Secret Tales of the SOLUS Foundation are written for flavor and storytelling.  These stories do not represent commonly available knowledge and should not be referenced towards the character in game for RP without being revealed otherwise first.

The droning continued unabated.

In the deep summer months of July and August, Perez Park, like the other wooded parks of Paragon City, was filled of all sorts of big, slow insects - cicadas, gnats, and flies, with mosquitos in the later hours.  Dark armored bodies filled the quiet spaces with their harsh wings.  The heat radiated off the ground and hung like sheets, trapped, through the dense forested areas.  It had not rained in over a week, and the city was beginning to dry out from the sustained high temperatures.  At night, the gas lamps brought forth clouds of moths and platoons of mosquitoes, waiting to feast.

His hand tightened on the cane, the heavy silver ball on top digging into his palm.  He hated the heat.  Sweating did not come naturally to him, more as a stress measure than one of physical discomfort.  On days like this one, smoldering would be the proper adjective to describe his state.  As soon as he was out the cavern door, he was already missing the cool interiors and cold comforts of Oranbega.

The comely woman on his arm, though, was having the opposite reaction to the heat.  Eloise was strong-willed, but could not handle the cold temperatures in the ancient underground city.  After four straight days in council meetings, she caught a wicked case of stir-crazy, and demanded some time from her lover to visit the park and wander around the grounds. 

“It is too cold down there, Victor.  The body catches maladies when subjected to such a chill,” she commented, reading the expression on his face.

“Heating the city, while interesting as a logistical challenge, would not do well for the stored paraffin or for preventing the deterioration of the tomes,” he replied.

“Always the realist, hm?”

“I will have enough time to ruminate in the grave,” he said, his eyes watching the running brook heading into the lake at the southern end of the park.

“Always the morbid,” she stated firmly.

He did not offer a reply.  Instead, he only watched the brook as he they walked towards the amphitheatre, the drone of the insects filling his ears.

The Circle of Thorns had risen to its most recent apex of power.  With the war in the European nations raging, it took the attention off their actions and, with appropriate caution, the Circle had infiltrated many major business and governmental organizations.  With the great war, what many were already calling a World War, people were disheartened.  They gravitated to charismatic leaders and powerful societies that could give them what they sought above all else: control over a world out of their control.  With forbidden magic and spells, the Circle did not have to sell an illusion of its power.  In fact, it hid its power behind illusions so that only the worthy would attempt to join.

Even behind these curtains, recruits, even worthy ones, flocked to the Circle.  And with the increased membership, airs of civilization needed to be added to traditional rituals, both to mollify recent recruits and to obscure darker portents.  The Thaumaturgical Council represented one of these airs, acting as a ruling body for all the mortal members of the Thorns.  The Council, and all its subjects, would meet in Oranbega for a full week, once a year.  A representative from each of the Magus Cults would also attend, both to provide supervision and motivate recruits through their intimidating and awe-inspire presence.  Most of the Magus Cults viewed the Council with relative loathing, as an unworthy waste of their time, but accepted it as a necessary sacrifice for their continued popularity and growth.

Victor held one of the six seats on the Council, along with Torraga, Kambe Mushrif, Elizabeth Turcott, Michael Crowe, and Heinrich Kemler.  Heinrich was the current ruling seat with Victor as second in strength.  Heinrich held more influence with the subjects, and was far more charismatic and popular, than the somber and subdued Victor.

But Victor’s strength lay in his ability as an arcanist.  Many rumors had been floating that, though not in a ruling position, he would be next chosen for magehood over Heinrich.  Further buttressing these rumors was that, in the early part of the week, each of the Magus Cults had sent a representative to speak directly, and solely, with Victor.  These developments were certainly not lost on Heinrich, whose animosity with him was at a new zenith. The Council was currently behind closed doors, discussing Circle matters while the subjects, including Eloise, were trained and tested further. 

“Diviner Maros,” Heinrich nodded at the glowing-eyed figure in the corner of the room, “Has concerns over the recent spike in recruiting.  He feels standards may have slipped, or that there may be an active effort to dilute our pool of recruits.”

“Nonsense,” roared Torraga, “Our standards are as they always have been, if not higher!”  The other members of the Council expected such a response from him, in that he headed most of the ongoing recruiting operations.

“The numbers do not lie,” replied Heinrich. 

“Perhaps Torraga has hit a rich vein of nihilism,” Elizabeth offered.

Heinrich immediately shrugged off the suggestion, “A valid explanation is need,” his voice rising to punctuate his words. “Our very reputation is in the strict adherence to the codes the Circle has put forth!  If we deviate-”

“Failure,” Victor said.

Heinrich, his face flushed from nearly yelling turned to look at Victor for his interruption, as did the other members of the Council. 

“Would you elaborate,” Michael inquired.

“The Allied counteroffensive has failed. Recent newspapers reports are showing that little territory has been won back since Germany’s spring offensive,” Victor explained.

Kambe replied, “Those reports may not be accurate.”

“Whether they are accurate or not, that is what has been printed,” Victor continued.  “People are frightened that the war that has been going on for three years will now hold us for three years more.  Worse, they smell defeat.  People feel powerless, so they seek power.  They seek those who would guarantee victory.  They seek us.”

The cowled figure in the corner commented in a hoarse voice, “A worthy explanation.  Continue to the next topic.”

Heinrich glared down at the table, refusing to show Victor his anger, and knowing the danger in showing it at Maros, despite the current and increasingly common usurping of his power.  Swallowing his pride, Heinrich pushed the paper aside and took up the one underneath.

