SHIP:
    Alistair Greene & complicated
  • LOCATION
    New York
  • FACTION
    Factionless
  • APPEARANCE
    Rorye has unique features. Dark chocolate eyes are set in a porcelain complexion, strong jaw complimented by an exotic gentle nose. Long hair is mahogany smooth, sometimes in curls, usually worn up or braided in a single thick plait.

    She is above average height for a woman, standing close to six foot; the extra height able to carry her curves well. Shoulders are squared and powerful, muscles toned and visible. When standing still, the striking resemblance to a Greek statue with a Valkyrie temper is hard to miss.

    Dress is mostly relaxed and gauzy fabrics mixed with jeans and comfortable slip-on shoes while in the the shop. In public, the 'raised in Hell's Kitchen' edge is evident. She clings to a worn but well cared for hip length fitted leather jacket, sleeves to her knuckles and narrow when zipped. Leather, low heeled black boots under jeans add slightly to an already formidable height. On rare occasions she does dress up nicely, also having no qualms about donning utilitarian clothes to get work done in her greenhouse. She prefers comfy casual with a bit of romantic flair, not above a gauzy poet shirt over a cami and jeans to work a day in her shop.

    Most of the time she has little to no make-up on. If she does, it's usually lined eyes and a neutral lipstick- her features are so unique she rarely needs any.

    Her spine is painted in an incredible artistic display of woad colored Celtic knotwork done in the most fine of dotwork tattooing; a stunning homage to her British heritage and fondness of the Morrigan mythology.
  • PERSONALITY
    Rorye has been affected unusually in several regards by the Nevus event. Since an encounter with a vicious botched possession, an entity she’s dubbed “Red” has latched onto the energy field of her unique Enhanced psyche. Trapped from ancient magic, it was released instead of going up in flames with its prison. Its soul, has set up residence in her psyche. She feels its emotions and speech- most of the time in its native tongue and a mixture of Latin. She can allow it to channel her, able to tap the skills and fighting expertise of the ancient warrior for a short time before she burns out; unfortunately taking on Red’s personality, mannerisms and hot temper during the episode- which are a more aggressive form of her own. The longer she is able to channel her "shadow" and allow control, the longer the personality traits linger and physical manifestations of the entity's appearance can be seen; bruising where Red's scars are, some delightful feudal personality traits and even a slight color change of her eyes. She has never attempted to banish the presence, who feels much like a shadow, or the darkness inside a mind that is fractured with another personality.

    At night, especially when the rift is visible in the sky, she can feel the pull on her blood; as if the strange tear in the fabric of time and space is trying to yank Red back into her rightful place and world. Perhaps it is Rorye who is out of place, or maybe they were never two separate people at all. What is not understood about the Nevus, keeps her questioning her duality every time she stares into the night sky; finding unusual calm in gazing into the unknown.

    Rorye is a tremendous fighter. It doesn’t matter how she comes out on top, only that she survives and any that she calls friends are safe. Exceptionally loyal and protective, she is patient to a point; if friends are observed to be exhibiting behavior detrimental to their wellbeing or survival, she will intervene without question in whatever means necessary. She has no problem bringing violence, brutality and death to the table if she perceives a threat to herself or those she loves- even if putting herself in great danger to accomplish it.

    Most of the time, she is quiet and rational with sharp wit made memorable by a smoky, gentle voice. She can be abrasive if she’s annoyed or perceives ignorance; intolerant of stupidity and carelessness. Her business savvy is evident in her work, remarkably knowledgeable and resourceful to acquire necessary items for her shop. That business savvy is most put to use in the ‘trafficking’ of information. Since her business is at a crossroads for many faction needs, she sees a lot of counterbalanced customers purchasing things to strengthen themselves against one another. She is a trustworthy and sought after source, and if she likes you enough she just might give you a nugget of information you could use. Information is never bought and sold, she is a trusted "gun-runner" in the metaphysical "weapons" community; but, she doesn't see the need to hide there may have been a run on a particular fetish or spell ingredient in recent months.

    Personally, she struggles with the emptiness left by her husband’s death. There is no remorse for killing him; she did what she had to do to save her life. However, he was her soul mate and the betrayal of his attempt on her life still haunts her; reluctant to trust anyone too quickly. Always having been close to her family, she now fights the loneliness it has left behind. She does not wear her wedding ring, instead leaves both of them tucked in the eye-sockets of his skull kept behind the counter of the shop.

    “Red”
    Red is the Boudicca of Celtic legend. History often written by the “winners” of the conflict, the actual truth is somewhere between the legend of the goddess Morrigu, and the Roman history of Boudica. Thrust into the spotlight after her sister and nieces were raped and striped by the Romans, she stepped forward when her brother-in-law Prasutagus failed to uphold their honor and led a bloody rampage against the empire.

