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  • Chronicle of A Great Many Deaths Foretold


    Towenaar Van Aarde

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    November 19, 2017

    4:53 PM

    Pennsylvania Station

    [Towen] When I raise my flashing sword, and my hand takes hold on judgment, I will take vengeance upon mine enemies, and I will repay those who hate me. Oh, Lord, raise me to Thy right hand and count me among Thy saints.[/Towen]

     

    The tracks had long since been cleared, and there were a limited number of trains running per day--schedules had been largely curtailed with the fuel shortages the world continued to face. Towen stepped out of the bathroom, wiping down his hands on the cloth of his jacket, careful to protect the contents of his pocket from stray drops or wicking of moisture. Security cameras were back up and running, so an assault in broad view would be suicide. Surreptitiously, talismans were laid out in a rough pattern; scraps of paper with scrawled markings. They were attuned carefully to the mana signature of an ARMA mage Towen had been watching for the past two weeks. The mage would feel his magic disappear, and a panic would set in; a carefully induced panic attack within the confines of the talismanic boundary. 

     

    [npc] Hey, Mark! Let me know when you get to Boston. Gotta tell me what the office there's like before I put in for a transfer. [/npc] One of the mage's friends called after him as he waved goodbye. [npc] Yeah yeah. I'll call ya, Jeff.[/npc] 

     

    Mark made his way through the station down towards the former AmTrak departure area. As he stepped into the region of control Towen had established, Mark's confidence started to wane. It was not until he'd reached the waiting area that the mage felt his mana entirely disappear. He gasped for breath, thinking the lack of a constant mana flow was a failure of his respiratory system. After a few gulps of air, Mark seemed satisfied that his life was not in danger, and tried to flick a small cyclone into existence over his hand--an exercise at which he ultimately failed. When he'd successfully isolated himself, Mark tried again, failed again, bowed his head for a moment before intending to stand again, only to be interrupted by the liberation of his brain from his body by a single savage swing. 

     

    Towenaar sheathed his sword and walked away, mingling back into the crowd for a time as though waiting for his train. He'd left the talismans around--not like anyone would notice scraps of torn paper in a litter-strewn shithole.

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    December 24, 2017

    8:14 PM

    Hell's Kitchen

    [Towen] Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, In due time their foot will slip; For the day of their calamity is near, And the impending things are hastening upon them.[/towen]

     

    Ah, christmas-time. Towen had been planning this for months. He'd delivered divine punishment unto other unbelievers since November, but none so notable as to warrant the attention of ARMA or the OFL. They'd been mere initiates, not even worthy of forethought beyond a bit of framing. Simple skirmishes between ARMA and OFL--a low level conflagration or a touch of electricity delivered to a nearby pool of water had been enough to bring down these mewling cubs. These were mere cantrips, spells any mage could have executed with even the slightest training. Thin lips curled upwards, a hand scratching his neck as he observed the target of his next assault. Drunken magi were useless magi... more useless than usual, that is, and the holidays were a great time to find those louts carousing and low on awareness.

     

    Frank Mulcahy was one of those who had been a man of the cloth before the unholy powers of the Resonance had been bestowed upon him. He was a moderately powerful mage in the ranks of the Order--most likely blinded by their holy rhetoric, shoveled like so much defecate of bull onto the footsoldiers of a corrupted force.

     

    The formerly-good father was a member of the Order's Shield division, and would be a tough enough opponent if not caught while unawares, or out of his skull drunk off communion wine. Towen, putting on an act, drunkenly stumbled into the man, shoulder-checking him, and surreptitiously dropping a talisman into his pocket.

     

    It would target the boundary between paper and clothing, increasing the kinetic energy along that border until a flame started to consume the woolen fabric. Once distracted by the heat and the panic of his clothes quite literally catching fire, Mulcahy would be incapable of focusing his considerably powerful physical augmentations towards his hulking assailant. A cursory glance to ensure the street was clear, and a quick check of local mana streams confirmed they were alone. Towen chanted briefly under his breath and summoned down a massive, blood-red gate, with an inscription above its mighty entrance.

     

    Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

    (abandon all hope ye who enter here)

     

    Mulcahy stumbled through that entryway, tripping into his own mind, suffering the permanent and irreversible torment of reliving every violation of his own morality and his divine mandate. A moment later, though it seemed an eternity for the former priest, he snapped his own neck.

     

    Towen blinked twice, watching the massive gate disappear and checking on the man to ensure he was dead. [Towen] In Nomeni Patri Et Fili Spiritus Sancti. [/towen] The wandering divine hunter made the sign of the cross over his quarry, bowed his head in silent prayer, and slipped back into the shadows of the night-covered street on his way back home.

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    • 3 weeks later...