“Next on the agenda…”

“You goad him unnecessarily, Victor.  His temper will get the better of him eventually.”

Victor did not reply, leaning against the rail overlooking a training area for veteran recruits.  He spied Eloise currently reviewing a tome on the nature of elemental magic.  Looking up and seeing his stare, she grinned slightly and continued back to her reading. 

“Victor?”  Michael was a resolute ally of Victor’s, both for ambition and admiration of his abilities.  He always felt he could spot a leader and Victor, though avoiding that route, seemed to be a good bet to Michael for the future.

“He fears losing power when never really had it,” Victor said.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really think the Cults need us?  We serve as a recruiting tool, but nothing more.  We hold no real power and soon, in the near future I predict, our Council will no longer be worth their effort to rationalize,” Victor explained.

“Even if you assume recruiting is at an apex, do you really think it would decline so fast?”

“The universe is balance, my friend.  Anything that goes up, must equally come down.  Anything that accelerates must equally slow down...,” Victor paused, watching the lesson conclude.  His eyes followed Eloise out of the cavern. 

“Everything that starts must end.”

Michael caught Victor’s gaze on his lover and regarded him curiously.  “A complicated answer to a somewhat simple question.”

“On the contrary, it was rather simplistic in its meaning.  I simply did not specify it to your question.”

“Indeed.  Another question though?”  Victor turned his head to look at Michael. 

“Given her beauty, I can understand the physical nature of your relationship.  I just cannot understand the emotional nature of it.”

Michael walked over next to Victor, leaning over the railing and looking back over the recently vacated cavern. “You are her superior in intellect, maturity, and ability.  Don’t you get bitter in dealing with her?”

Victor looked back over the railing.  “She is my muse.  Magic is not all symbols, pronunciations, and components, my friend.  It is a living force of power.  Many mages fall into the trap of using their cold logic and will to shape magic to do their bidding, and that works to a degree.”  Straightening, he smoothed his robes out.

“A powerful mage is one who tries to respect and love magic.  To treat it as an artist, painting masterpieces with ethereal power.  That is why I treat her with respect and love.  She teaches me the importance of creativity and chaotic thinking and how these concepts can glean far more from magic than harsh dominion.”

As night settled in on the fifth day, Victor and Eloise ate an evening banquet together in Victor’s quarters.  The rest of the congregation was fed in the large mess hall, but Council members like him were allowed special luxuries.  Victor cleanly and meticulously sliced into his pheasant, while Eloise munched happily on a fresh salad.  She smiled a little, watching Victor, thinking he looked a little silly being so fussy with his food. 

“Thank you for taking me outside earlier.  I appreciate your accommodating me,” Eloise said.

Without looking up, Victor replied, “I find an intimate relationship cannot flourish without accommodations.”  Eloise chuckled in response and she speared a cherry tomato with her fork.

A voice from the direction of the door commented, “How touching.”

Victor turned sharply, his eyes focusing on the intruding figure.  Seeing Heinrich, he sneered visibly and turned back to continue his meal, while Eloise, sitting across with him, stared first at Heinrich and then at Victor with growing alarm.

“We need to talk,” Heinrich said.

Victor gave no action other than to continue eating.

“I am still ruling member.  Come with me.”

Victor's raised his head back up, and he turned to regard Heinrich, an amused expression on his face.  “An odd strategy.  To demand my adherence to your authority by admitting the diminishing stature of your post.  After you, sir.”  Victor stood up, pushing the plate away from him.  Eloise shot him a look of concern but he smirked and waved dismissively. 

Making their way through the stone and bricked walls of Oranbega, they eventually arrived at a secluded alcove in the cave system, outside of the city.  Upon entering the small cavern, Victor saw torches up ahead and, upon getting closer, recognized the faces of the other Council members.

Upon seeing the duo arrive, Kambe was the first to speak, “Alright, Leader.  You have assembled us.  What is this important manner?”

Heinrich held his index finger to his lips, silencing the other members.  He reached into his cloak and removed a small charm in the shape of a beetle.  It looked to be carved from onyx, with silver inlay work done to highlight its edges and points.  Cupping it in his hand, he whispered a word and it hummed to life.  The charm glowed faintly, but its humming increased to a low roar.  Though the other members showed some immediate concern, Victor recognized it as a ward, to prevent any eavesdropping or scrying of their meeting, though he was puzzled as to its origins as it did not conform to his knowledge of charms and wards.  His interest in the meeting deepened with Heinrich using such a fairly strong charm to protect the proceedings.

Heinrich began speaking.  Despite the humming, he could be heard perfectly.  “The Council is a figurehead.  A weak tool that the Magus use to placate the masses.”

Several other members scanned around nervously.  Heinrich’s words were fast approaching heresy and could easily get them all killed for simply hearing them.  Michael, in particular, looked uneasy and watched Victor, trying to gauge his view of this.  Though Victor had voiced similar concerns, he had not done so openly. 

“How long before the Magus remove the Council, and us, for good?  Do you think they really need us?  Eventually our numbers will begin to dwindle, and our purpose here is pointless.”

“Heresy,” shouted Torraga. 

“Let him speak and save your bloviating for the council floor,” Kambe retorted.

“His words are heretical, and I demand immediate recriminations,” Torraga responded.  “Victor, remove Heinrich and become the leader we have needed!”

Victor turned to face Torraga calmly, “Why?”

“He is spouting heresy and –“

“His words are truth,” Victor responded.

Heinrich seemed stunned at Victor’s support, and the other Council members looked similarly taken aback by his unlikely position.