    The spirit’s image is identical to that in life; covered completely with vibrant cobalt blue woad tattoos in intricate whorls and knots. The only clear flesh is her hands and feet, face, neck and the center of her chest and her breasts. Her forearms are feather scarred from a captor’s attempt to burn the tattoos from her skin. She is also heavily marked from battle, especially her upper arms. A long red line extends from her left ear across her collarbone. Another large almond shaped scar is a through and through over and behind her heart. An enormous scar encompasses her right side from her navel to her kidney, and another large puncture to her left shoulder blade is also visible. Her hair is a scarlet torrent of hundreds upon hundreds of tiny thigh length braids tipped in copper beads The apparition is seen dressed in leather breeches, thigh high boots with dozens of strapped buckles, a sleeveless hardened vest burnished with Celtic knotwork over a battleworn tunic. Two hard leather bracers are laced tightly to her forearms with multitudes of leather belts crisscrossing her hips and twin sheaths.

    Red is also an incredible double handed swordsman, a conglomeration of tradition, training and desperation. In a fight, nothing is sacred and she will strike a deathblow in whatever way possible, preferring to incapacitate first to savor the death and prolong suffering. Her hand to hand combat is also substantial, as well as her bowmanship, horsemanship and grasp of military tactics.

    She is a towering, striking woman with a white hot temper, insatiable libido, sinister humor and the fortitude of an army.
  • PERSONAL BELONGINGS
    Business; "The Book of Kells; Tea, Reads and Occult Shoppe" and three inconsequential NPC's that help run the shop. The shop is in Manhattan, close to Central Park and the art museum. It is a bi-level, old Victorian structure that resembles a turn of the 20th century house with a complimentary utilitarian front addition. To the left of the entrance a small teahouse up five steps that specializes in personal blends as well as other apothecary needs, forward is the eclectic book collection on anything and everything history, mythological and metaphysical and to the right the general occult shop. It's a warm place to relax and meet with other altered peoples as well as shop for needed items to meet any magic and altered needs. Accepts currency of late, trades and bartering. Above it is her personal apartment, on the roof is her greenhouse and "Observatory Cafe", a small private place for special regulars to meet and watch the rift sky through multiple elaborate telescopes- the observatory accessed only through locked door from the teahouse.

    Her dead husband's skull mounted with an antique brass chamberstick; which unfortunately happens to be an 'artifact'. The face of the skull faces the wall, hiding the fact that it indeed does have vampire teeth. Only her employees know it's an actual vampire skull.

    Small Victorian apartment above the shop with eclectic, comfortable furnishings and decor.

    Greenhouse on the roof of the shop where she grows food and many of her herbs year round.

    A pair of custom made light knives the length of her forearms with custom forearm sheaths,

    A pair of antique short swords similar to Wakizashi, with matching hilts.

    Dragon-made karambits with a binding ring that unlocks Red's expertise when unsheathed.

    A Ducati 848 in primer black.

STAFF APPROVED ABILITIES/SKILLS/HISTORY

  • APPROVED ABILITIES
    Rorye’s ability for extreme speed and agility has begun to show signs of mutation attributed to a recent collision with the very people she trusted and does business with. Unclear whether it was repeated exposure to her chamberstick artifact or the result of a botched possession, the results have been significant. Formerly unable to engage her enhanced speed effectively due to deficiency of stamina and mortal level bone strength, she has discovered this is no longer the case. Skeletal strength has found equilibrium with her speed and agility, making her a deadly hand to hand fighter enhanced with boxing/kickboxing training. Adding a bladed weapon to the mix is stunningly lethal. Using brute force will burn her ability levels quickly to a limit of a half hour, with recharge periods of hours. The freedom of movement and lack of impact allowed by blades extends her usage to an hour, with the same recharge time needed. As she refines her skill with blades, her potential is staggering.

    Channeled Consciousness; Rorye has been affected unusually in several regards by the Nevus event. Since an encounter with a vicious botched possession, an entity she’s dubbed “Red” has latched onto the energy field of her unique Enhanced psyche. Trapped from ancient magic, it was released instead of going up in flames with its prison. Its soul, has set up residence in her psyche. She feels its emotions and speech- most of the time in its native tongue and a mixture of Latin. She can allow it to channel her, able to tap the skills and fighting expertise of the ancient warrior for a short time before she burns out; unfortunately taking on Red’s personality, mannerisms and hot temper during the episode- which are a more aggressive form of her own. The longer she is able to channel her "shadow" and allow control, the longer the personality traits linger and physical manifestations of the entity's appearance can be seen; bruising where Red's scars are, some delightful feudal personality traits and even a slight color change of her eyes. She has never attempted to banish the presence, who feels much like a shadow, or the darkness inside a mind that is fractured with another personality.

    At night, especially when the rift is visible in the sky, she can feel the pull on her blood; as if the strange tear in the fabric of time and space is trying to yank Red back into her rightful place and world. Perhaps it is Rorye who is out of place, or maybe they were never two separate people at all. What is not understood about the Nevus, keeps her questioning her duality every time she stares into the sky; finding unusual calm in gazing into the night sky.

    "Chamberstick" artifact. This Victorian, antique brass chamberstick was a gift from her husband in a set of two shortly before the Event. Oddly enough, only one exhibited any type of atypical power. When it sits near her husband's skull, the nub of a candle lights up at her presence in a strange quiver of iridescent light on the wick where the flame should be. It responds to her voice, changes color with her mood, and alerts her to danger by lighting up and flickering gently before siphoning out. Seeing the relationship between the two items, she had the thing mounted on the skull to keep others from playing with or separating it. It sits behind the register counter in her shop.

