Clumsywordsmith

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

Nestor offers a wry smile at the Demon's words. “Too old, hmm? I wonder how long we'll go on telling ourselves that. But I don't believe we know any other way. We'll always find ourselves pulled back in before too long... thrill of the hunt is too hard to resist.” He turns now, refocusing his attention on the newcomer as he offers an introduction.

The Demonspawn studies the face of the man before him a moment – then, blinks, as if pulling himself away from some thought and gives a nod. Accepts the offered hand. His grip is firm. In response, expression shifts close to a smile. Yet in the same instant. Grasping. Cold. Like something were searching with great interest from behind the disturbing depths of those eyes.

“Well... aren't you an odd one, hmm? A -pleasure- to make your acquaintance.” Dulcet, feminine tones caught between the ringing of frozen chimes ringing in the back of Leonard's mind. And then in the present – Nestor offers:

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Leonard –“ gaze shifting to the bulky doctor's bag at his side, he adds --”hope your medical knowledge is up to snuff! I've a less than stellar reputation when it comes to being injured.” But then his attention seems to be grabbed by something elsewhere.

(I scent the air. Something lingers above the cloying stench of the fishman before me: stronger, darker. Like rich loam caught between the roots of ancient trees in some primeval forest. Hear distant howls tearing across the barren scrub of distant moors; I turn toward the source, close my eyes to truly see the creature before me. Inscruitable, she flickers in and out several times before coalescing as that dreadful hound. I find my features creasing into a genuine smile. Unfathomable a creature as she might be, I always felt some shared kinship. Friendship, maybe? I was not even certain they held the concept.

“Good afternoon, Fei. I see fate conspires our paths to cross again.” Wan moonlight creeps through the shadowy windows high above. An ancient church, motes of dust caught between the silver rays of light. Shattered crucifix and rotted drapes adorn the barren sanctuary; at least, it was the same image always evoked in my mind when we met. That and the soft whisper of listless souls, drawn like a swarm to her presence.)

No sooner has Sal thrown down her suitcase while Nestor's attention diverts to Fei, than a slender figure emerges from behind him; she tiptoes lightly across the grass, pulling the soft laces of her light blue dress up around herself before kneeling down beside the piece of luggage. She offers the young wizard an impish grin – plump little lips parting to reveal a sharklike smile, pointed rows of razor sharp teeth lining her jaw.

“Now, now... what have we -here-!” She presses an ear against the fabric. Arches her eyebrows ever so slightly; covers her mouth with a slender hand and gives a juvenille giggle as she gazes up at the wizard, sharp blue eyes glinting with a mischievous light. “I wonder what might happen if we...” and with inhuman speed both hands flash to the clasps, face now morphing into a hopeful little stare: “Oooh, can I? May I!?” And it might be difficult to tell whether the Demoness has any intention of listening, or then again if perhaps she has no intention of opening the suitcase and were merely prodding for a reaction.

The moment passes. Both latches snap open with a click – the suitcase, already bulging under the pressure from within – springs apart as a shower of shredded fabric introduces the handful of occupants within. Unintelligible curses follow as the creatures come tumbling out one overtop the other. And at the end, a very clearly empty bottle clatters to the rocks. The Demoness gives a delighted squeal. Turns toward the Wizard as she reaches toward the nearest: “Oh, Darling – wherever did you come across -these-? They're positively a-dooor-able” And she over enunciates every syllable of the word; the creature she reaches for, meantime, doesn't seem too intent on making friends. He stabs at her hand with a makeshift spear, to little effect.

(I felt my attention waver. Blinked twice and glanced toward the chaos around the luggage case. She was getting out of hand already. I refocus – close my eyes a moment and take a breath. Feel the Demoness vanish away with the soft whisper of a winter chill. I give the Wizard a bit of an apologetic shrug. I couldn't exactly say I shared her taste in traveling companions, but who was I to be judgmental? All business now. I supposed it was time to get down to work... I empty the contents of my bag, survey the neatly packaged bundles before squatting down and beginning that ritual I had partaken in so many times before. Preparedness, I always told myself, was key – and as much as I might like to tout my uses as an investigator... I also knew my strengths tended to err more strongly toward the side of violence. I flex fingers over the hilt of my sword. It had been quite some time.)