“The Circle is about knowledge, not religion.  The only code is power.  Heresy only describes people and motives that refuse to adhere to traditions.  The Council is a tool for the Magus.  One that is nearing its point of obsolesence.  To not plan or adapt for the future is ignorant.  To not consider options for the future is childishness.”  Victor turned backed to Heinrich, “Continue.”

Blinking, Heinrich again addressed the group, “If the Council is to survive, we need to be in a position of strength.  With the proper backing, we can become, not just a toothless figurehead, but a real body of power within the circle.”

“What do you prescribe for such backing?” Elizabeth asked.

“I have gained a conduit to a source of immense power,” stated Heinrich. “I recognized the potential of this contact and hid it from the council and warded it from their sight. This support would give us both the mystical protection we would need from the Magus and rally the mortal minions to us en masse, to cement a position of power.”

“What is the cost?” Victor asked.

Heinrich continued as if not hearing the question, “With the proper deal in place we can soldify our role in the future of the Circle!  Instead of facing our removals from office, we ensure our li-“

“What is the cost?" Victor repeated forcefully.

Heinrich turned to look at Victor, “The cost is a burden I plan to take fully onto my own shoulders.”  Turning, he addressed the other members, “I do not ask a sacrifice from any of you, as you already face a real danger in defiance against the Circle.  I would not presume to ask more of you.”

Victor stood unmoving, watching Heinrich intensely as he transversed the room, talking with the other council members.

“My next step is to secure a deal with this contact.  Once in place, we will reconvene to discuss the steps to our ascendance and show you the true nature of this power.  For now, contemplate the future.  Do not answer me now.  Simply consider the possibilities and when we meet again, you will know the real power that will be wielded.  Thank you.”

Diviner Maros sat in an intricately carved chair, the back rising higher than his head.  His eyes glowed with a malevolent yellow luminescence, as he watched Victor pace slowly back to forth, discussing Circle matters.  Though Maros was keeping attention to Victor’s words, he detected a harsh undercurrent about his demeanor.

“Stop,” Maros spoke.

Victor paused in his path and turned to look at the Magus.

“My ability to gaze into the time streams is powerful, yet not entirely perfected.  Still, it provides me with tremendous insight when dealing with others.”  He leaned forward in his chair and continued, “Yet I am troubled with your own thread in fate.  It has been quite bright and powerful in the past but recently has blurred more and more.  Now, it is not even a speck of candlelight in a dark room.  Your possible futures, your fates, are unknown to me now.  I find that very frustrating and startling.”

Maros leaned back in his chair as Victor turned and sat down in a chair opposite of him.

“What is happening with you, Victor,” Maros asked.

“Nothing,” replied Victor.

“The passage of time advances fate, it does not obscure it.”

“Nothing I can tell you at this point.  Anything I would reveal is premature.”  Now, he leaned forward in his own chair.  “You are correct in your suspicions, but the future is obscured to me too.  I intend to get at the truth, but will not be able to until certain plans are advanced.”

“I see.”  Maros steepled his fingers together as he regarded the young man.  “Such secrecy will not go over well with the Magus.”

Victor smiled.  “You won’t tell them yet.  You want to know the answers as much as I do.  You have grown accustomed to being able to know the consequences of your move before you make it.”

“Touché,” Maros responded nodding.  “Keep me apprised of any developments.  I do still hold far more knowledge than you can understand yet, and though you may think you hold a little nugget of knowledge, it could be gold in the context of my intellect.”

“Of course,” Victor agreed, grinning and leaning back in his chair.

Heinrich winced as a splash of cold water arched up and hit the side of his face.  The large waterfall stretched downwards close to a hundred feet before emptying in a spray into a grotto.  Tucked away in an alcove behind the waterfall, he had setup a crude, but serviceable, summoning circle.  Given the water, he had to use toad fat in drawing the circle to prevent it from being washed away.

Normally, a formal summoning room in Oranbega would be used for this purpose, but they would be monitored or administered by the Magus and, for this endeavour, secrecy was paramount.  He was unable to use the ward he had received either as it would block the very spell he intended to cast.  He found the waterfall to be a wonderful approximation though, with its deafening roar and hazy mist obscuring sight.

He went about lighting the candles, protected by large hurricane lamps and began to chant, “Kaz Una Frux Maiyat Herodos!  Hear my beckoning, Messor Anima!  Come forth to receive my humble petition!”

Despite their glass protection, the candles flickered and softened to the point of pinpricks.  Shadows began to pull back into the circle, giving the odd appearance of brightening the room, even as the light nearly failed.  Sound became muted as the roar of the water dissipated to a trickle.  The shadows began to coalesce into a distinct form in the center of the circle and two glowing red globes, eyes, opened in the form’s top portion and scanned the room until they laid they’re gaze on the Council Leader.

Heinrich immediately prostrated himself, falling to one knee, “Liege.”

A scratching voice of tearing fabric and creaking doors filled the small cave, “Have you made progress?”

“I have done as promised, milord,” Heinrich quickly answered.  “The others are intrigued by the offer and are willing to do more.”

“Excellent.”

“And as we agreed?”

The form reached an appendage to the ground before Heinrich, but still within the circle.  It dissipated revealing an old stained scroll that looked remarkably like human skin.  “Follow the instructions on this scroll.  The spell will put the next phase into motion.  Once I have merged with you, your Council will have my protection and you will have your power.”

Heinrich grinned widely, excitement causing him to tremble slightly all over. 

“Tomorrow night, I will execute the arrangements,” he said as his hand closed over the scroll.  It almost seemed to pulse, as if the material it was made of was alive.  The shadowed form began to slowly dissipate and darkness filled the room once more, the strong smell of rot and decay permeating the air.