    In Game Update: Towenar bound Rorye's "shadow Red" to a ring she wears. Instead of manipulating her, it can be used in short bursts of expertise in two enchanted shortblades (longer version of karambits) that are "connected" to the entity in the ring, effectively unleashing what before would take over Rorye completely-now only present in the blades. Think a lock and a key idea. The ring is the lock, the karambits are the key- unleashing a sharper control over the wild child. She can still 'hear' the entity, she just has more finite control over fighting skill when she draws the blades and unlocks Red's expertise. The blades can withstand the force her speed can unleash when it hits. So now, she has the strong set on her forearms from Ali's guy, and a long karambit set on her spine from Johann. She can no longer draw on Red's expertise without unlocking it with the karambits. It does not transfer to other weapons. No one is really sure what happens when she takes the ring off, so she never does.
  • APPROVED SKILLS
    Exceptional knowledge of all things occult, mystic affiliations, alternative and traditional religions, mythology, history, healing traditions, and natural magic. Pre-Resonance, her knowledge base centered specifically on what was understood to be “true” of the known metaphysical, religious, and magic practices. After the world changed, this has understandably been expanded to the new rules of existence, or lack thereof, as her business was sought out to provide items to those with newly discovered abilities. She now caters discretely to unusual needs, as well as continues to supply survivors still practicing pre-Resonance alternative religions and traditions; a trusted businesswoman with a finger on the pulse of the new and old metaphysical.

    Rorye is a prolific boxer and kickboxer, still refining her kickboxing skills several times a week at the local gym. Her boxing skills are rusty, but still useful.

    Runner.

    Green thumb.

    Business savvy and organizational skills.

    Knife/shortblade defensive and offensive fighting styles.
  • APPROVED HISTORY
    Rorye was born and raised in New York City with heavy Scottish heritage. Parent’s lilt was thick; the New York influence seemed thicker. Having a slight accent as a child, the Scot in her verbally lessened over time to be replaced by the hint of a sultry New Yorker. She is a loyal, proud native of the city that never sleeps- with a significant weakness for men in kilts.

    She was married in 2009, shortly before the Resonance to her high school sweetheart Michael Kearney; opening a small teahouse and bookstore together in Manhattan near the art museum. It grew instantly successful in the short honeymoon whirlwind of their marriage, branching out into a more metaphysical market and meeting place. They began to carry fine quality and obscure occult items at the request of patrons. The place was always bustling with warm friends and laughter, their financial needs stable and wanting for nothing. Life seemed perfect.

    When the world changed, both were affected. Rorye appeared at first to be the focus of its ire, sickness and unconsciousness followed for days. Her husband disappeared; Michael oddly had locked himself in the old vault beneath the shop, emerging as something terrible and unable to be reasoned with. Terrified he’d become like the monsters now wreaking havoc in the city she took action, fumbling with new found powers against an incredibly hostile and disoriented lover. He showed no mercy, only a vicious need to kill her. She in turn struck first, stabbing him in the throat with hedge trimmers from her greenhouse and subsequently beheaded him during the struggle.

    Disoriented grieving followed, burying his body in the courtyard behind the shop, a single stone as his marker still can be found beneath the overgrown grass. His head was another matter, left for several days where it had fallen amongst a scattered bookshelf and chotsky during the struggle. The strange light that emanated next to it from a chamberstick he’d given her as a gift kept her from touching the seemingly enchanted thing. She was convinced for a time the skull itself was charmed, only dashing that theory when it became necessary for obvious reasons to remove it. After discovering the chamberstick responded to her and the skull’s presence, she had them permanently fused; a morbid, but necessary act. She keeps his skull behind the counter as a candle holder, and can often be seen telling it to turn itself off; calling it by her husband’s name. Many of her employees often wonder if she is more disturbed by his death than she lets on. Only she knows the thing works under its own power, everyone else is convinced she is doing the trick herself. She is one of the few that knows the secret of the existence of vampires, Michael's fanged skull seen as just another interesting "prop" in her shop.

    She continues to run the fruitful occult shop specializing in any and all things magic supplies, books and her personal favorite teas. The business crosses many barriers and has a lot of connections, supplier to a large amount of magic needs. Rorye can get virtually anything for anyone, which makes her a sought after ally and a crossroads for information from every faction.

