I dont usually do fan fiction, but... what can I say? the server is all wonky and im having withdrawals.
From the journal of Lady Penderghast, Midnight Club Archives
Dated Twenty-second September, 1855
The whole setup was perfect! In all my years, and there are so very many of them, now, I had never seen a setting more perfectly suited to dark magic rituals and mystical showdowns. The forces of evil may lack many things I suppose, but a sense of drama is not among them.
Once the place had been the castle of a Scottish lord, but that time was long past. Now the battlements lay in ruins; their debris strewn about the courtyard haphazardly, moss covered and forlorn. The walls, or what remained of them, circled a courtyard overgrown with weeds and moss. It was midnight, and the moon cast soft, strange-looking shadows upon the ground; where it shone past the jagged edges of the walls the pattern it cast almost seemed like the jaws of some unimaginable creature reaching out for me.
The entire scene was so still! No wind blew nor birds called. They should have. There should be some portent to mark such moments, I feel - it would be only fair. But then, I don't suppose that anybody ever promised life was fair.
The tranquil lonely scene was ruined only be three things. The first was me, standing in the doorway, casting my senses about for hidden traps.
The second was the ritual circle - a nine-pointed star, laid out in links of silver chain, and anointed with blood. Where the blood had come from I could not say, but the it was fresh enough to still be steaming, cooling quickly in the cold, still air. It was a profane thing, and when my senses reached it - my gaze, and my other senses both, it made my stomach want to wretch. The magic of that circle felt like peering into a great ocean maelstrom - not merely empty, but hungry An all-consuming, terrible darkness. I had felt it before, many times, but it never affected me any less.
The third thing was the cultists, and Gideon, my Gideon, with a knife held to his throat. There were thirteen of them (inevitably), in black robes that hid their faces from the light of the moon, and hung in voluminous, loose folds to the floor. They were not old enemies. they were no one I knew. In fact, as I reached my senses towards them I blinked in surprise. there was talent there, certainly, but none of them had the strength or skill they would need for the a summoning of the magnitude for which they were prepared. Something was wrong.
And they had my love, my Lenheaa'si. They had taken him and threatened to kill him if I did not come at the appointed hour. They hadn't told me why. I had no choice.
I could try something, of course. It is not for nothing that I am called Archmage. But they knife was at his throat. What if I failed? What if I were too slow, or misjudged their talents? The barest fraction of an instant was all the warning they would need, and... I stopped. I refused to think about it.
I had had few lovers over the years. Time and again, I had thought myself beyond the reach of passion, but Venus, as they say, is not easily thwarted, even by death itself. *****. It was wonderful, every time, always subtly, wonderfully different, and yet the same. And when it ended - when mortality stole them from me - it was always unbearable.
I spoke softly, my voice carrying across the courtyard, "I am here as you have asked me to secure My Lord's return."
Gideon always teased me about having to call him by his title in public, given who and what I was. There were forms to be observed. And besides, it was nice, sometimes, being "his" lady. I ended that musing too - I could not afford distractions.
The leader sneered and there was something wrong with his voice as he spoke - an oily quality no human vocal cords should have produced, "Mmm, very good. Continue to cooperate, and I may content myself with only a few trophies from your little lover."
I still could not see his eyes, but his grin, and his blackened aura, were enough. He was sick - perhaps twisted by the powers he had dealt with, or perhaps damned long before then. He would do it without a moment's hesitation. He would torture and maim my love, while I looked on, helpless, and he would enjoy it.
I wanted to kill him where he stood. For a moment, I felt my face twist itself into a snarl, and magic lept to my fingertips, but he tensed his hand on the knife, and I forced myself to stop.
Lowering the hand I had raised on instinct I answered him, my voice high and clear and unafraid, "Harm him, and nothing will then remain to shield thee from my wrath. If thou knowest my name and nature, then thou knowest also that thou art a fool to threaten me. Release my consort, and begone from this place, and Thou shalt have my oath to seek thee not."