The door opened effortlessly without a creak, despite its tremendous weight.  Victor had silenced the door and had picked the lock without much difficulty.  He found that keeping one’s options open enabled you to look beyond complex barriers for simple solutions.  Though all Circle members powerful enough warded their doors to all sorts of magic, many forgot to complete simple, more physical measures like extra locks or barring the door with latent spells.  He found it amusing that the Council Leader, his superior, neglected this simple step.  A common error in a place where magic is used almost entirely.

Victor entered the room and closed the door, locking it behind him.  This would force Heinrich to use his key and thus, give Victor a warning to his return and give him a handful of moments to prepare or escape.  He walked down the entry hallway and came to a large common area that served as a receiving room, dining room, and library.  Victor had an obsessive knowledge on books and detoured past the volumes on display.  Quickly checking for wards, he picked a first edition up and opened it to the table of contents.  The book’s spine crackled with the effort and Victor put the book back down in disgust, confirming his suspicions.  A book unread was as useful as a painting for a blind man.

Moving into the connecting hallway on the right, Victor opened the door and came into a large study and office. More volumes, ‘Probably unread,’ Victor thought derisively, were stacked in bookcases along the back wall.  Shelves along the side walls held reams of scrolls and what looked to be journals.  He sighed inwardly as he would much rather have come here to procure private research and musings, but he focused on his goal.

With several shapes traced in the air, Victor mumbled some words under his breath.  His vision shifted somewhat as several objects, not previously noticed, began to glow with a pale jade aura.  After scanning the room several times, Victor spied what he was looking for and moved to the desk.  He had to pick the lock and disarm several magical traps, but got the drawer open and removed the item.  Reaching into his robes, he placed an object back into the drawer.

Closing the desk and putting the appropriate locks and wards back in place, he retraced his steps back through the suite and back out the door, doing the same for the front door as he did with the desk, sealing everything shut and removing signs of transgression.  Smiling to himself, Victor looked down into his hand and traced a finger around the silver inlay work of the small beetle charm.

Victor listened to the crunch of the grass under his shoes, as he slowly walked through the park with Eloise at his side.  It was approaching twilight, and he had spent most of the day researching the nature of the stolen charm.  Both of them had held back from their duties for the day, but would not be missed.  During the week, it was expected that some meetings and events would be missed.  Eloise had helped with the research, fetching tomes and running down lines of inquiry she came up with, opposite of Victor’s contemplations.

He was sure that the charm was steeped in negative energy, meaning that its origins were somewhere from the netherworld or similar location.  He was quite disturbed that Heinrich, though nowhere near the arcanist he was, had been plumbing these locations.  Indeed, Victor himself had not stepped through a portal yet, though had participated in summonings and studied encyclopedic tomes on the netherworld and planes of the abyss.

Eloise suggested the break.  Uncommon to his behavior, Victor did not resist, and both headed up into the park proper.  The day had cooled definitively with a cold front moving through.  Wind snipped around angrily and roiling clouds raced across the sky. The air had a potential energy about it that put Victor on edge.

Seeing his distant expression and almost mindless focus, she gripped his arm a little tighter to get his attention. “We could go back in,” she offered.

“No,” replied Victor. “There is more air up here.  It feels less constricting right now.”  Eloise nodded and made to move forward when Victor held her arm and pulled her back to him.  He looked at her, the lines in his face still contorting with stress, frustration, and concentration. 

“The other day, someone asked me why I love you.  I knew and told them why, though the question bothered me in another way.”

Eloise kept silent, taken aback by his candor and his trusting his feelings to her.

“Why do you love me?  I am cold, uncaring, and only passionate about my own ambition.  Why would you put yourself through an emotional relationship with me?”

She moved forward, embracing him around his midsection and resting her chin on his chest as she looked into his eyes.  “Emotion is not logical.  It is not rational.  And love is the greatest of all emotions, both in strength, depth, and danger.  It opens up our world to a whole host of possibilities, priorities, and feelings that would never be felt otherwise.”

Smiling, she continued, “You obsess over your abilities and knowledge, but you do not really love them.  You see it as a challenge.  But with me, your mind and spirit opens and sees far more than what cold logic can suggest and consider.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Victor replied.

Her smile retreated and her face smoothed to a serious mask.  “I don’t love you.  I love us.”  Victor blinked, a confused look on his face.  “Separate, we are simply two different people.  You, a fussy, but brilliant and grounded intellectual.  Me, a beautiful novice who naturally understands the flow of magic and the ethereal in the subjective, but not in the objective like you do.”

“But together, we are far more than the sum of our parts.  A force of beauty and power.  That is why you are as attached to me as much as I am attached to you.  That is why other people simply do not understand our relationship.  Where most people seek to cohabit with one another, we interlock, like wooden puzzle pieces.”

“Always the romantic,” he replied.

Smiling, Victor kissed her deeply, feeling her press against him, hugging him close.  They broke from their embrace and slowly made their way back to the caverns’ entrance.  He had a feeling that Heinrich would be assembling the group tonight and Victor did not want to be absent.

At four strokes past midnight, a quiet knock came at Victor’s door.  Both he and Eloise were still up, reading on several topics of the Netherworld.  He had already stashed the charm in a hidden chamber that was warded from detection.  It would not do to have Heinrich expect treachery from him so quickly.  Victor walked to the door and opened it.  Heinrich stood outside, with Torraga in tow.  The large Asian man looked almost ill, but followed obediently behind the smaller German. 

“It is time to convene,” stated Heinrich.  Victor nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.  As it shut, he glanced behind, and Eloise smiled and nodded to him.  Though she feared for his safety, she did not doubt his capabilities. 