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  1. Words and Wax

    “Oh hi Rorye, I certainly have." Expression was friendly, thoughts hovering that this might be one of those situations she should very likely bring up to ARMA. The twinkle of coffee refreshing his mug was soft, pondering speaking to him about it. Never would have done it before. Things had somewhat changed, and that gave her a sense of pride but pissed her off at the same time. Protecting her own, versus protecting the greater whole. Not being exclusively loyal to her neighborhood circle just didn’t sit right for someone so diligently loyal to her own community. An internal argument for another time. She could be wrong, but over a decade of learning to read people never really let her down. She didn’t need any special powers to think this was the search for something unusual. He seemed kind, somewhat trusting, and his search was going to walk him into the wrong place with the wrong people someday soon. Pharos. The Order. There were a cluster of not so savory people that would take advantage of his situation if they even merely suspected something like this. She could take advantage of this situation at the moment. If it could make a buck, she was usually secretly interested in her smuggling-type activities She’d looked the other way for so long when it came to people outside of her neighborhood…. now her connection with the “good guys” had rubbed off on her. Internal argument had tipped slightly. He deserved protection if her hunch was true. He also deserved to go about his business in peace without some big organization claiming him as their own and sticking their nose in it. ….dammit she hated being a good guy sometimes. Coffee pot was set on a tea tray table that had extra cups and such, put there for the exact reason she didn’t want it sitting on the main table. “It was my mother’s, it's not valuable or at least that's what I have been told and I’ve been curious about the knots for some time.” Smile soft, quirked slightly sideways. “From what I gather these knots are extremely rare and one of them, mentions something about it being from another world.” Both hands cupped around the outstretched hand in attempts to close his fingers around his prize. “You need to keep this closer to the vest.” She pulled out the chair across from him and sat, elbows on the table to lean forward slightly. The conversation was low. “It could just be that, an heirloom. It might not be,” lower lip rolled through her teeth, the rich timbre of her voice making one at ease. “Anything can be anything now, and so can people.” She picked up one of her go-to books and turned it around to face her. “Celts had a lot of ethereal lore. Gods. Goddesses, a lot of which were considered to be able to fluctuate through planes of existence. They believed in magic, and that time could perform real magic, so anything is possible. Worlds could be planes, or time. Depends how you translate it into English.” Eyes scanned the drawings he seemed to be focused on, her words said with utter belief they were true. She knew them to be true. “Was your mother a magus?”
  2. Words and Wax

    “I will, thank you for the warning.” Nod was slight, leaving the book room quietly with her coffee in tow. She refreshed it, standing at the front window for a long moment to survey the street that was waking up. He was a curious one, that was for sure. Searching for something. Some searched for curiosity, others for fun. Then there were those that searched out of need. He struck her as the type to fall into that category. Who knew what he was searching for, but when she set her coffee on the front counter to continue putting out the new stock of various stones, observant eyes didn’t miss the slip of something from a worn and treasured box into his hand. Now, that was interesting. Not only because she liked interesting things, but… she like to acquire interesting things. Her shop was full of them. Some hiding in plain sight like the skull artifact and the Sky Disc on the wall behind her, others locked down in a vault because they were so dangerous they weren’t to be handled except by their new owner. She was loyal to ARMA, but there were a lot of things she slid under their noses that they didn’t need to worry about. Old habits did die hard. Was this one of those things? Or just an innocent fascination. She cleared one box of new stock, keeping a close eye on the avid reader, and twenty minutes or so later returned to the room with a fresh pot of coffee. “Refresher?” she asked quietly. “Find anything interesting?”
  3. Words and Wax

    “Really” “Yes,” answer was firm. “I’m living proof that things are dangerous when you chase something down a rabbit hole. Stones. Drawings. Books,” she nodded toward a candlestick mounted on top of a skull behind the front counter. It seemed to twinkle back in acknowledgement. “Even something as harmless as a candlestick. Whatever you're searching for, could be a path to something terrible.. It’s the way of the world now, as you know, so be aware.” “Thank you” Nod was slight as she put down a few more to give him a wide range of things to look at. “There must be two spells one to ward and one to bind, sort of a push and pull?” “If your knot is linked to any kind of magic, it could be a lot of things. Ward and bind, push and pull, key and lock.” She drank a bit of her coffee, watching a moment. “Just be careful what you play with when you find it,” she nodded and moved back into the store proper to start stocking the antique card catalog with stones. One of her many interests was combing through former ruins of Hell’s Kitchen to find items to refurbish. The obsolete furniture after a lot of TLC was perfect for keeping stones, trinkets, and whatever other little bits and bobs of ingredients they needed. Her advice, sounded a lot like she had received once upon a time. Sadly, she never seemed to heed it either.
  4. Words and Wax

    “Coffee would be great, black with no sugar will be fine, thank you.” Mage. Something. Humans didn’t have eyes like that. She wasn’t sensitive in any respects, that was good old hostess sleuthing. “Done and done,” she smiled. She disappeared for a moment, returning with a fresh mug for him on a saucer and a refresher on her own mug- hearing the tail end of his outward thoughts. Soft clink set it on the table near him, and she took a drink of her own while eyes traveled over the shelves again for another that could be helpful. The safe though, that was for when all avenues were exhausted. “tunc custos magica, et pr?,” A smaller tome was pulled out, not as ornate, focused more on the theories around the cultures with the knotwork. Some had pagan magic, some used earth magic, some were god based. It really depended on the area. It was definitely massed produced now, but most were copies of common manuscripts or sculpture and jewelry because they weren’t copyrighted so one saw the same designs over and over. She had never seen this one before, which was quite a feat. Her only train of thought was that it was older, or he had access to something she did not. Stumbled across it, maybe. It seemed to be a rubbing, which meant it was probably carving- headstone maybe? “Time Magic, you really think my knots have something to do with magic?” “Honestly, nowadays that’s the first place my mind goes. Over a decade ago, people always tried to prove magic was real. My shop was a fun novelty. Now, I assume everything is some kind of mojo in order to make sure it doesn’t try to kill me.” She took another sip and set the other book down. “Knotwork is something I know well, it can be a type of magic. Real magic. Take a look through those and let me know if you need anything else.”
  5. Words and Wax