Demoness taken care of, and greetings dispensed with, Nestor occupies himself with the task of strapping into his gear; a bit of a process, though if his practiced motions are any indication, it's something he's done countless times in the past. Finished, he tugs at the straps on his vest, gives a testing pull at the small crossbow strapped to his hip, then nods and follows Atticus as the latter makes his way to the building.

Drawing a breath after listening to the Incubus speak, Nestor wrinkles his nose and remarks: “I'd bet I'm not the only one smelling -that-”; he glances briefly toward the now open doorway before adding “something powerful made it through, I'd say. Maybe more?” (But then another scent catches my attention – one present. Corporeal. Burnt flesh and cindered bone.)

“I'm going to have a look around the back side. Don't burn the place down now, eh?” And Nestor trots off around the western side of the house, scent leading him toward the charred basin of a wretched burn pit. Grass and thorny weeds pockmark the ground all about its grey perimeter – a dull mist seems to linger in the air, distant haze hovering just about the grass. The Demonspawn crouches down – runs a hand through the ether and watches as the mist swirls and eddies between his fingers. Withdrawing a glass vial, he manages to scoop up a little of the stuff; screws the lid tight and tucks it away again.

(Now that was odd. Something the investigators wouldn't have seen from that side of the picture. I glance toward the pit – contents burnt and ground to dust, either that or they'd already carted away any recognizable bones. But I didn't need a lab to identify the scent of roasted human. Clearly something else had been burned here – something unnatural – as the fog seemed to emanate from within the pit itself. It had a scent I couldn't place. I shrug and straighten back up, mentally cataloging the scene as I eye the dreary eves of the dark New England forest sprawling across the cottage's back yard. Turn and make my way toward the back door. Wonder what the others have roused up inside?)

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

Now that the opening posts are up I've PM'd a few of you the bits of my next post I'm working on pertaining to your respective chars.

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

<Snipped quote by Clumsywordsmith>

Good joke. My locale recieved 8 inches of snow today.

@Dead Cruiser

Lucky you. I’m too far south for that. But I’d take 8 inches of snow over all this humidity any day.

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

Wonderful replies so far! We'll be chugging right along at this rate. How is everyone?

@AmongHeroes

Hot, sweaty and wondering when the hell summer is actually going to end.

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

A dark night where the soft whispers of the falling leaves rustle against dry branches; crisp air with a brisk wind – and the moon glowing soft through the clouds, shadows fleeting past as the current carries them along. A dark figure leans against the wooden railing – house all dark wood and cedar shake and knotted, tangled ivy crawling up stone walls – property nestled in a little crook of forested Maine wilderness. The soft red light of a fire leaks through the glass paned doors behind, but the figure's back is turned to the door. A glass rests on the railing beside him, half full with a pale, amber liquid. Smoke curls around his face, drifts off to merge with the breeze between each drag from the cigarette.

(And I reach a hand in my pocket for another – I always rather liked it here; thought maybe this time I'd stay to see the rest of fall and hole up for the winter, spend lazy evenings contemplating the fire, quiet days sauntering through the woods in those quiet recollections of times long past. I take another sip from the glass, let the burning liquor worm its way across my tongue before working its magic in my belly; spark the lighter and take a drag. Six months at least, I told myself. Then it'd be back to work. But I fully intended to take this winter for...

A buzzing, fluttering sound distracts me from my thoughts. Silver ball of hazy light streaking through the night toward me. Without thinking, my hand blinks out – snatches it toward me even as I take a step back.

“Goddamn it, what now...!” I blurt aloud. I had made it clear with my secretary I was on -vacation- for the next several months. Voicemail and E-mail responses to suit. I toss the now inert ball a few times in my hand, idly ponder whether I could manage to throw it far enough to clear the trees and hit the lake beyond. But an all too familiar voices drags me out of my thoughts.)

