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  • By the Pricking of My Thumbs


    Rhome Del Santo

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    His words of confession were only because the Vicar was there, or so he thought.  Where there had been no caring before, no thoughts to what others thought of him, there was something in the man’s irrevocable trust that made the torn magus want to do better.  Not because of the pinpoint of his ire in front of him, but because he thought there was still a shred of something good that he’d brought to this world. What though, if his daughter was as damaged as he was?

     

    Then what?

     

    He was not surprised when his likeness was produced for them all to see.  The Italian was absolutely aware of what the Order was capable of.  It was that alone he wanted to expose for the rot that it was.

     

    " But I dont have all the answers."

     

    When she looked at him, though an overused and cliché adage- especially for him, his blood boiled.  The molten silver didn’t back down, it never would. 

    " The blood of our kind is potent and more will spill. You’ve learned this.  Its why Ive sought you out. Both of you."

     

    Knowing it was always on the edge of possibility, he absolutely was now a standing example of how this poison was trying to get the upper hand and no doubt exterminate them all.  Oddly enough, it seemed from the very beginning he leaned more toward the Vanguard in those regards.  He’d been conditioned, trained, programmed to view others with magic as either one of the fold, or tainted with the corruption that freedom without guidance created.  Arma fell into that category.  Every magic user had the potential to fall into that category, which was why he’d become so mechanical in his executions.  There was a point though, the breaking point… when all were considered abominations.  He'd been taught Arma was a fall from grace, this further dissolution- were just bastards.  Dangerous ones at that.

     

    He was not expecting her next question, soft blink the first time her words were really allowed to penetrate under his skin.

     

    " He is a devout member of his order and will do whatever is necessary but you Del Santo you have no allegiance to the First Light, to anyone, so I’ll ask; what would it take for you to help me fight this menace?"

     

    It would come to this then.  The mere acknowledgement she wanted his help meant he was still valued as a weapon to be wielded by their hand, or one that would be eradicated if he so much breathed he supported this threat.  He was very aware the cavalier was moving, but his attention was on the face off with the Order, as well as the tower he’d spoken of.  The assassin didn’t miss anything, not even the candles that twittered slightly in the drafts of the halls.  The pet was also moving, and something was happening. The stairs, the burnt landing.  He wanted no secrets of his to be unearthed here. 

     

    "…a precaution only… to be sure the devil has not left his mark in the house he is unwelcome within."

     

    Hackles raised, the defensive warmth once again lit from within.  He did not need either of them to protect his charges.  Two answers needed, one temper flaring.  His eyes were still on Dacia though the Cavalier addressed him.

     

    "…allies…. in this time…. can be as dangerous as your enemies….  … I caution any…. to have either…."

     

    [santo]Get out of my house.[/santo]

     

    Voice was so quiet… such a calm before the storm.  It was directed to both of them- to their demands and their wants, their intrusion.  Eyes flicked toward the door to the tower, despite the danger of the hum within the confessional, the heated air rushing toward the stairwell was sucked upward into the cold stories of staircases, snapping the door shut with an echo in a stark second of defiance.  This was his home, his peace, his sanctuary… and the “devils” were now crawling through every nook and cranny- inclusive of the wolves in sheep’s clothing.  He would not be left in peace with what they found.  They were not interested in whether he could help.  They were interested in whether he was a threat.  He was a threat.  He was an earth shattering threat.  A threat they’d created.  The immediate world could feel the magus’ temper burst forth like a volcano, the room a wicked blast of piercing flared heat.  Fierce to breathe in, flicker over his skin quivering before a light blue undulation danced merely centimeters from his flesh.

     

    [santo]Get.  OUT![/santo]

     

    Dust and small bits of dirt were beginning to tremble on the floor, swirl patterns akin to the wisps of snow across a winter road that were pulling toward him.  It was a catastrophic spell.  One whose repercussions were unspeakable.  It was not the fires of hell, it was the wrath of god.

     

    No violence here, the thought made his cheek twitch.

     

    A sanctuary… though uncertain he would not unleash the heavens despite who was standing near him.