    He seemed ready to go, read, research, find answers... Definitely one of those ‘up all night thinking about things’ types. “Thank you Rorye,” She nodded, “my pleasure.” “My name is Brandon. I had no idea there were so many books on Celtic knots, Yale only had a handful.” “We do specialize in things of that nature, also because it’s a personal interest of mine too,” personal interest was an understatement of the year. As he pulled something from his back pocket, she felt she needed to make him a bit more comfortable. “Can I get you anything to drink, on the house for new customers. Coffee? Any kind of tea imaginable?” Brow furled at the image he held out, fingers whisking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before they took the offered image to study a moment. “Perhaps you have seen these knots before,” Aww crap. She had seen something like it before, and it was definitely in a place that wasn’t for the average shop-goer. Lower lip was rolled through her teeth in thought, narrowed eyes studying the detail of the rubbing. She really wanted to ask where it had come from, for her own curiosity, but he wasn’t here for her curiosity. “Yes I have,” she said rather absently as she studied it like a jeweler would inspect a diamond. “Something similar. Celtic knotwork is a slippery subject, running through the ancient civilizations like rivers, all over Europe too. It’s not just a mathematic marvel and art form, it has a lot of power associated with it that was just occult superstition until a decade ago. It definitely has power. Ancient power that makes even old school mages nervous.” “What’s in the fun cabinet?” Before he’d even asked she was punching the code on the lock for the larger cabinet. Inside those doors were multiple shelves of books, antique… worn. Next to those, a safe, old school and built straight through the cabinet back and into the wall. “The expensive things… and the dangerous things,” fingers danced along antique and eclectic spines until she found the one she wanted, pulling it out carefully and putting it on the table. It was quite large, the tome carefully wrapped in a leather binding that was opened after unwinding a thin braided piece of what looked like human hair. “This is a book I picked up about a year ago. I’ve been deciphering it piece by piece, mostly gibberish so far, but the knotwork is similar to yours. Maybe you can find a match in the artwork.” She took a step back to let him take over perusing through it. “Talks about time, and pulling people through it using magic. I'll get my notes so you can look at those too.” It essentially was a blueprint for how the woman in her head could be reaching across a millennia and be attached to her. She'd questioned if Red was really dead, or stuck somewhere neither here nor there. Limbo maybe. She’d been working on deciphering it in effort to understand the woman a little better, but had not been overly successful in translation. Maybe he could get somewhere. “Coffee?”
  6. Signature

  7. Words and Wax

    It was unusual to get one so early in the morning, but usually they always knew what they were looking for- having often been on their mind all night before making a beeline here. She nodded in good morning greeting, finishing lighting a set of glass cylinder candles behind the front counter, feeling another presence look up at him quicker than her own attention at the mention of Celtic knotwork. An anxious pull in her chest was swallowed back into the depths as she started moving toward the book room. Sometimes her ‘friend’ felt like an echo, pulling away slightly before it could catch up, or ahead until she could. She didn’t like it, but it was her reality. “Absolutely,” the warm hum of voice came after the smile. He seemed nervous, but knew what he was looking for… he could be chasing something, something could be chasing him, or he could just simply be shy. It was her job to try and figure out which and make sure he found what he needed. She stepped through the wide doorway into the book room, a modest twelve by twelve foot area lined floor to ceiling with antique shelves and a heavy wooden table flanked with chairs in the center. “I have books of art, books that document real extant examples, and special reference collections that move into the more.. magic related subjects. Which exactly are you looking for?” The twinkle of keys were retrieved from the back pocket of her jeans, finding the right one to open the antique barrister’s box on the far wall. Knob drew out carefully, the glass door sliding upward over the books to allow him access. “These are the historic extant volumes, the art books are on the normal bookshelf there,” she nodded toward the more mass produced books on the bookshelves to the left. To the right, was another cabinet without glass, a locked case with solid doors. “If you don’t find what you’re looking for, let me know and I’ll open the fun cabinet.” Smile again was warm before she left him to his browsing. “If you need anything, I’m Rorye. I’ll be out in the main shop.” She usually didn’t ask for names, sometimes people didn’t want to give them. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her.
  8. Words and Wax

