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    The Book of Kells; Tea, Reads and Occult Shoppe

    November 11th, 2019

    4:30pm

     

    Gloved hands dusted themselves, well… more of a mucked crumble of somber and soggy dirt as it plinked to the ground.  Breath curled mist into the twilight air, the sun lost in her protected small courtyard.  Glow of the city had already started to light up the sky in its nightly throb.  Quiet. 

     

    She was surrounded by brick so old it had faded to orange, the garden completely shut off from the world.  Her old Victorian perched comfortably within towering monstrosities, a reminder of bygone eras that held nostalgia for the opulent.  Downstairs, a shop and teahouse.  Upstairs, renovated to a thing of beauty she appreciated on a daily basis.  Michael had purchased the building next to it, demolished the thing to give her the oasis she wanted, then built the teahouse as an extension to close it off.  It was the only place she could go to be with her thoughts, and even that anymore was questionable.

     

    ++

     

    “It’s an old bank,”  her brow cocked at him, the helmet clicking off the zipper on her coat’s wrist.

     

    “It’s yours,”  tall stature seemed fucking proud of himself, hands in his pockets, the Scottish drawl lost as he grinned at her and rocked back once on his Harley heels.

     

    She blinked,  “it’s an old bank.”

     

    “C’mon…  Bee?  Imagination, we can make this work.”

     

    ++

     

    Sigh was long, surveying the summer wares that were now covered for the winter.  Back of her glove wiped a smear of dirt from her cheek.  The large stone in the corner of the garden was always there.  Overseeing her survival after the world died and her refusal of Hells to die with it; a fire had torn through, rebuilding again, renewed happiness and trust, dealing with her own change.  Only recently had she the peace of mind to clear the grass away and make it a part of the garden proper; decoration the world thought it was, its Celtic Tree of Life engraved over the stone.  Beneath, a grave and secrets.  Secrets only she knew, and would ever know.  Something she could not share.  Not with anyone.

     

    ++

     

    “You don’t have to follow your parents’ path anymore.  You are NOT a factory worker…  sewing fucking hoodies for every sports team on the planet?”

     

    Her glare was tight,  “so you think you’re going to save me? I can’t accept this.”

     

    His fingers rifled red curls backward, then forward, sigh defeated… “stained glass… a café, you love to cook… books, beautiful things… a place where our friends can be. Not in a factory.”

     

    She didn’t know where her bubbling anger was coming from.  The fact he thought she needed saving?  How disappointed her parents were going to be?  That she couldn’t afford a dream herself?

     

    “I don’t need a knight in shining armor, I'm not a child.  I hope you got a good return policy. C’mon, I gotta go to work.”

     

    ++

     

    Gloves slid off, banged together to get the rest of the mud off.  It was rare anymore that Michael invaded her thoughts.  She preferred it that way, there was a point when life moved on, the train of thought shutting the trickle of memories away as she stuffed the gloves in the back pockets of her low slung Levi’s.  Arms fell to her sides, standing still a moment to take in the sky.  The world was suddenly so quiet, thick haze pressing in from all sides.  Full moon soon, the monthly gathering of the oddities of Hells most likely already in full swing inside.  Darkness was only a bit off.

     

    ++

     

    “I know you don’t… just…”  his brows furled.  “I just wanted to do something for you… you never let me do anything for you.  Plus, we could live upstairs… it’s been renovated.”

    “Why would we live upstairs?”

     

    “Because I want you to marry me.”

     

    Her lips pursed curiously, and he captured them in one fell swoop.  It stole her breath, reeling in fluttering thought.

     

    “Yes?” he smiled against her lips, the grin always a boyish charm.

     

    Laugh was soft as she nodded slowly at first, then definitively as her dark eyes glanced back at the building… “My dad is going to be so pissed… he’ll probably kill you.”

     

    ++

     

    *npc* Rorye!

     

    She blinked, casting a glance over her shoulder, realizing Nina was trying to get her attention for half a minute.  The older woman had come out the side door, apron still on.  Her palms slid the chestnut curls that had escaped their loose plait off her cheeks.

     

    *npc* Your candle.

     

    Eyes questioned a moment, well-worn brown leather knee high riding boots clicking on the self-laid cobbles as she trotted toward the back door.  She was moving quicker than news of a candle would seem logical.  Poncho of thin, fine mulberry colored wool snapped when she pulled the door suddenly open and made her way with long strides through her workshop and into the store proper. Incense. Beautiful things… antiquery and twinkling crystals. The murmuring sound of customers chatting over eclectic and delicate teacups. None the wiser.