Silently, the three men moved through the hallways.  Not slinking about, but not drawing attention to themselves either.  It was not clear where they were headed, but to Victor, it appeared they were moving to an old, blocked-off section of the underground city.

As they moved into the ruined section of Oranbega, Torraga shot a look of distress to Victor.  He shook his head silently and made a calming motion to his fellow member.  Victor knew that Torraga was ready to take Heinrich’s head off at any moment, but that would ruin any chances at getting to the foundation of this scheme.  Despite his confidence, Victor adjusted the pistol and dagger under his robes.  All Circle members had a selection of these implements on their person at all times, but he considered the possibility of actually having to use them tonight.

Their footsteps echoing in the empty halls, the group entered a large abandoned summoning room.  The other members of the Council were already present, discussing matters amongst themselves.  Upon their arrival, the other members moved to a small seating area to the side and sat down in front of a lectern.  Before moving to the lectern, Heinrich reached into his robes and removed the beetle charm again.  Victor smiled as Heinrich whispered to the ornament and the low droning sound again started.  He put the charm down and moved behind the podium, gripping either side in his hands.

“My friends, I want to promise you that no harm will come to any of you here.  If you wish to leave, leave now.  And no grudge will be held towards you.”

The group turned to look amongst one another.  A couple of them had enacted truth probes on Heinrich’s words and found him not lying.  Still many seemed uneasy.  Heinrich turned to look at Victor, “No objections?”

Victor frowned and shook his head.  “I keep my options open.  And the unmolested future of this Council is certainly oblivion.  As to whether your plan is worthy, I remain unconvinced, but am willing to hear your case.” 

Heinrich looked up to the remaining members.  Other than Torraga fidgeting, they remained in their seats.

“Good, I shall begin. As you know, the Magos separate us from the effortless magic they wield.  We are shackled with spells and unguents, while they wield true power.  This premise was acceptable due to the promise of elevation and advancement through the Council.  But with the demise of the Council, no path remains!”

Victor noted Kambe nodding to himself, agreeing with the assessment as Heinrich continued.

“I submit, that if we are not to be allowed a path to power, then we must TAKE one,” Heinrich thundered.  “In my possession, I have a summoning scroll.  One that will summon a creature who can not only bestow protection, but negotiate on terms of an alliance.”

“What does it summon,” Elizabeth asked from the back row.

“A Spectral Overlord.  A powerful denizen of the Netherworld who oversees the Nerva and daemons.”

Elizabeth near leapt out of her seat, eyes widening.  Her obsession with the undead was widely known, and to have this kind of contact would be historic, a fact not lost to Heinrich.  Michael and Kambe both looked shocked and amazed at the level of power being suggested.  Torraga simply looked frozen, a look of unbelief plastered to his face.  Victor remained impassive, but scowled inwardly.  Rarely was the Netherworld so forthcoming in their designs.  He was sure Heinrich was holding something back.

Heinrich continued, “I beseech you all to come, take positions for the summoning.  The circle is in place, and you can all see that it is conforms to the highest standards of Thaumaturgy.  I hold no intentions of malice.”

“And the cost,” Victor reminded.  Heinrich turned to look at him again, a similar expression on his face as when the first time the question was asked.

“It is my own burden,” he replied again.  Turning, he moved towards the summoning circle and began lighting the candles.

The other members of the council, including Victor, rose from their seats and gathered at the circle, taking positions to capture the released magic of the spell and channel it into the center.

She turned the charm over in her hands, feeling the workmanship.  Despite being in her hands, it still felt cold, not retaining any of her body heat.  Even more disturbing was not that it felt powerful, but in fact felt powerless, devoid of any potential or energy.  Eloise was still in Victor’s room, waiting until he returned from the meeting.  A knock on the door startled her from her reverie, and she put the charm down on the desk, moving across the room, over to the door.  Upon opening it, she looked out onto to a covered face with two luminescent globes of yellow light in place of eyes.

“Good evening, young Eloise,” greeted Maros.

She audibly yelped and fell backwards away from the door, onto the stone floor.  Maros calmly opened the door further, stepped in and closed it shut.  “Relax.  My presence here is planned, pretty one.”

Recovering herself, Eloise stood back up and brushed herself off as Maros walked over to the sitting area, in front of the fireplace, and toyed with the poker sticking out of the burning logs.

“I don’t understand, my Lord.  Why are you here?” she asked.

Maros left the poker and walked back over to her.  “Victor has sent word that the meeting has commenced,” he commented.  Upon seeing her confused look, he continued, “That little trinket of Kemler’s was not just stolen by Victor. He replaced it with one he designed to shine the way for me.  I pinpointed the location of their little gathering in the Abandoned Quarter.”

He moved to one of the chairs and sat down.  Though she did not have all the details of Victor’s plan, what Maros told her was close enough to what she knew to allay her fears.

“Would his honor care to examine the trinket?  I find it a rather curious design,” Eloise offered.

Maros made a sound similar to chuckling and waved his hand, “By all means, let me enlighten you with my wisdom.  We have time.”  As she walked to the desk, he continued, “Charms such as these that block scrying and sound are somewhat rare.  Spells of this sort are quite common, but objects that hold such abilities are valuable in their convenience.  I am afraid such enchantments are a lost art in this era, but many thaumat…”

The mage stopped dead in his words as he looked over to the small onyx beetle in her cupped hands.  His eyes suddenly blazed as fire and he swatted at her hands with enough strength to send her to the ground and the charm flying across the room.  It hit the opposite wall and clattered to the ground.  Eloise looked up in fear at the mage, but saw him rising slowly out of his chair his eyes fixed on the little beetle.  At first she feared for her life until she made out the look of sheer horror on Maros’ own face. 