    August 15th, 2020 9AM The Book of Kells Occult Shoppe and Tea House Graceful fingers lifted the match to her lips and she blew out the tiny flame. Attention watched the curl of smoke waft from the newly lit candles in the window and incense, scent of Nag Champa always one of her favorites to calm the room. Not that it was in need of calming, the tea house through the bi-level stairs bustling in it’s quiet murmur as usual- that was always moving but relaxed. This time of morning, the shop half was almost always empty and she could stock shelves and tidy books from the archival room in mostly solitary thought. Stick safely in its burner, she started to rearrange the glinting trinkets on the driftwood displays hanging in the front windows to either side of the door, pausing to wrap her hair around a fist and stick it up into a messy bun. The shopkeeper went through a full range of appearances lately it seemed. Hanging on more fondly to the semi-bohemian comfort than the ARMA needed tailored leather sheaths and clothing, her sandals, worn jeans and white linen shirt with red embroidery around the neck and sleeves made for a nicely lazy morning. Nina and Jesse were tending the tea house, and she… was on her own to enjoy what she did best, turning the sign in the front door to “OPEN” while sipping her coffee.
  9. Penultimate

    "♜ So, in answer to your query. Yes, yes, yes, and yes. ♜" [rorye]Well then… might be time to up my prices.[/rorye] "♜ Thus far all of this has held magic at bay, made it exclusive to the ‘altered’. Not so anymore. ♜" Eyes narrowed slightly. She was listening. Arms crossed. "♜ There seems to be a correlation between this resurrected ‘arcanery’ and technological dampening but investigations into this are ongoing. What we do know for sure is that certain knowledgable individuals are delving into the rituals of old and performing magick. ♜" Head cocked slightly at his pacing, this guy was everything she thought the Order wasn’t. Odd. Were there still members that truly believed in what they thought the group’s potential really was? That was something she’d never heard of. Of course there were members that believed, but they just kind of did whatever the fuck they wanted. This guy, was a raging optimist to his club’s worth. "♜ The spells are laborious, reliant on specific times, locations, components and often ‘life’ itself. We take so much for granted. ♜" Brow quirked. "♜ The difference between this ‘sorcery’ and our own brand of magic is that they are not bound to our classifications. While we are unable to control the magic of other disciplines, Humans are not. They can master the ritual of any field, they are perfectly neutral in this matter. This threat is the backbone of the truce between ARMA and the Order. ♜" [rorye]Interesting how when people realize they are not top of the food chain anymore they find humility.[/rorye] She was truly speaking of both factions. Though she identified more with Arma now, there was a time when she was resentful of both and even her own abilities. They were nothing like the ones the two factions could wield, still, she refused to even acknowledge she had powers until only recently. And well, this new development was something else entirely. [rorye]Something that is just annoying you and keeping you honest and humble? Or do you see this as enough of a threat for the rest of the world to get involved?[/rorye]
  10. Penultimate

    This guy was a trip. Definitely something other than what she was used to dealing with. Secretive, quiet. This guy though… she couldn’t pin him down. Either a really good ruse or just completely believed his kool-aid, and a bookwormy one at that as she watched him fiddle with a leather bound. "♜ Sometimes, these make little sense at the time. Sometimes, they make any sense, not that this particular forewarning provided any insight. ♜" [rorye]Damn it. You guys ever think about warning anyone?[/rorye] Not that it mattered now, I mean what would he say? I drew this thing. Beware the thing I drew that is just a thing. Arms stayed crossed, definitely not the mild mannered welcoming committee she was when the shop was “open” per se. "♜ I told you. We’re investigating all shops that may intentionally or unintentionally stock components that could empower arcane incantations. Or haven’t you heard? There’s a new breed of magician on the streets, one that conjures mana the old fashioned way, trading life for power. ♜" She blinked at him, quirking her brow slightly. There were so many things wrong with that, on so many levels. [rorye]One, gun shops do the same thing. Two….[/rorye] She sighed lightly, the man’s innocent quip about tea was just that, innocent. Probably not a great time to talk about Ali either. Something caught her attention though. Life for power. Life for power? It was filed away for a later time, a more serious conversation for ears that wouldn’t snitch on her while she explored that possibility. It did make her suspicious though about her little trinket. Who knew what was stuffed inside that little candle artifact. Michael’s life force? Could she be a target? Maybe this meeting wasn’t all bad. [rorye]….life as in what? Mana? Magic? Artifacts? Souls? What exactly are they going after here? Tea’s on the house by the way…[/rorye]
  11. Penultimate

