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  • The Nature of the Unnatural


    Alec Walker

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    Your ancestors called it magic...but you call it science. I come from a land where they are one and the same.

     

     

    [walker]For a pretty silly movie, they at least got something right.[/walker] Alec mused to himself as he sat at his desk behind a well-worn and long-trusted computer keyboard. Alec had been thinking about quotes like that for a long time, now. What is the nature of magic? Some people would say it is the Earth screaming to let itself be heard. Others would claim it is the next step of human evolution. Alec, well, Alec was inclined to believe it was some part of the human genetic code which had lain dormant until reactivated. It was science. It is science.

     

    The screen blinked off at him. It had been left alone too long. He'd spent time thinking when he could have been writing. Wrist flicked, and the screen blared back to life. [walker] Would've been better to keep the damn thing off.[/walker] Alec grumbled to himself. All he had was a half a page. Half a page written, with close to 100 hours of spoken notes recorded on his phone and various little voice recorders. Most of them were probably just repeated information. And who the hell had time to listen to what they'd already said?

     

    Dejected, Alec saved the document, closed his computer, and leaned back. It was all so clear in his mind, but how to explain it on paper? Magic is nothing more than the extension of human potential. A clear mind would help. He was sure of that much. So, Alec grabbed his trusted .44 off his desk, slipped on the holster,and headed down to the range for a bit of target practice.

     

    Plus, you never knew who you'd find at the shooting range. Still, he couldn't shake the question. What IS the nature of magic? and how do you explain it to an outsider?

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    • 7 months later...
    Guest Gareth  Elisedd

    Gareth was spending yet another day of focused determination at the ARMA shooting range. Though today's adversaries were merely bobbing paper silhouettes, the medic went about their destruction with what appeared to be absolute focus.  Appearances, as anyone in this strange new world would tell you, mean less than nothing, and this held true for Gareth.  At almost all times, regardless of the seriousness or difficulty of his current situation, some part of the singer's brain would find the capacity to reinvent the world around him, often with enough left over to muse on these surroundings.

     

    On this day reality yielded to a high risk defensive operation.  The Order, intent on retaking the New York power centre, had brought its full power to bear.  Gareth found himself alone in a Bronx street, cut off from his ARMA allies by enemy magi of unknown capabilities.  As Gareth placed his shots, he began a jaunty, hopeful tune, infusing it with mana and purpose.  Through this spell the song-magus would feel the presence of all who heard it.  As Gareth entuned his magic, struggling to maintain his aim and reaction time, he imagined it as his best means of keeping track of his opponents in the chaos of the big city war-zone.  

     

    Of course, there were few guarantees when dealing with an adversary like the Order, even if you yourself were a magus.  Whatever laws governed mana, it was a deeper science than Gareth suspected the current world was capable of grasping.  There seemed to be no telling all the ways in which someone touched by it would end up affected.  There was no telling the danger an unknown magus might pose.

     

    Gareth wasn't delusional.  He knew he wasn't a match for most of the Order's shields or swords in raw power or combat skill, but if he was careful he could survive them, and help others do the same.

     

    When Gareth felt someone approaching, he started, his aim fell, and he barely clipped his enemy's leg.  His gun was spent and he was standing out of cover, leaving himself open to counter-attack.  Picturing the likely end his blunder would have resulted in, the medic stopped his singing.

     

    "Hmm...I seem to have just died.  That won't do."

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    [walker]You don't look too dead. Voodoo revival puppetry?[/walker]

     

    A slight grin crossed the mage's face. He semi-recognized Gareth. The boy was like him--constantly training to keep himself alive and perfect his skills with a firearm.

     

    Alec would break the silence with a rhetorical question:

    [walker]Another one of them 'maginary training exercises with paper demons?[/walker]

     

    The targets were pointedly pierced. Definitely deadly. Gareth had taken down every threat, as far as the cloak agent could tell.

     

    And then he spotted the last target standing...unmarred.

     

    [walker]Seems like you missed one, man.[/walker] A finger noted the offending target.

     

    Wheelgun lifted out of holster quickly, then a bang, followed by the appearance of a decently large tear in the paper, and the sound of the gun being reholstered.

     

    Alec clapped the younger mage on the shoulder. [walker] Last time I checked, we don't go into combat alone for a reason. Band of Brothers and all that. [/walker]

    A careful eye swept the carnage.

    [walker]You only narrowly dropped the ball, but my pa used to say, "Almost only counts in fantasy and fairy shit." Want to run it one more time?[/walker]

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