     

    Lit up like a beacon, the antique sconce was perched on top of a skull behind her counter.  A skull with fangs.  A parlor trick to everyone but Nina and herself.  It always merely twinkled, the flame never going out; flickering to get her attention when she was troubled, or by herself stocking new items in the shop.

     

    Now?  It was a blaze, lighting the room in an unusual glow.

     

    Eyes flicked to the teahouse up the stairs and through the archway, then back to the compact brass chamberstick.

     

    “Get ready to close the shutters, don’t alarm anyone yet,” voice was under her breath, already moving toward the twisting stairs that led upward to her living space in the turrets of the house.

     

    She made a beeline for her closet, poncho whipped off and tossed on her bed, snap of sheaths, buckles and leather sharp as she armed her blades, flicker out the window catching her attention.  Braid flung at the turn on her heel. There were people on the roof across the street next door.  There were never people on the roof next door.  What the fuck were they doing?  She owned the derelict building. It was locked up, ready for demolition.  Door thrown open to her patio to take care of this bullshit, she stepped out, breath caught, a Celt raging to the surface like boiling water.  Hairtriggered, sensitive…

     

    Jesus, the sky.  Full moon, usually not for another hour.  Trespassers on the roof forgotten, she was already on her way back to the shop.  Kells had become the “place to be” for a full moon.  They closed the shutters, people read in the shelter of the recently refurbished and barricaded building.  This was not a normal full moon.  She had no idea what the fuck this was.

     

    She’d never stopped moving, back through her living room, foot off the railing to leap downward to the landing, then kick off the wall to again bypass the stairs and hit the landing with a feline grace.

     

    “Nina, now!”

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    • 4 weeks later...

    Trystan sipped his tea and milk savouring the delightful concoction enhanced further by the relaxing ambience of the shop; an ‘occult shop’. The visit wasn’t personal but the Magus took pleasure where he could, even when on duty.

    Placing the ornate cup lightly back on to it’s saucer, his left hand moved to the right and adjusted the coppery coloured ring on his middle finger. It was beginning to itch, the enchantment fading, and with it the suppression of his magical signature, the mana that could easily betray the presence of a Magus. Impossible to ‘turn-off’ but it could be temporarily suppressed through the means of a charm. Unfortunately the ‘cancellation’ was short lived, the mana coursing though his body overwhelming the counter-acting talisman. In fact, it was getting down right hot.

    ‘Damn.’ Trystan was quite comfortable, nestled in the plush high backed chair of a corner table. He would have liked to finish his biscuits but he dare not risk the exposure. It was time to go.

    He hoped by chance to bid the owner of the establishment, the one he was investigating, a fond farewell, but as he descended the stairway she was hurriedly skipping up a winding staircase. At least he assumed it was her, he only caught a glimpse. There was an anxiousness to her movement, and the ‘psionic’ was suddenly assaulted by the sensation of ‘danger’.

    Something was wrong, of this Trystan had no doubt, but the reasons were vague, in fact he picked up on no details at all. Rorye, seemed to know what was going on. Peeking up the twisting stairwell he paused and considered where it went, arriving at the conclusion that it went to her private dwelling. He wasn’t much one for trespassing, at least not without just cause.

    The ring was burning now and he had little choice to remove it. Thrusting it into the pocket beside his signet ring of the Order which he had removed for obvious reasons. He hastened up the stairs, but was stopped but an eerie sound echoing through the streets.

    ‘Was that the danger?’ Trystan ventured. Retreating back the way he’d come, down the stairs and through the labyrinthian home only end up face-to-face with Rorye.

    They almost collided as she kicked off a wall and softly landed on the landing in front of him. All Trystan could do was stiffen up and make a funny face, his eyes scanning her up and down noting the sudden change in wardrobe.

    She was armed!

    Instinctively Trystan through his hands up in submission, not knowing what else to do. Perhaps there was a move or two he could have made, but in his experience a person carrying blades usually knew how to use them, and use them well.

    The Magus uttered a sigh of relief not be cleaved in two, and jumped when she shouted to the other woman, “Nina, now!”

    [trystan]Now?[/trystan] Trystan repeated in his English timbre, [trystan]Now what?[/trystan]

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    • 2 weeks later...

    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.

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    Trystan was thankful the situation hadn’t turned bloody. Specifically his blood, but he quickly got the feeling that it may yet spill one way or the other over the course of the night depending upon his choice. She presented him two options, one that would spare him from the yet unknown wrath of impending danger or her own. Five minutes flashed by, his involuntary sigh preceding the hollow clang of the heavy door closing before him.

    [trystan]My name is Sallow. Trystan Sallow. I’m of the Order.[/trystan] He divulged, a hand raised between them in a gesture of peace.

    He knew who and what she was, as well as her affiliation to ARMA. It was a faction that could react with hostility, so for the moment he left out the details of his current assignment. She might NOT take kindly to being spied on.