    "♜ A blood moon. ♜" [rorye]Not possible, too early.[/rorye] It stopped her in her tracks. Of course she knew basically everything that anyone could dream up nowadays could most likely be possible. "♜ No… ♜" ….and apparently he didn’t know her new neighbors either, if he was even telling the truth in the first place. The suspicion hit her like a ton of bricks. Localized? Lying? Spying? "♜ I’m alone… Shopping? Oh, well, please pardon the intrusion then. I’m sure you’re aware of our concern with the rise of practitioners utilizing the arcane arts… ♜" There was a bit of sarcasm on the tip of her tongue that she didn’t enunciate. Instead, fingers picked up the phone, making no qualms about dialing and watching the relative stranger while she did it. Voicemail. Dammit. [rorye]Ya, I’m hoping you’re seeing what I’m seeing in the sky because if not, I’m probably screwed here. If you are, do your thing… I’m good. Locked down, things are quiet, I have some interesting company though. Seems harmless so far. We’ll touch base when this shitstorm is over, see you soon.[/rorye] The beep to release the call on the portable landline that some would consider a dinosaur was ominous. It wasn’t a secret who’d she just called, and if this was all a big trap, at least they knew of it now. Phone was set quietly back on the cradle, brow quirking at the same scratching sound that was distracting him. "♜ Your shop, is a treasure trove of components that could potentially empower these sorcerers. ♜" [rorye]My shop sells crystals and sage,[/rorye] she smiled slightly as she crossed her arms again. [rorye]…and tea. Metaphorically speaking. What people do with it when they toss it into a heaping pile with their own intent is kind of their own cross to bear. Do you talk to stores that sell plates and cutlery when someone decides to use one and stab someone else?[/rorye] It was true, in a sense. Of course she had rare things that most couldn’t find, and a helluva lot of stuff most shouldn’t find- but that was kept away from the general public unless someone came asking for it specifically. They were vetted at that point. The man was nervous, weird. She’d always though the order to be a bunch of ball busting bravados. "♜ Do you think it’s one them? ♜" Brow quirked, looking over her shoulder toward the front window and leaning on the counter behind the register, putting herself deliberately between the guy and her fun ‘party trick’. [rorye]Were’s don’t tend to scratch, they tend to rip and shred. If it was, you’d know.[/rorye] Now came the trick. Stare at each other until this was over, or figure out what exactly his hoodoo was and try to make sure he didn’t fry her brain if that was his particular brand of witchery. [rorye]Your club, has the reputation of being kind of a bunch of jerks, but I don’t knock on your door to remind you of that. Why are you really here?[/rorye]
  12. Consult

    Somewhere along the way, the “host” and “intruder” stood side by side. Not in reality, but it felt as such. Two people, standing shoulder to shoulder and talking to one man, like a left and right hand steeped together or a palm touching a mirror. It was getting confusing which thoughts trailed through which brain, and made the suspicions a lot more heavy as she listened to what herself had to say. When the Nevus hit, who had come from where? If people could be pulled from one side to another, could people have been pulled together? Or freed into what should always have been? Humans dabbling in arcane shit had taken the rest of her life to live from her, the ancient now had a chance to take it back. And then some. ..it felt like a vendetta, the angry, bitter thoughts… "'Did this to you'? You did get cursed then... here I thought your state might have been some attempt at immortality." His voice interrupted the obsession. Silence. It was still… so… raw [rorye]I already was,[/rorye] she’d stopped moving, a long breath pulled in. The air that hovered around her most definitely let anyone know that something was different about the occult specialist when she let the “voices” talk, but what fell around her features now was truly haunting. A brutal, vicious weight . [rorye]Immortal, that is. A girl doesn’t push against an empire and just disappear into history. Now they’re dead, and I’m not. Who won this round of that fucking fight?[/rorye] His snort brought a darker flicker over her brow. "Time to get draconian, you mean... problem with that: I don't write the laws. And the only place I can punish those people is here... [rorye]I don’t need your laws,[/rorye] it was under her breath. It was becoming clear, at least to her, what had to happen. Same scourge, same purge. They snagged her once; this was just the second act to follow up the first tragedy. If there were other people now on her side, that could be a blessing or a problem. Probably end up driving them out into other parts of the world. Eyes flicked up to him. But here, at least, I can hunt them. And you're saying what, you can see the history of an item? Not just your own?" Hand went instinctively to his cheek, thumb caressing quietly there for a moment. She didn’t like it when he frowned. She’d never liked it when he frowned. It was her job to… A flinch flicked her attention downward and the suggestive words that coupled with the proximity were lost for a moment. Long breath brought her hands back to her sides. [rorye]Maybe,[/rorye] came quiet words in response to being able to sense who had been screwing around with other things of her nature. [rorye]My book was a cage. Lions can see who walks past their cage. I knew when I was “back in the hands” I was supposed to be in. Why I was finally able to undo what had been done, I’ve no idea. I’m not walking and talking on my own… no body left to make that happen. Something still allows me to be here, maybe that something could make it. I wouldn’t know how to do that myself. Maybe your people do. My cage, however, may have crossed paths with the people you’re looking for. I’ve seen a lot of faces.[/rorye] How to figure that out, wasn’t her specialty. She killed things, she’d never slung magic. That was left to people she trusted, who had eventually betrayed her. It was boiling up again from her core, the anger. Something that had never been cast aside, not even when there had been reason to. It had been why they took her down, and now was going to be used to exact payback. Why? Why would they have done something like that to her? Thousands of years had been spent pondering the question. Why not just kill her and be done with her? Eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke. "I only kill when I have to... But the ones who're doing this... I don't see any other options. That doesn't mean I'm sanctioning any bloodbaths." The words were familiar, so was the scratching in her skull. She was outstaying her welcome. Too fucking bad. [rorye]People will keep dying. Do what is necessary to protect what you care about. If you don’t, someone will step in and take that choice away.[/rorye] Both hands reached to hold the sides of his face, the flecked green searching his eyes for something that she wasn’t finding. Forehead came to rest against his softly, closed eyes and a long breath questioning who now exactly was in charge. Maybe both? Maybe neither. Whoever it was oozed with aggression even though everything else was silent. Quick sigh pulled her hands back into her own proximity, the predatory eyes still licked with a deep expression of unpredictability. [rorye]You point, I’ll do the dirty work for you.[/rorye] More accurately, he pointed and she would follow the trail to its head, and gut every last fucking one of them. His war, it seemed, was one that was also hers. [rorye]Figuring out who you’re looking for, that is.[/rorye] Lie. Lie lie lie…
  13. Penultimate

