May 11th, 1981 - 1910 Devon Road (Industrial District) As the sun sets, bright as a blood orange, Marabout Auspicious Opportunity is quiet. The Euthanatos chantry is never quite a flurry of activity, but the stillness might alert someone in the know that all is not well. This hypothetical person would only be further alarmed to find the front door of this nondescript industrial warehouse blown inward; and if such a person were Awakened, they might be hit with the unmistakable presence of Paradox, strong enough to be described as a stench…
Further exploration of the premises would glean the marabout’s inhabitants slain, and apparently caught by surprise, no mean feat considering these men and women were with the Freedom Razor.
May 12th, 1981 - 700 Brazos St. (Financial District) The Charles T. Frost Building is a pinnacle of steel and glass, stabbing the painfully blue West Texas sky. It’s dimensions are exactly calculated to conform with the most esoteric geometries the Order of Hermes is fortunate enough to harness. This is necessary because it stands in the geographic center of the Financial District, the heart of the Syndicate’s machinations. And, of course, the Temple is there, occupying the top ten floors.
Gavin Marsden, Frater Crescens, acting Hierarch, stands on the observation deck, nursing a bottle of Shiner Bock, staring northward, towards the vast tracts of Technocratic land.
He is blinking and pouting, not unlike a child.
He’s pissed off, and scared shitless. And with good reason. Suddenly thrust into actual responsibility, and caught between the local Power and the Hierarchy further afield, has left him confused about what to do. Then, there’s the matter of the dead Euthanatoi. It’s bad enough an entire chantry was slaughtered, but a chantry of ENFORCERS… This isn’t something coke and whores will solve.
Whywhywhy did I want to be Hierarch, again?
Osgood’s arrival hasn’t made him feel any better. He’s summoned him and his associates for lunch. A formality, of course; he was more or less ordered to invite Charles.
Who the hell does he think he is, anyway? Running around with Bruce Lee, a priest and some hippy… it’s all a bad joke.
“Hierarch, Osgood and his company are on their way.” Marsden scarcely registers.
Nodding his head sullenly, he enters the Temple’s luxuriously appointed conference room and takes his place at the head of the table, careful to frame himself between the Pillars; he toys with his place setting, staring at the polished silver of his soup spoon, feeling the sudden urge to cry.
Nononononononono. chill, ok. Yer the goddamn Hierarch. You rule here. This table, these chairs, the china and silverware, those sideboards and all that food. These Ten Levels and all the Adepts and Apprentices within. Even Osgood and his weirdoes. You. Rule.
He recovers, poises himself with the practiced posture Durant taught him, and waits for his guests.
Father Francis takes in the building and those within it as his group goes to meet the Hierarch for lunch. Such opulence, he never understood why those who were supposed to be "enlightened" cared about such material possessions.
He shakes his head as they enter the room the Hierarch is in. Father Frank inclines his head slightly upon seeing the man, more of a greeting to an equal than a superior.
"Good afternoon, Hierarch. We thank you for the kind, unexpected invitation." He gives the man a friendly smile as his fellows enter with him.
Father Francis wears a pair of jeans and black shirt, a crucifix hangs visibly around his neck. There is a 5 o'clock shadow on his chin and his dark hair is in a perpetual state of dishevelment.
Charles Osgood enters the room not as if he owns the place, more like he owns one of the corners. The flames of the candles lean in his direction as he passes them. He bows to the Hierarch and utters the proper words in the low version of the Enochian language they let outsiders hear. They roughly translate to, "I am here, O Superior Magister. I am here to serve."
Osgood's electric blue eyes take the measure of the room as well as that of the people who occupy it. He is dressed in academic mufti as this is not a ritual occasion but he does wear an amulet bearing גבורה (Gevurah) around his neck for all to see.
Kai bows at the waist, his eyes meeting the Hierarch's. He wears a simple robe of light blue and a necklace of prayer beads. He does not speak, but waits patiently, his dark eyes gleaming in the light as he surveys his surroundings.
"Win if you can, lose if you must, but always CHEAT!!!"
John guns the engine as he rolls into the parking lot. For someone who exerts no small influence over time - he seemed to be turning up to gigs later and later these days.
As he enters the foyer of the building, he takes in the sumptuous design of the building and whistles under his breath
"Somethin' big must be goin' down if I'm bein' invited to a place like this"
John makes his way up to the appointed room, sits down and acknowledges his friends and the Hermetic associate with a curt
As this is an informal occasion, Hierarch Marsden wears his normal work clothes, a tailored suit, silk tie, thousand-dollar Bruno Maglis: the uniform of the financial analyst, at once fashionable and nondescript. Only the Silver Collar bearing the Insignia of House Quaesitor around his neck indicates his Office. He stands ramrod straight as you enter, and once the pleasantries are out of the way, approaches Charles Osgood. Gavin clasps Osgood’s forearm firmly, with the warmth of an old, beloved friend. Marsden fixes him with pale grey eyes, bordering on silver, and utters words of benediction in the Old Tongue.