     

    Was it a reaction to the question from the woman?  Or the fact he knew the answer and couldn’t speak it.  It was easier to force them out, to risk admonishment from the Vicar, than to admit he wanted something from the Order other than its ultimate destruction.  As quickly as the world had trembled, it was gone, dust swishing over his polished shoes to settle in a grainy slide.

     

    Everything, suddenly silent.

     

    Eyes were watching something in one of the brilliantly colored windows.  A twinkle of the sun through mosaic glass, a scene he knew.  It didn’t take words or the touch of his Vicar, it was the sun…  For those unable to read… think rationally, the colored windows were meant to convey the messages.  Whatever path he chose, he could not win.  It was not his place to choose the right side, so many sides… there was no right side.  Exposing them would only lead to more fighting, more justified hate, but the world needed to know.  They had chances to extend an olive branch, but it wasn’t until they were in danger had they even bothered.

     

    [santo]What would it take?[/santo]  it came out quietly.  [santo]To admit to the world why I exist.[/santo]  He let it hang in the silence for a moment, the Vicar and the Cavalier witness to the tip of the iceberg.  [santo]If you’ll excuse us, we need to prepare for mass.  Do what you need, but be out of here within the hour.[/santo]

     

    That quickly.  He could flip from vicious to a saint in less than a second, and it was the Order that was responsible for that, or so he assumed.  Even he couldn’t imagine what secrets really lay inside his mind.  Truths that he didn’t realize he knew. Memories he didn’t realize were false.

     

    Expression cast to the older man as he approached to finish their tasks was a sullen one.  Apologetic.  He’d lost his temper, but faith had saved it, like it had so many times before.  Still, the embers burned, and burned dangerously.

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    The Vanguard’s input was anything but helpful prompting an enervated eye-roll from the Overseer. Allies were always a gamble. The cavalier was simply a bonus, the Magus was her target. She needed someone on the outside, removed from politics and carrying-of-favour. A wild card. His attitude, however, was puzzling. She was offering one of the most successful assassins of the Order a chance to take up a worthy cause. To fight against a menace that threatened the very essence of their society.

    ‘What was the man’s problem?’ It wasn’t as if the Order had forced him into servitude. Did they? Dacia had always understood that Del Santo had volunteered. That he was a patriot of their cause. These were not the actions of free will, but oppression. His questions an ultimatum. What had broke this man?

    [dacia]Wait.[/dacia] The Overseer commanded, her words softening to a requesting, [dacia]One moment.[/dacia]

    [dacia]You chose your role Del Santo[/dacia] She challenged. [dacia]In this time of absolutism your kind is an unfortunate necessity. What did you expect would be the outcome of your decision? What happened to you?[/dacia]

     

    Dacia was beginning to suspect that stories told and the story to be told, conflicted. Furtive whispers had always haunted the hallowed halls of Rome.

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    • 1 month later...

    [santo]Get out of my house.[/santo]

     

    Hazel flicked to the man, recognizing that quiet tone. The cavalier did not need to feel the heat to know the danger the man possessed. Yet even under the threat of being cooked the warrior monk's gaze remained infuriatingly calm.

     

    Door above slammed, Enoch's nails heard softly on the step as he pulled away to keep his nose from being crushed in the event. But as the heat whispered up around them, the quiet eyes lifted once more to the ceiling of the second floor. The shadow above had changed under the rage. Reacting to the mage? There was a real danger there. It didn’t make sense. There were no artifacts in this church.

     

    The volcano was percolating and for some reason the woman seemed keen to feed its fire, tainting the man even as the good Father appeared to recall where he was and force his calm to return.

     

    It was the arrogance of power. He had seen it before. Grant was the same, thought she knew all the answers, thought the Cavalier was her personal "dog". It was amazing how much could go unnoticed under the careful watch of arrogant eyes.

     

    Hazel slid up the stairs where the door had slammed closed on Enoch. The canine had its nose at the bottom crack of the door and every hackle was up.

     

    [dacia]……What happened to you?[/dacia]

     

    Didn’t know? Or arrogance blinded?

     

    Hazel appraised her a moment before returning to his companion and the shadow above. As the Father moved to finish his preparations for mass, the quiet words slid from his lips.