Indigo fire sprung from my eyes, and danced suddenly on my fingertips, lighting the scene in a harsh surreal glare as I stared the leader down, the flames making me look terrible and inhuman in the darkness. Conveniently, it so happened that I was. The threat of my raised hand I left unspoken but clearly implied.
The other twelve robed men - the followers - rocked back on their heals as if struck by a light hurricane. Their manner grew even more nervous than before, and some began to eye the door behind them as if contemplating a retreat. Only the leader mattered though. His hand held the knife. The leader held firm; he was too far gone in his madness to be properly afraid for his life.
That countenance and that voice had cowed gods and emperors before, but not this pitiful would-be mageling?! I wanted to weep with frustration. I wanted to howl until my throat bled. Instead I forced myself to lower my hand a second time, and wait, with queenly patience, for his response.
his voice still sounded wrong, and this time it was filled with the mad certainty of the true zealot. "We are the chosen of Rhaehangoroth. We do not fear to die in our lord's service! Do as we ask, or your husband will die with us."
I kept my manner from faltering as I asked, "what is it you wish?"
He snickered, wet, ugly sound, and looked towards the circle on the floor. "You see your task before you, archmage. We have not the strength to bring our master to this world, but YOU do. And you will! Tonight begins a new age of the world!"
His followers were too nervous to burst into the sort of fevered applause he had obviously been hoping for but Im not even sure he noticed.
For a long, long moment we stood there, staring at each other, and I thought. I thought of the death and destruction such a being would cause. I thought of how I might not be able to stop it from horribly killing myself and Gideon, both, anyway. I thought of the evil I would have to work with to complete the spell at all, and the stain it might leave upon me. I looked at my husband, at his strong, honest eyes, and saw him pleading with me not to do it. I thought of how he would rather die than be responsible for something like this.
None of it mattered. I was in love. May God forgive me, I would have done anything for him. Anything they asked. Whomever these men were, they had chosen exactly the right leverage.
"Swear it." I said quietly. "Swear it by your power. Swear it in your master's name."
His grin grew even more sickening. he had won, and he knew it. He opened his mouth to oblige me, but before he could Gideon - my Gideon - proved just how much better and braver a person he was than could ever be. he stepped forwards. Into the razer-sharp knife.
There was a surreal moment when enither I nor my enemies could believe what had happened. I stared at the red line forming on the left side of his throat as if at a painting, unable to make myself accept that it was real. That hesitation wa all the time he needed to grab his captors hand and... force him to finish the job.
The look of triumph on the leader's face turned to horror as his hostage fell to the ground.
He fled as I ran forward, the fires I ah called forgotten as rushed to my lover's side, pressing my hand over the wound. So deap! he Only seconds, yet already he was in danger of bleeding out. ANd his throat was severed. He had cut himself all the way down to the bone of his spine, but only isntants had passed, and I was an archmage. I poor healing power into him, knowing i could bring him back... but I met resistance.
The dagger! it must have been cursed. Its malevolent power worked against mine, and I pressed harder, trying to force my way through it. It took my only moments to succeed... but moments were more than he had. When I finally won free to use my magics on him, I looked down, and saw his eyes cold and dead. He had died, and in my furious distraction I hadn't even seen him mouth his last words.
I did weep, now, but not for long. I refused to. There were thirteen men out there, fleeing over the moore, who would pay for what they had done. Fire came again at the thought. The minions I would burn to ash, and for the leader - the one who did not fear to die - for him I would do far, far worse. If nothing else... it would distract me, for a little while, from having to bury the love of my life.
If I was very lucky, I might eventually forget who's fault it really was.
That was fun, and the game's working again. The moral of the story is that Val, being more or less immortal, doesn't really fear for herself. Like so many heroines and heroes, she fears to bring harm to those she allows herself to care for through her association with them, as she did her late husband above.
((I'm hoping for a Cosmic Catastrophe on Innumerable Earths that will merge CoH, CoV, and GR into one world (that looks like Praetoria) where we can all cohabit the same maps.
))