“Peace, Brother! Your presence is cause for joy and celebration in this troubled time. I pray, please, eat of this fruit with me, that you may be fortified for the coming Endeavour.”
The Hierarch gestures with practiced grace towards the sideboards, flanked by attendants: a pile of sausages sit next to a vat of steaming pulled pork and good old-fashioned Texas brisket. Elsewhere, there is grilled salmon and tuna; a veritable riot of fruit and vegetable dishes; soups, salad, breads and cheese. A selection of wines and specialty brews is ready to be savored.
He continues in English. “Gentlemen, please, have a seat. I welcome you to the Temple of the Pillars.”
The attendants pull back intricately-carved high-backed chairs, and usher the guests to their places. Marsden has Osgood sit at the foot of the table; the Akashic and the Chorister on his right; the Ecstatic on Charles’ left. All this no doubt in accordance with peculiar matrices that are of a proprietary nature to the Quaesitori.
Once the rest are seated, Gavin takes his seat. As drinks are poured and food is partitioned out, Hierarch of the Pillars Gavin Marsden stares intently at Charles, his body frozen in the subtle Postures all Hierarchs know. Elbows rooted to the armrests and long fingers steepled, he watches.
Francis sits and immediately folds his hands and bows his head, murmuring a quiet prayer under his breath, then finishes with a sign of the cross and kisses his Crucifix.
"Again, I must thank you for your kindness, sir. This food, it is too much, although it appears quite delicious."
Charles utters appropriate words of thanks and takes a bright red apple in hand as he scouts out the rest of the food as if planning the most optimal method of gathering it. "Interesting times," he says with a quick glance toward Kai.
"Win if you can, lose if you must, but always CHEAT!!!"
"Mmmm Brisket - Thank you kindly for the spread Ser."
John gathers himself a plate of the delicious speciality, the sound of his biker leathers creaking as he eases himself back into the chair.
He straightens his tie-dyed bandana and, in a natural fluid motion, pops open his pocket watch, checks the clockface with a middle-distance stare, then after a moment, shuts the cover, gently spins the watch on the chain and politely (and slightly uncomfortably) observes the other people around the table...
A young page, a boy of about 9, enters walks nervously to the Hierarch, and murmurs some into his ear. With a solemn nod the boy is dismissed. He waits for the men gathered to eat, or not eat, at their pleasure.
"An eclectic team you've assembled, Osgood." He carefully raises a fork, holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger; this, an apparent signal, as a senior attendant brings over a ragged sheet of butcher paper and begins pouring various cuts of barbeque, Wonder bread, and bright yellow cheese.
Gavin eats messily with his hands, while the senior Assistant stands guard with a bowl of rose water. After a few choice gulps, Marsden continues.
Osgood wipes his hands and then the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin then says, "Very little. There's the disappearances, of course, and the Euthanatos eradication. They were light on details and seemed to think getting us out here quickly was of the utmost priority."
Osgood wipes his hands and then the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin then says, "Very little. There's the disappearances, of course, and the Euthanatos eradication. They were light on details and seemed to think getting us out here quickly was of the utmost priority."
"Yes. A delicate situation, that matter of the Auspicious Opportunity. I needn't tell you distrust is running high at the moment. While the Ashen Standard has managed to keep the hotheads in check, I'm afraid the Order stands alone."
Father Francis chortles at the comment, barely restraining himself from spitting food across the table.
"Father Prado? Good heavens no. He and I very rarely see eye to eye on anything."
His expression grows more serious.
"No, I'm afraid that particular lesson was learned trying to keep the Wyrm at bay in Africa."
The Hierarch blinks and smiles mirthlessly.
"Of course, Father."
Without varying his gaze, Marsden extends his hands to his right; the attendant leans in and, one hand grasping the water bowl, washes the Hierarch's hands.
He spits something out in the Old Tongue, before continuing, this time meeting the priest's eyes, words dripping with breathy condescension.
"Impressive. I do hope it didn't keep you long from choir rehearsal."
Depends on how snarky... Consider: 1. Marsden and most Hermetics aren't going to care much for you to begin with. It should be obvious he'll have a low opinion of you regardless. 2. Despite this, the Choir have been stalwart allies of the North American Order, and locally, whatever his personal opinion, Marsden knows they've been bleeding to keep the Technocrats back, and have the bodies to prove it. 3. Even if he hates you with every fiber of his being, Marsden has his hands tied. The group is his only chance to maintain independence and keep his chair.