With the group assembled in their correct positions, Heinrich went over, picking up the charm and cutting off its power so as not to disturb the spell.  Victor smirked as he knew it wouldn’t, but wouldn’t bother telling Heinrich that.  Joining the group in the final position, Heinrich removed a scroll from under his robes.  Victor watched intently, recognizing without the help of any spell, the sheer power emanating from the scroll.  Heinrich began to chant from the scroll as the other Council members hummed to provide a soundboard for the intonations. 

“Maezzen Kar Tal Inka,” Heinrich chanted.  Victor recognized the words as an ancient daemonic language hybrid.  One that held great power, but was easy to misspeak.  He quietly hoped that Heinrich would not foul his pronunciations before complete.

“Abuo Uneck Tal Parishee Vack Tal!”  Victor grew more uneasy as he noted the language changing from daemonic to Saracen.  Mixing of magical languages was extremely dangerous to the writer and for a scroll to do this meant the author of it had to hold immense power.  Far beyond anything Heinrich or even most Magus was capable.

As Heinrich continued, Victor concentrated more on his channeling and could feel the magic flowing through him into the center of the circle, but it felt wrong to him.  He had not participated in a large number of summonings, but had done enough to recognize something odd.  Quickly glancing at his fellows, he could see their brows furrowing and sweat beading on their skin, showing them to be experiencing the same sensation.  The room brightened as the shadows very slowly began to pull back from the corners and flow towards the center of the circle.  The gloom began to pool like a liquid to cover the circle.  Heinrich’s chanting began to lower in volume as all sound slowly became more muted.

“Francini Quos Mikta Lentes!” 

Victor struggled with his concentration as Heinrich continued his chanting. ‘Language number three,’ he thought absently as he felt sweat begin to roll down his skin.  He noticed several drops fall into the shimmering pool of darkness that covered the entire interior of the summoning circle.  The water droplets crackled as they hit, freezing instantly.  The blackness seemed to glisten now, appearing as a smooth skin overtop a vast opening.

“Come forth, I command.  Messor Anima stride forth,” Heinrich yelled.

Victor’s eyes flew open at the words.  A streak of terror flowed through his body, and he struggled to look towards his companions.

“STOP!”

Heinrich turned to look at him with puzzlement.  The other Council members were lost in their focus and could not hear him over their exertions and muted sound . 

“Stop the summoning!  Cease your channeling,” he cried.  Heinrich scowled and continued chanting, “Messor Anima come forth and be welcomed!”

Victor attempted to stop his channeling when he realized what was wrong.  The power that was flowing through him was not being channeled, but leeched.  They were acting as conduits to the pool of darkness.  “Idiot! You will kill us all!”

Heinrich turned to him again angrily, “Finally facing the truth that not all of us are subservient to your own skill?! Finally facing the truth that some of us are-”

“Undead are not named,” screamed Victor.  Heinrich stopped in mid-sentence, his jaw agape as his mind grappled with Victor’s words.  “The Netherworld holds no names for its subjects!” 

“Only for its rulers,” screamed Victor.

Almost in response, a loud tearing noise was heard and the image of a large taloned hand pressed up out from underneath the glistening blackness.  Heinrich and the others fell back away from the circle, the sheer power knocking them to their feet.  Despite the loss of the channelers, power continued to flow into the dark skin covering the floor.  Victor looked on in horror as a large form pressed slowly against the skin, stretching it upwards seven feet into the air and then back down to the floor.

Messor Anima, The Harvester, was arriving.

Maros pulled out a wickedly carved staff and leveled it towards the charm.  Eloise grabbed at her ears as a stream of dark fell words erupted from him.  The room began to tremble and several items fell from shelves and tables as a deepening surge of energy pervaded the room.  Looking over at the charm, she saw it remain motionless, unmoving even as everything else shook.  His eyes narrowed as he approached the beetle, staff before him.  His robes leaped around him on ethereal winds and the stone underneath the unmoving beetle began to crack and split.  The words increased in volume and Eloise closed her eyes and screamed in pain as if her head was going to split.

Suddenly, in an abrupt heartbeat, the noise, wind, and trembling vanished as the beetle split down the middle with a quiet snap.

The mage fell to one knee supporting himself on his staff as he breathed heavily. 

Eloise slowly got up, panting from the experience.  Maros stared down at the broken halves of the beetle.  “Sire,”  Eloise managed to choke out questioningly as she braced on a chair and pulled herself up.

The Diviner rose to his feet.  She walked over to him and looked down at the fragments of onyx.

“The charm was a danger?” she asked.

“It was no charm.  It was an anchor,” Maros replied. He slowly walked over to the fireplace and leaned over to look into the flames as she watched him quizzically.

As suddenly as the violence had ended, the answer crystallized in Maros’ vision.  He assumed his view of the threads was obfuscated, when in fact, they had cleared.  His vision had not darkened, the threads had.  His face contorted in foreboding as he read the fates and saw the futures.  He realized he could no longer feel the beacon of the fake beetle.  The spell had been started.

He turned sharply, heading for the door, “Grab your weapons and come with me, woman.”

“What is-“

“For the sake of your lover’s soul, you will come with me!”

Eloise grabbed her dagger and hand bow and ran out after the sprinting Mage.

They darted down each corridor heading for the Abandoned Quarter, Maros’ dread growing with each step as the threads revealed themselves.