“Oooh.... No you don't, Nestor!” The man turns and glares at the speaker; a svelte woman, delicate frame perched up against the corner of the railing with all the grace of a model mid-shoot. Thin eyebrows arch ever so slightly as her piercing blue gaze jerks toward the device in his hand. “Besides, you -know- you want to. Admit it! Keep prattling to yourself. All this time out here good for the soul and good for the health and you'll have a grand old time tromping through the woods and romping in the bed with -him-” and here she juts her chin out toward the door behind them, gives a sly smile before adding “you could down all the single malt between here and Scotland for the next six months and still wind up in the same place.” Nestor snorts at that. Takes another swallow from his glass before flicking his butt across the porch toward her, the wad whistling just past her ear before vanishing into the night.

“Blow me.”

“I might, if you hadn't spent the last few months balls deep in that Siren you managed to fish out of the sewer; the smell is bad enough. Now just imagine what a fish's ass must -taste- like.” Nestor just glares back at her, presses his thumb against the ball and releases as the mechanism springs into life.

(Now, this was a surprise! Atticus, of all people. Wanting me? I'd heard the old bastard had gone off and tried drinking himself into a stupor... I still got the invites to his parties, every now and then. Couldn't help but feel a little bad I never at least showed my face. I glance at my glass and can't help but give a snort. Birds of a feather...)

But an instant later the Demoness had snatched the message from him – given it an icy stare of her own before positively shivering with excitement. “Atticus” she mouths, then gives Nestor a gaping, lascivious grin before laughing again. “Now there's one I might go for. Shame you're too much of a pussy to go to any of his parties. I hear they've been positively -vile-. Nestor just shoos her away with a light wave of his hand, drains the glass before turning and stepping back inside. Moments later, a tousle-haired face emerges from beneath the covers, blinks sleepily a few times before speaking:

“Goodness it's late... are you ever coming to bed? No? What? Are you seriously getting -dressed-?”

“Yeah. I'm off. Job.” The sleepy siren blinks a few more times, then bolts upright with a start and lashes back.

“-What-?”

“Duty calls, you know. Gotta go and all that...” Nestor purses his lips, a few moments passing as he eyes his outfit.

“But it was supposed to be just -us-. You and me! Whatever happened to all that?” Halfway through buttoning his shirt, Nestor turns and cocks a single eyebrow up at the irate Siren, lips pursing a moment as he runs his eyes over that perfectly androgynous form, then just shrugs.

“Guess you'll just have to stick around for whenever I get back?” He doesn't wait to hear the response, and moments later he's already out the door, waiting in the gravel drive as a garage door slowly opens, slick lines of a black Range Rover emerging from within.

(I open the door and slip inside. Give a nod to my Butler.)

“Evening, Sir. Where to?”

“Evening, Ned. Boston. Hit it.” The vampiric driver raises an eyebrow, asks:

“Hmm. Atticus again?” Nestor just nods in response, then reaches for his breast pocket to produce a flask. The engine roars into life, gravel spitting from beneath the tires as the vehicles lurches off; spray of dust and stones showering the door even as the still half-asleep siren stumbles through the opening, bathrobe barely tucked around his half-naked form.



It is a little after two by the time they roll to a stop not far from where Atticus waits. The engine remains running, sputtering quietly away as Nestor hops out and digs into the back. A moment later, he emerges again – a rather heavy, military style duffel slung over his shoulder. The vehicle speeds off, leaving him alone as he makes his way toward the waiting Incubus.

“Afternoon, Atticus. Been a while, eh?” Nestor offers a hand to shake, before dropping the bag down at his feet and turning to stare off at the building in the distance. He takes in a long breath.

“Yeah... stinks like demonic summoning alright. I got a glance at the team you've got together for this one... honestly not sure if we're trying to stop an apocalypse here, or start one!” He gives a grin, settles himself against a nearby tree before producing a pack of smokes. He offers one to Atticus before taking another himself, lighting up and preparing to await the rest of the arrivals.

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

Excellent! Looks like I've got some writing to do tonight.

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

-Name: Nestor Grimsley

-Gender: Male

-Type: Demonspawn (Human cohabiting body with a Demon's Soul.)