    "♜ My name is Sallow. Trystan Sallow. I’m of the Order. ♜" Of course. Of course he was. Impending truce. Alistair on pins and needles about it. Trespassing on the roof of her buildings. Early Weres and in spades from the looks of her mini lighthouse. She’d just shoved her most loyal clientele into an old bank vault that had cushy chairs and hors d'oeuvres. Now the Order was standing in front of her. In. Her. Shop. They’d been in there before, before the whole… thing. They seemed a little bit more shy now because well, duh. Not really something she could keep a secret. Were they tailing her now? Surveillance? Great. Whistle of metal returned to their sheaths. [rorye]Jesus Christ you picked a bad time to be double-o-seven.[/rorye] She moved around him and trotted down the rest of the steps, making a beeline for a panel on the wall near the front door, checking every zone to make sure all the contacts were solid. It was obvious she wasn’t concerned about his presence, she had other concerns- she'd also been a dealer to members of the Order before. They didn't scare her anymore. What a funny little spider she was. "♜ What’s happening? Are we being attacked? ♜" [rorye]Don’t they teach you about full moons in wizard school?[/rorye] her voice was unusually cordial, quiet as she punched a few more buttons. Lights dimmed to safety bright only, and she finally seemed to stop moving for a moment. There was nothing left she could do but wait and hope whatever was breaking lose outside would pass. Phone was picked up, she needed to check in with ARMA. The phone clicked back into the receiver behind the counter, trying not to draw attention to her fun relic that had sent up the first warning. It gave the room a fireplace ambiance. She probably shouldn’t call them at this very second. Dammit. Arms crossed, voice low. She was trying to be patient. [rorye]People in the city think it’s an exotic event. Weres rarely make it this far into New York so the full moons are good for business.[/rorye] sigh long, fingers tapped on her biceps. [rorye]After one almost burned the place down a few years back I installed the security system. This is not a normal full moon. Red. Is that you guys up on the roof of my next door building too?[/rorye] Now… a red moon was just enough to scream close the shutters early. Her sudden alarm and ushering of everyone into the vault? She wasn’t quite ready to divulge her little beacon’s secret quite yet. Granted… it could have been warning her about him. [rorye]So what are we shopping for tonight Mr. Sallow/[/rorye]
  14. Penultimate

    Her expression must have been like a mirror, but still her fingers reached under the heel of her opposite hand, readied to pull a blade from beneath. She wasn’t sure what people saw when she moved, a blur, crazy fast accuracy? Often when she stopped her clothing or hair would keep moving- this was one of those times, braid flicking like a whip upon her halt. Trystan’s hands of submission was the only thing keeping it from snapping out. Eyes flicked to Nina, and still gave the stoic command that seemed to come from some infused memory in her blood. She was made for this, the intrusive thought quick. "♜ Now? Now what? ♜" As he spoke the roll of metal was smooth, windows and doors shuttered, locking down. Eyes fell on the flickering chamberstick and its steady blaze, then back to the man in front of her. A Brit. Of course a Brit would.... why was he on her stairs? That’s when the knife came out, hands up or not, held backward against her forearm and a hair’s width from his throat. Burn in her blood told her to do it. The burn from the blades always told her to do it. The darkness in her pupils watched him for a flicker of movement, the older lady’s proximity quick to her side. [rorye]Not a drill,[/rorye] she said quietly to Nina, eyes finally on the woman instead of the man that needed to be dealt with. It wasn’t the first time customers had wandered off the beaten path on accident. He would have to wait a moment, and she would have to ask for perhaps an overreacted forgiveness later. [rorye]Get everyone into the vault. Quietly, quickly not sure how much time we have.[/rorye] Nina and the other two employees knew the drill. A wall bookshelf in the side library clicked heavily and moved as Jesse rolled it out like a door and opened the tank of a vault. Old bank had its perks. It would be tight, but they would all fit. Attention on the small crowd that seemed to buzz with “excitement” as they were moving safely inside, words were quiet again. [rorye]If you’re going in we probably just need to talk about boundaries. If not, we need to talk about who you are and why you’re here.[/rorye] She knew exactly who she was affiliated with, and what dangers came with it. As of yet though, nobody had been ballsy enough to walk into her sanctuary. Everyone safely inside, Jesse waited a moment to close the beast. [rorye]Five seconds and that door closes friend. You in or out.[/rorye] She never went in- a subject of hours of arguments with her friends. If the building was burning down, she would burn down with it. This was the first time she would possibly have to deal with another threat on top of it.
  15. Rise of the Blood Moon

    Penultimate