    [trystan]What’s happening? Are we being attacked?[/trystan] He inquired. Not that Trystan wasn’t capable of ‘seeing’ for himself, but he wanted to avoid any noticeable castings, else she take it the wrong way.

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    " My name is Sallow. Trystan Sallow. Im 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.

     

    " Whats 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]

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    Trystan diverted his eyes to the wall as he became conscious they were lingering a little too long on the buttons she was closing.

    [trystan]Of course I…[/trystan] He replied, abruptly pausing mid sentence as she continued on about ‘full moons’, of which he was well apprised. None of what she saying actually made any sense until she said, “Red.” That’s when his green eyes brightened in the flickering glow with both surprise and fear.

    It all made sense now. [trystan]A blood moon.[/trystan] The words quietly rolled off his tongue as if uttering them aloud would bring a curse down upon them. [trystan]No…[/trystan] He answered her question regarding the noise on the roof, alarmed of what it might and probably be, [trystan]I’m alone… Shopping?[/trystan] Trystan was a tad distracted by the prospect of having to deal with an enraged Lycanthrope, [trystan]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… [/trystan]

    Trystan’s head shot to the right as a slight scratching sound distracted him. [trystan]Your shop,[/trystan] He continued, nervous eyes scanning his surroundings, [trystan]is a treasure trove of components that could potentially empower these sorcerers.[/trystan] Speaking of which, he wished he had access to some ancient incantations right now. Invisibility would come in handy.

    [trystan]Do you think it’s one them?[/trystan] He inquired of Rorye.

    She displayed the savvy of a warrior, and figured she was probably knowledgable of these things. Far more so than he anyway.

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    " 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? 

     

    " Im 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 its 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]

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    • 2 weeks later...

    Trystan acknowledged her query with a vacant glance, his stare trailing off with thoughts on the blood moon.

    Drawing a small leather bound book from the inner pocket of his coat, Trystan began to thumb through it. Working backwards from the blank pages of the latter half, he quickly scanned through the detailed pencil and pen sketches until he found what he was looking for. There in the center of a thick bramble of branches stared back a red coloured iris, only it was no eye. He knew that now.

    [trystan]Sometimes, these make little sense at the time.[/trystan] He explained, showing the picture to Rorye, [trystan]Sometimes, they make any sense, not that this particular forewarning provided any insight.[/trystan] he laughed, mocking his precognition which he more appropriately referred to as ‘inconvenient prophecy’. It did, however, verify the phenomena. At least in his mind. Another spontaneous Nevusian event.

    Trystan did not bother to explain the particular nature of his gifts. She’d make the connection. Instead he returned to her original question. [trystan]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.[/trystan]

    He tucked the sketchbook back into his coat. [trystan]That and I fancied a cup of Elderberry Tea.[/trystan] He quipped, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. Trystan was hardly ignorant of the Order’s reputation of recent years, but he continued to have faith in the organization. It was after all founded on the very values he held close to heart. Founded being the key word in this respect. The truce between their factions hardly dispelled the dissension, not that he denied most of their actions either.

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    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]

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    [trystan]Thank you.[/trystan] He wasn’t exactly ‘rolling in it’ as the American’s said, and her teas were a delicacy one expectantly paid for.

    Guns. He didn’t retort. The American fixation with the need to ‘blow away’ enemies was deeply seeded in their culture. The Englishman simply couldn’t relate and now, of course, the need for protection these days was truly warranted. Guns the Order could deal with, but Humans dabbling in ritualized magic was entirely another matter.

    [trystan]So, in answer to your query. Yes, yes, yes, and yes.[/trystan] he bobbed a finger to and fro in rhythm with the words, then gracefully gesturing to the electrical components around them. [trystan]Thus far all of this has held magic at bay, made it exclusive to the ‘altered’.[/trystan] The hand swinging between Rorye and himself, [trystan]Not so anymore.[/trystan]

    [trystan]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.[/trystan]

    Trystan’s feet began to pace with his thoughts.

    [trystan]The spells are laborious, reliant on specific times, locations, components and often ‘life’ itself. We take so much for granted.[/trystan] He was of course alluding to their own powers, especially those of Magus. The energy they harboured that allowed them to bend magic to their will was nothing short of phenomenal. [trystan]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.[/trystan] He finally divulged.

    Few were aware of the actual reason behind the truce. It was known that Alistair was invited to the Citadel to meet with Overseer Setgrave, but what exactly transpired between them remained unknown. Trystan knew, only because of his position as the Overseer’s counsellor. Not exactly a standing title, but more of an additional duty as a Seer with his particular skill set.

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    " 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]

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