The glistening black skin again stretched up to towards the ceiling, two distinct taloned hands pushing against it.  It held its apex for several seconds and again fell back to the floor.  Victor rolled to his elbows pushing himself up when a kick exploded into his midsection.  He rolled back onto the floor towards the lectern as Heinrich followed him.

“You will not deny me what is mine,” he yelled as he laid another kick into Victor’s chest, sending him rolling into the lectern and toppling it over.  The other Council members were slowly rising as Victor scrambled back away from Heinrich.

“You die,” Torraga screamed as he charged towards Heinrich, brandishing a large dagger that looked more like a shortsword.  Heinrich twirled to face the Asian and pointed a wand at him.  A bolt of pure force shot out catching him dead center of his chest and shot him across the room, over the circle, into the opposite wall.  He landed on his head and shoulder, an audible cracking confirming his neck had been broken.  Blood began to seep out of a head wound he sustained.

Victor struggled to his feet as Heinrich turned towards him.  Another bolt of pure force shot out at Heinrich, slamming him back near the door.  Michael lowered his wand to see where Heinrich fell when a blade erupted outwards from his chest.  Gurgling on his blood, Michael dropped the wand.  Kambe pulled the sword out and twirled the body onto the ground.

The black skin stopped moving and began to pulsate violently.  Its sheen dulled and it pooled back like a liquid to the center of the circle. 

Heinrich groaned and rose onto his hands and knees.  Kambe slowly walked over to where Victor stood hunched over.  Elizabeth lay on her back, propped up on her elbows as she helplessly watched the scene unfold.  Her foot slipped in some of Michael’s blood that had run beside her, into the circle.  Kambe strode up to Victor, his hand clenched on the hilt of his sword.  Wordlessly, he raised the sword for a killing stroke when a small explosion erupted in front of him.  He was knocked back from the blast and felt his breath leave him as he stared at the smoking double-barreled pistol in Victor’s hands.

“No! The power is mine to be had,” wailed Heinrich as he leaned against the wall, seeing the dissipating black pool.  He turned to look at Victor.  “Fool!  We could have summoned it.  We could have had the power!  The more powerful the denizen the more power we could have!”

“That is not a summoning spell, you imbecile.  That is a portal spell,” Victor replied, breathing heavy.

Elizabeth began to scream at the top of her lungs and scramble away from the circle as trendrils of darkness wormed their way from the center and began to absorb Michael’s blood that had spread past the circle’s protections.  More tendrils erupted from the other side and began to greedily absorb the blood flowing from Torraga’s head wound. 

Victor yelled, “It's still trying to come through!”  He struggled to straighten himself when a fist flew into his vision, punching him in the face and knocking him over the lectern.  Kambe dragged his sword behind him as he clutched his arm to where he was shot.  Elizabeth’s screams erupted even louder as a host of tendrils had encircled her arms and legs and began to rip her apart slowly, feasting on the fresh blood.

Heinrich stumbled back to the circle, retrieving the scroll and continued the incantations.  He felt power flow again through him and the tendrils withdrew back into the center, releasing Elizabeth’s mangled corpse.  Kambe threw himself on top of Victor and got his forearm under his chin, trying to crush his throat.  The pool pulled back out to cover the circle and the skin began to reform, glistening from the candlelight.

“Kimler!”

Heinrich turned and saw Maros and Eloise racing through the door, he reacted, turning to use his wand.  His concentration broke, a tendril as wide around as a tree, shot out around his waist and pulling him back overtop the circle.  He screamed as it  tightened.  Maros shot a bolt of energy from his staff, its detonation on the tentacle having no effect.  The tendril flexed violently and Heinrich was cut in half, his blood emptying onto the black skin and rolling as mercury on its surface before being absorbed.

Kambe, seeing Maros, rolled off of Victor, dropping his sword.  Victor coughed violently as Kambe grabbed Victor’s gun and fired at the Mage.  The mage ducked down onto the floor at the last second as the bullet flew past him, catching Eloise under her jaw.  She dropped to the ground, pouring blood from the wound. Kambe struggled up onto his knees when he felt his sword pierce through his lower back and out his stomach, severing his spine.  He crumbled to the floor as the sword was pulled out and as he died, watched Victor, weapon in hand, stumbling towards Eloise.

Maros jumped back to his feet and saw the portal surface begin to thin and dull. He backed up slowly as a hand again pushed out from underneath, but the surface of the pool now reacted and looked more like cloth.  He felt his strength leave him as he realized the unavoidable.

The portal had anchored itself.

Victor scrambled to Eloise’ side, her head lying to one side listlessly.  Still holding the sword, he gently held her face turning it to face him.  The bullet had entered below her jaw and exited out her neck.  He could see blood pouring out.

She limply raised her hand and stroked Victor’s face, tears streaming from his eyes. 

Maros stumbled back past Victor.  “Its too late!  We have to try and seal the area!  The other Magus will be coming.  Come on, Victor!”

He was not hearing as he stroked her face.  His muse.  His chaos.  His love. 

“Victor!” 

He looked up at Maros, his face shattered.  He could tell the mage was saying something to him, but a sound had filled the room.  Maros fled out the room, heading back down the corridor.

Victor slowly rose and turned to see a large shape rising underneath the cloth-like barrier.  The drone of beetles, millions upon millions filled the room.  He saw them flutter under the edges of the cloth.

Victor strode up towards the circle, sword still in hand, stopping at the very edge.  The shape turned towards him, looking at him.  A cold man would not recognize the nature of the portal.  But for him, a man who felt, a man who wept, he knew what it meant.  What it implied, from liquid to skin to cloth. 

He rose the sword above his head.