-Appearance: It would be difficult to tell his age; no longer a young man, yet by no means middle aged either. A coarse growth of stubble across his lean jaw; high cheekbones and a well positioned nose give him an almost aristocratic appearance, one furthered still by the almost perpetual scowl in his brow – as if his resting face were always in a bit of a grim frown. His hair is dark, and rather long – tied back and out of his eyes. But it is his eyes that are the most striking. An ethereal shade of brilliant blue that seem almost to burn in their intensity.

-Age: Apparent: Mid 30s Actual: Roughly six centuries, though his retrievable memory only extends to half that length.

-Powers/Traits: On the human side, Nestor is both an accomplished swordsman and an excellent marksman. As Nestor shares a bond with the soul of an Ice Demoness, his powers follow suit: everything from forming an icy, protective shell to causing storms of icy lighting. The drawback being that power requires the consumption of souls, and with each soul consumed he continues further down his descent into madness.

-Background:

Nestor Grimsley

What then of these demonspawn? Who and what were they? I do not believe we know ourselves, and if any did, most would doubtless keep it to themselves. Enough to say that each is consumed with the insatiable burning of a demon's soul, and yet left with the mind and body of a man; it is said we might live for an eternity, though few are those who live more than a lifetime without being wholly consumed by their own inner self and thus – in the end – devouring themselves to break free of their humanity.

Of those that survive, and somehow find balance upon the precarious brink between the two halves, it could hardly be said that they ever live a life of comfort or are given a moment's peace. The desire to feed might undo even the youngest of vampires, and how much more so a creature who finds itself twisted to the point of consuming its own soul?

Nestor Grimsley, as with most of the company's more 'unstable' operatives, tends to work on the basis of a subcontractor with a per-job contract arrangement, and the mutual understanding that his services – while beyond adequate and backed fully with a curriculum vitae that extends for several centuries – will be called upon only when absolutely necessary. While he remains one of the few demonspawn who has managed (apparently) to stave off the constant gnawing of his demonic soul for nearly as long as the company itself has been around, such assets are considered at best a usable tool for especially difficult (or clandestine) jobs, and at worst a recipe for a multinational shit-storm and mass grave cover-up should things go really wrong. Thus, perhaps an asset best kept off the books. Somewhere Nestor would prefer to remain.

Though he does, admittedly, wield a respectable bit of power in the case of need, Nestor prefers to present his strengths as an academic and general renaissance man of the 21st century; a glorified jack-of-all-trades, though perhaps that would be a term best used behind his back. And out of earshot. A sane, civilized and cultured demonspawn is still a demonspawn, after all.

A Long Awaited Meeting:

The sound of each footstep resounded with a hollow click through the vast extent of the nave; the steady progression of the rapture and apocalypse flanked me upon either side – eyes, human and inhuman alike, glaring down upon me with the same judgmental stare. I paid care to my steps, though found my stride wandering ever further to the left with each passing aisle. The warm red and glowing amber of some poorly-informed artist's conception of hell seemed rather to beckon, a far cry from the cold blues and greens and painfully brilliant whites that stalked my passage to the right. But my eyes did not waver, bent rather upon the dancing spots and splotches of coulour all in a play before my feet, the two combining into a bewildering kaleidoscope of such confusion that it would have taken a lifetime to determine where one might end and the other begin.

A lifetime. And now I have had several. But still my steps carry me onward, toward the only one being that still drew breath in that godforsaken place. Aside from him, we were alone.

“And so you blaspheme even now, and in such a place as this?” The voice came rolling through the pillared expanse in a soft baritone; as much a question as a statement. But there was no hint of anger, only the sad regret of one who has waited a great many years for only the worst of fates.

“Forgive me, father – my thoughts betray me...” the second speaker might have continued, but the older man cut him off almost at once – though again, in the same quiet voice.

“Forgive you? No, my son; forgiveness for you is a task that is best left to God, and when that day comes your years in full might finally be numbered.” His features, as he turned about to confront the slow approach, very much matched the voice: soft and round, yet old with the wisdom of years hidden deep within eyes that still saw clearly, the depth and breadth of life still vibrant in his tone.