     

    [rami]…. I suspect….. you and your Order happened to him.[/rami]

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    • 2 weeks later...

    They just wouldn’t leave.

     

    Wouldn’t leave.

     

    Would.  Not.  Leave!

     

    Like a consistent, fitful buzzing of hornets around someone that was invariable deathly allergic, it was just short of prompting a lit fuse to get rid of them instead of just walking away.  He’d already started to sequester himself mentally.  It didn’t seem as if they were here to make a show, that was excusable at least, but it didn’t keep his skin from becoming a veritable hell of heat.  Like a pressure cooker, once controlled with a tight lid- it was so close to splitting at the seams.

     

    " Wait."

     

    A tick in his temple was visible as he stopped, allowing the Vicar to keep traveling on his way.  He shouldn’t have stopped, the silver spindled eyes moving back to the woman with outward patience, but inward fury.  To smash the buzz, or let it sting?

     

    " You chose your role Del Santo.  In this time of absolutism your kind is an unfortunate necessity. What did you expect would be the outcome of your decision? What happened to you?"

     

    Lashes lowered, hand coming to rest calmly on one of the pews as memories flickered through his consciousness like a 8mm film, his gaze fell to the polish in the floor.  Polish over a hundred years of footsteps.  An old penny, shined new over nicks, scars and weary time.

     

    [santo]Death,[/santo] was the answer to both her questions.  It sprung up so easily.  For someone not of extreme faith, it was difficult to understand.  He was a pauper that had nothing, devoted himself and failed at his vows.  In his failure, he’d become something so terrible that the only thing he felt he deserved was death.  He trusted them to bring it to him, and didn’t fight when they demanded it of him.  Accepted their punishment without complaint.  Stockholm.  The guilt, had been so thick.  Lost his way.  He could never atone for that.

     

    Now?  The emergence from the dark was slow enough it almost kept the wounds from being ripped open. Almost.

     

    "…. I suspect….. you and your Order happened to him."

     

    Gaze moved to the Cavalier.  It was stinging now, in that pain there was only silence.  Words couldn’t be put together that would begin to describe what had transpired.  A gentle ghost of what was trickled over his brow, bared soul for a moment, the quiet Italian before things went so terrible wrong- disappearing when his gaze shifted to sunlight twinkling through a window as the morning progressed.  Fingers tapped softly in succession, about to leave without giving anything else. The stories he could tell.

     

    [santo]Death was what I chose.[/santo]  voice murmured, incredibly quiet as he looked back at her.  [santo]You speak of necessities.  A soldier is a necessity.  I was not a soldier.  I was a weapon, a weapon the Order denied existed.  Someone tortured, experimented on, beaten until they were malleable enough to become a sword. Something that didn’t question.[/santo]

     

    The edge licked into incredibly silent words spoke truth. Accusatory and angry.  Even though he spoke past tense, it didn’t change the fact it was still embedded in him.  It should have felt better to speak words never spoken, it didn’t.  It made him feel sick, conflicting sides telling him to either step forward or pull back.  Nothing good would come of this.  What did he expect when he was plotting to bare the Order’s atrocities against him to the world?  The Cavalier would hear his words if no other person could.  It was apparent the Cavalier held no love for this woman’s cause, or the faux priest’s- an impartial witness to truths that may never reach public ears.

     

    [santo]If any of this is a surprise to you, then you have more crashing around you than you realize.[/santo]  Pause was long, watching the woman for any sign she may have known.  She knew him, knew who he was.  Had it ever been her on the other side of the line telling him what needed to be done?  [santo]I at least know what I am, and I have nothing to lose.[/santo]

     

    Cavalier was watched a moment with the attention of a keen predator, a nod at the tower door an invitation that he had previously withdrawn.  Calm exterior or not, he was a killer.  The Great Oz curtains had been discarded.  It was pointless to try and hide now.

     

    [santo]You’ll find a scorch on the middle landing.  When they couldn’t kill and bleed me here they tried to trap me in the tower and burn the entire church.  I don’t know why that would have been an option.  I killed one on the landing, scorched the evidence and incinerated him in the furnace in the sub ground level. The other disappeared as I said.  Anything else I can do for you….?[/santo]

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