    January 13, 2018

    12:03 PM

    Williamsburg, near the East River Ferry

     

    [Towen]But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.[/towen]

     

    Towen had gotten bolder by now. Several more magi had fallen before him, and the authorities were beginning to wonder. He should have grown more cautious, but why bother with caution when the nature of his abilities bent towards confusing an investigator anyway?

     

    The sounds of screams poured from the confines of the small runic prison Towen had created for his latest quarry. Time moved slower in there. Well, the man thought it did. Towen's blade had cut through the man's neck nearly 30 seconds ago, and yet the man was just now starting to see that blade move his direction. He would mentally endure hours of agony before his head finally rolled from his neck to the ground and was incinerated, leaving behind only a pile of dust and teeth.

     

    Greatsword slung back over shoulder, scraps of string from talismans recovered, and Towen was on his way again. Short, sweet, and to the point, this murder had been. No fuss, no muss, no witnesses.

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    • 3 months later...

    July 4, 2019

    Washington Square Park

    7 PM

     

    [towen]Out of the heavens He let you hear His voice to discipline you; and on earth He let you see His great fire, and you heard His words from the midst of the fire.[/towen]

     

    It might have been almost a decade since the world ended, but Americans were still proud of themselves, and from time to time, they liked to celebrate old traditions. There were a few families out tonight, having brought grills and coolers. The false Arc de Triomphe was still standing, after significant repairs. It would be only a few more minutes until one of them looked up and saw the body.

     

    Towen had lopped off the man's head, now hanging him by a rope looped under the arms from the top of the Arc, head taped to a hand.

     

    Who was this man? Well, he'd had some information Towen needed, and wasn't afraid to kill to get.

     

    11 AM

     

    Towen had gone quiet for a few months, plotting something necessarily large. His last kill had been nearly eight months prior--the massacre-by-fire of twelve OFL operatives who had walked into the middle of a kill-site he'd set up for one agent in particular--one who had trained with the man, and who was starting to develop some suspicions. 

     

    Today, however, he'd spend with an operative of another organization, one which operated similarly to his own beliefs, but pursued them with less vigor.

     

    It was easy to interrogate a suspect with Towen's abilities. Acquire a property. Set the talismans to control the rules of the room. Acquire the subject. Interrogate. 

     

    [npc] Fucking mages! When my superiors hear about this... Whichever one of those two fucked up communities you assholes belong to! It's going to BURN! [/npc]

     

    Towen chuckled. [towen] It's just you and me, friend. [/towen] The South African accent rebounded through the room--his own words amplified and echoed from the shadows by virtue of the talismanic enhancements. 

     

    [towen] You're going to tell me what I want to know, or I can very very slowly start removing layers of your skin. Maybe burn them off, maybe just have them suddenly disappear. You might even just lose a hand because I say so. [/towen]

     

    The man in the chair spat. [npc] You don't fucking scare me, scumbag. I know you. Your masters keep you on such tight leashes that you could never do something like this on your own. [/npc]

     

    Towen listened, having been preparing a few remaining talismans to alter the conditions of the room as he saw fit. One to raise the temperature, one to create complete darkness, one to amplify sonic waves, and one to increase gravity by a factor of six.

     

    [npc] I don't know what you're after, but you won't get it from me. [/npc]

     

    The small amount of light in the room reflected a slight gleam as the man heard a blade pulled from its scabbard. Towen stepped forward from the shadows, toying with the blade. It wasn't his usual claymore--that was off in the corner. This was a finely crafted dagger. Johann had asked him to test the design, knowing the mage to be the outdoorsy type. Abusive testing was the second step in ensuring a blade's quality, especially when Johann had imbued this particular one with a variant on his usual strengthening. 

     

    Towen menaced the guard, blade dancing in front of his face. [towen] You can tell me exactly what defenses are in place at New Alcatraz or I can start by removing one of your ears. [/towen]

     

    The guard spat in his face again. [npc] Threaten me all you want. You won't do anything. [/npc] He was confident.

     

    That confidence was misplaced.

     

    Towen grabbed the man's ear. A quick slash, followed by a soft thud as the human ear dropped to the ground. [towen] Is that enough for you to believe me? [/towen] The South African didn't necessarily want to be torturing a human, but it wasn't as though he was doing it blindly.

     

    [Towen]Now. Maybe you don't know, so we'll start with something easier. What are your guard schedules? How many guards per wing per shift? [/Towen] 

     

    The man frowned. He was beginning to wonder why his voice wasn't working.

     

    The guard cursed. [npc]Fuck you. [/npc] Towen chuckled. [Towen] Shall I continue removing pieces of you? [/Towen] He made a light incision across the top of the man's wrists, which were bound to the arms of the chair. Steadily, those cuts, serving as boundaries between flesh began to warm. Towen was cauterizing the cuts he'd made. No healer would be able to repair those wounds easily.