Father Frank meets Marsden's gaze with his own, steel in his eyes.
"Yes, it really is a shame that we can't all sit in lovely towers, living off of the efforts of others without having to earn any of it through our own labor.
Thank God we aren't all stricken with the burden of such hubris."
Also (and I'm sorry it's been SO long since I've played), is it safe to assume that magic would be protected against or disallowed in such a place?
Also (and I'm sorry it's been SO long since I've played), is it safe to assume that magic would be protected against or disallowed in such a place?
Yes, this place is warded out the ass, both as protection from an outside threat and to prevent people from reading each other's thoughts, killing each other, etc. It's also supposed to be a place all Traditions can go to, like Elysium in Vampire. There's no fighting in the War Room.
Osgood speaks to Father Frank but locks eyes with the Hierarch as he says, "I assure you, every scrap of this has been earned." Then he says something in the same ancient language Marsden spoke earlier. The language makes it sound like the beginning of a ritual but his expression is one of stolid challenge. Those who know the word "Doissetep" can pick it out of the sentence.
"Win if you can, lose if you must, but always CHEAT!!!"
MasterGeek wrote:
Father Frank meets Marsden's gaze with his own, steel in his eyes.
"Yes, it really is a shame that we can't all sit in lovely towers, living off of the efforts of others without having to earn any of it through our own labor.
Thank God we aren't all stricken with the burden of such hubris."
Also (and I'm sorry it's been SO long since I've played), is it safe to assume that magic would be protected against or disallowed in such a place?
Aw heck c'mon now people, towers in Los Pillares or shacks in Africa - we're all part of the same hypocrisy - all dancin' to one heartbeat.
Now Marsden, I been outta' town awhile, and from what little I heard from my good friend Charles, you could maybe do with some assistance. Would you care to elaborate on any pertinent information?
So all IC, OOC and Narrative to be conducted in one thread?
Father Frank meets Marsden's gaze with his own, steel in his eyes.
"Yes, it really is a shame that we can't all sit in lovely towers, living off of the efforts of others without having to earn any of it through our own labor.
Thank God we aren't all stricken with the burden of such hubris."
Vaklam wrote:
Osgood speaks to Father Frank but locks eyes with the Hierarch as he says, "I assure you, every scrap of this has been earned." Then he says something in the same ancient language Marsden spoke earlier. The language makes it sound like the beginning of a ritual but his expression is one of stolid challenge. Those who know the word "Doissetep" can pick it out of the sentence.
He then takes a bite of his apple.
With a wave of his left hand, he orders the remnants of his meal away. It is soon replaced by a bottle of 1959 Lafite Rothschild and an elegant wine glass. The bottle is unsealed and some of it's contents delicately poured into the glass, which soon finds itself nestled in the Hierarch's fingers. He raises it, first in Osgood's direction, then, in Father Francis' direction, as if a toast or salute.
He then pronounces more ancient words, these only describable as dancing sound. They are intoned with some gravity, somewhere between admonishing and pleading.
When he returns his gaze to the Chorister, Marsden is all warmth and cordiality. "You have a... stirring... spirit, Father. One can scarcely believe you have not yet ingratiated yourself with Father Prado. You would make a fine addition to his dervishes. You are what I can only hope is an asset in the coming crisis."
Methsdrinker wrote:
Aw heck c'mon now people, towers in Los Pillares or shacks in Africa - we're all part of the same hypocrisy - all dancin' to one heartbeat.
Now Marsden, I been outta' town awhile, and from what little I heard from my good friend Charles, you could maybe do with some assistance. Would you care to elaborate on any pertinent information?
"Very true. At your leisure, when you have had your fill, shall we get to the task at hand?
Quote:
So all IC, OOC and Narrative to be conducted in one thread?
Well what might be "table talk" directly related to the action at hand. More detailed discussion goes in the other thread.
The Hierarch lingers of the rough-looking man's final words. "I might ask you the same thing..."
He dismisses the staff with his eyes.
Once the room is empty, he continues. "I gather you already know about the late disappearance of my Mentor. Very well. This latest mess with the dead Euthanatos is on the verge of becoming something none of us can control. The Council believes the TU are responsible, most likely employing HIT Marks. Needless to say the Euthanatos are not going along with this. It is a pretty far-fetched story, true. And well... they've never trusted the Order, and are keen to place this on us. I fear we're on the verge of civil unrest."
Posted Sun Sep 25, 2011 1:53 am