The approaching man kept his head bowed; little might be made out of his features save for a head of dark brown – almost black – hair, pulled taut and trailing a little ways past his neck. His head was bare, and the remainder of his dress was equally as dull. Blacks and browns and greys all that might be visible; the better part of a thin scabbard protruded from beneath the low hem of his riding cloak. He wore no spurs, only a pair of polished boots rubbed to such a sheen that it might have been suspected they had never once encountered a stirrup iron.

“And even that...” the priest continued, breaking the silence – for priest he clearly was, though his dress too was quite plain; contrasting blacks and whites and nothing more – “is doubtful indeed, save what atonement you can seek of your own. Both for what was, and what is, and what is surely yet to come.” With these last words he gazed levelly into the eyes of his adversary, something akin almost to defiance flashing briefly within.

He looked at me then, and it was a gaze that pierced my very soul; I felt the urge to claw at my throat, to pull and pry away the talons that seemed to have latched to my neck, to my innards, to my legs as they dragged me down... down... down to join them in an untold depth below. I forced myself onwards. One step. Two steps.

“Fire, brimstone, sulphur and death!” The priest raised both hands now, the light in his eyes flashing to a real and true glow of their own, stabbing outward and arcing to meet the silent man's downcast gaze.

But now I finally glanced up. Met his gaze. Saw the pity entwined with anger, the rage lost somewhere in a sea of love, the overwhelming conviction... it burned... but I kept forward. Step by burning step, until it felt that the very tiles upon which I walked had become a fiery lake, the air ash and each breath a jagged pain.

“I... am.... sorry...” The words seemed to choke in my mouth of their own accord, even as I struggled to stretch forth my left hand. He did not resist. Not physically, at least. Not as any other man may have, but in the very moment that my fingers wrapped about his throat, and I felt my nails dig down into the soft flesh and the hanging jowls press and shift as I lifted....

All vanished in a swirling eddy of colour and light, the figures from the windows seeming to come into life and charge, rushing with a great shout upon us from all sides. We stood there together, a moment passed. An hour. An age. And meanwhile all below us the raging torrent of war passed by, seething masses and swarms of lives throwing themselves upon one another with reckless abandon. Even here, so far above the plain as to see the land curve and vanish into obscurity at the furthest reaches of the naked eye, I still might hear the clash and clamour of death and bloodshed below.

My hand was still tight about his neck, and my soul I felt welling up within me in a great onrushing that I knew I could never contain... yet he spoke. Spoke to me one last time, though the words now were withered, the voice fading as the life seeped from his mortal form.

“Perhaps, in the end, what you seek will be found... though you may try to devour yourself a score of times hence, still... I have done what I can, and what will be will be, though not in a way either might have foretold.”

“Goodbye, old man.”

“It is your only hope, and my last hope, and her final wish.”

“I will not fail you again...”

And then it was lost. Trailing away into a spiral, lost in some chink of my mind that I have forgotten. And I was filled, filled with the glorious and insatiable spite and hunger and overwhelming cold. Such a cold! Such a hunger! It gnawed upon my belly as though I had been picking upon naught but the shriveled bones of the dead since birth. I relished it. The strength, the hunger. I would enjoy this one... slowly... I thought, even as I began to unhinge my jaw.

Suddenly, my eyes flashed open. I gave a start and a cry, jumping up in a panic as I found myself staring into the empty whites of the dead priest's eyes. Then, in that very instant it seemed, the weight of all I had been running from for so long came crashing down upon my shoulders with the crushing finality of the insurmountable. I shuddered, coughed, sobbed... and then, finally, for the second time in just one lifetime, found myself wracked with tears.

Pieces of 8--The Maidens of Asteroth [Dark Fantasy Adventure]

Sweet. I’ll be putting my stuff together tonight after work.

Pieces of 8: The Maidens of Asteroth (DARK/MODERN FANTASY ADVENTURE)

You too! Always have a ton of fun with this one. Looking forward to using the same character as before, if that’s cool with you.

Pieces of 8: The Maidens of Asteroth (DARK/MODERN FANTASY ADVENTURE)

Yo! What’s good? You know I’m always down for this one.