     

    [npc] What... what the fuck are you doing to me!? [/npc] The man had begun to feel fear. [towen] Do you understand now? I am not with ARMA or the Order. Now tell me what I want to know. What defenses are in place? [/Towen] 

     

    The man clenched his fists. [npc]I'll tell you nothing, scumbag. [/npc] Towen growled under his breath before speaking again. [towen] Do I need to remove more pieces of you? [/towen] 

     

    [npc] Fuck off. [/npc] Towen just laughed. [towen] What defenses are in place? [/towen] The rogue mage laid the knife's tip directly under his prey's fingernail, lifting it slightly as the man screamed in pain. [npc] Your mother. [/npc] The man breathed heavily.

     

    Towen stabbed the man through his hand. [towen] I can keep at this all day, or you can tell me what you know. So let's continue. What defenses are in place? [/towen]

     

    The man spat again. [npc]What did you do? [/npc] Towen chuckled. [towen] Your voice oscillates at a consistent frequency. That's the peril of being a Human with Abilities, and not a mage. Find one neutralizing force, and you're useless. [/towen] 

     

    The magus stepped away from his prisoner and wiped down his hands which were slightly bloody. [towen] So, one more try before I go find one of your friends, maybe your wife... see what they know. Maybe they'll be more eager to talk with your lifeless body on display. [/towen] The mage wasn't fucking around.

     

    [npc] All right, all right. I'll tell you. Promise me you won't kill them. [/npc] Wow... was that all it took? [npc] What you're going to do... is make sure you get a boat, fill it with TNT, and set it on a course for the island like a fire-ship. Then... you take the detonator, and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!. [/npc] The last word was accompanied by the man's spit, which Towen wiped off his face before stepping back into the shadows. 

     

    There was the unmistakable sound of a sword being unsheathed before the blade came down across both of the man's arms, shearing off his hands and sinking rather deeply into the man's kneecaps, rendering them useless. [towen] I'll just go get another guard and find out more. [/towen] 

     

    The guard held onto his secrets until the very end, succumbing to an executioner's beheading stroke, and was strung up on the Arc de Triomphe unnoticed because of Towen's ability to manipulate the boundary between himself (including the body) and the air in such a way that he was rendered invisible to the naked eye. He'd emulated the glamour of the fae.

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    • 1 month later...

    September 2, 2019

    Battery Park

    6:53 PM

     

    [towen]He put on righteousness as his breastplate, and the helmet of salvation on his head; he put on the garments of vengeance and wrapped himself in zeal as in a cloak.[/towen]

     

    Well, there wasn't quite that much armor on the religious zealot as he made his way through the threateningly elongating shadows of the trees near the once abandoned Clinton Monument in Battery Park. A warm coat, lined with talismanic protection served as cloak, while an ordinary gray woolen hat stood in for the "helmet of salvation." He would serve as prophet, as Isaiah had--warrior and voice of god in a seemingly godless world.

     

    Labor Day was upon them, regardless. At least this holiday still made sense. Factory workers and all those who labored for the benefit of society needed a day in their honor. Regardless, they were consorting with unholy creatures the world called mages and altered, and no one was willing to take the necessary steps to ensure the salvation of society. He would show them just how dangerous these so-called humans--no more than impostors--were. They would all burn. He would show them all what they truly had to fear--the true nature of augmented mankind.

     

    Once inside the building, Towen navigated to its geometric center. He'd mapped out the coordinates exactly. Chalk slipped from one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, and the man began to work. The circle and its requisite markings were sketched quickly but precisely, the chalk slipped back into his pocket, and the man was on his way out before triggering the spell, which really didn't need the circle to be called down if he didn't care exactly where the entrance was. Unfortunately, Towen did. The night tour was about to begin at 7 PM, and there would be dozens of people on their way into the now booby trapped entrance. 

     

    Towen stood back in those lengthening shadows, watching as people wandered into the historic monument. A flash of light, followed by a burst of heat. There was at least one mage in the bunch. The smell of burning hair reached his nostrils, and Towen waved it away so he could breathe again. There was a rumbling beneath his feet. The building started to crack and crumble. An earth elementalist? How interesting. 

     

    Towen waited a bit longer, staring at the building which was now at the mercy of two elements, seemingly competing to see which could destroy it faster. It would be too late by the time ARMA arrived, and the force of the conflict would destroy the chalk circle, burning pieces of it away or shaking them up and removing the chalk by friction. 

     

    The total casualties would be reported the next morning as 40 killed, 20 wounded. Of those, 19 would be in intense psychiatric care. 

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