Maros froze in his retreat.  The threads had changed.  To something far greater.  Far darker.  He tore around back towards the room.  Turning the corner, he saw Victor bring his upraised sword down before him, splitting the cloth into two. 

“NO!”  Maros screamed, his arm holding the staff, raised towards Victor.

Ethereal winds erupted from the breach in the cloth and the edges of the tear grabbed at Victor pulling him through the hole.  His body disappeared through the breach and the fabric tore back into shreds, retreating to the corners of the room, plunging it into its customary gloom.

Diviner Maros remained with his arm outstretched for many seconds before he could move again.  The doom had happened.  Now the fates of Victor Mordred lay as a noose woven from threads as black as night.  He slipped to his knees when he heard a sigh behind him.

Turning, the mage saw that life had left Eloise.  As she died, a single thread, bright as pearl, wove itself into the noose.

The only chance.

Maros rose to his feet and made his way out of the room, already planning for years into the future when his foot hit something.  He looked down and saw the scroll, its symbols glowing like embers.  Picking the parchment up, he rolled it up and placed it within his robes.  The Diviner walked out of the room, planning on how to describe these events to the Cults.  They could not be allowed to know the truth.

“Yo man, hurry up!”

Fenster was always nervous and jittery.  Not a good quality for a Skull, but he had a knack for figuring out stuff. That was the only reason Femur kept him around.  The Bone Daddy was angry about their latest score, a bunch of Circle crap in a chest that came from some abandoned house.  ‘Maybe Stephen King lived there,' he thought.  Score had gone well until the walking toilet showed up and started banging heads.  They must have already emptied an army bases’ worth of ammo at him, but on he came. 

Femur cracked his knuckles, “Your makin’ me touchy, Fens.  Do I need to touch you?”

Fenster turned waving his hands wildly, “Nah, Boss!  Just give me a second and I’ll figure the shit out!”  He continued to study the scroll, making out the words.  The Skulls had a slight bit of mystic knowledge, so Fenster had the forbearance to scratch a crooked summoning ring with a piece of chalk.

A loud crash erupted from the front of the dilapidated warehouse.  Both Skulls looked up from where they were hidden among crates.  Gunshots rang out, accompanied by more crashes, and several cries and grunts.  A booming voice intoned, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you my chiropractor’s card on the way out!”

“Shit!”  Femur jumped up and looked around the corner.  Apparently, Lugnut had found them far quicker than he had hoped.  He looked back at Fenster, “Do it N-O-W, ya gimp,” he whispered harshly.

Fenster felt himself panicking, and he began reading the scroll, not having any idea of what the symbols meant.  Femur watched for a second and then turned and kept his attention around the corner.  For several minutes he heard more crashing and gunshots, when he suddenly saw one of his boys come flying though the hallway intersection, gun firing widly into the ceiling.  A huge copper form, easily eight feet tall, ran after him yelling, “Get back here!”

Femur tensed further, and tried to concentrate on using his darkness powers, when he heard Fenster mumble something.  Cursing under his breath, he turned back, heading behind the crates, “Fenster, if you haven’t-“

A cowled figure, eyes glowing red, glared directly at him.  It stood around seven feet tall and was heavily muscled.  He could see its veins rising unnaturally off its body, with some kind of blood or liquid flowing through them.  Its face was obscured by some kind of scarf around its mouth.

“Awwww Buddy!!!”  Femur cheered, pulling the mewling Fenster on his feet and hugging him, not noticing that Fenster had soiled himself.  “You are da MAN!”

Femur turned back towards the corridors and yelled, “Hey!  Tin Man!  Drop that bitch, Dorothy, and come play with the Wicked Witch of the West!  Hahaha!”  He turned back to Fenster, but found the figure standing face-to-face with him. “Back off, Michael Myers. I got a real present coming yo-“

His face fell as he saw behind the figure, Fenster crumpled on the floor, several large bruises permeating his exposed flesh.  Femur was only able to get one hand up before he felt a fist, wrapped in a soul-chilling cold, crash into his ribs.

Walking back over to pile of Skulls, Lugnut heaved another body onto the group.  Groans and moans emanated from the mound as the armored giant brushed his hands off.  “I should be a sales consultant for Ben Gay.”

Chuckling to himself, he went back to find Femur.  “Yoo-hoo?  Looking to play a game of Whomp-um with a certain Skull homey.”

Lugnut turned a corner into a section of crates when he saw two legs sticking out from behind a steel container. He slowed turned the corner and saw Femur with several nasty welts riddling his body.  Over by the other corner was Fenster, his weasly little accomplice, lying in his own urine, with deep black bruises covering his body. 

He looked back to the other corner and saw a kneeling form, with two eyes glowing blood red staring absently at the wall opposite him.  Lugnut eased to the side and checked Femur’s pulse.

“They are both alive,” a scratching voice from the figure said.

“They’re probably regretting that right now.”  Lugnut checked Fenster too, keeping tabs on the newcomer, confirming what the cowled figure said.  “I don’t mind the help, but buddy, you look bangin’ odd.  You alright?”

The figure did not respond in any fashion.

“You look like Circle of Thorns.  You sure we are on the same-“

“I am not of the Thorns,” the voice stated firmly.

Lugnut paused before continuing.  “Of course.  You know, ah, I know somebody who might know more about whatever you’re all about.  I could show you the way, as you look a little green around the… well… whatevers. Don’t want penny-ante vill-”

“Show me the way,” he interrupted.

The giant cocked his head.  “All right. Name’s Manny, but everybody calls me Lugnut. You?” 

The figure stood up and walked over next to Lugnut.  Taking his cue, he lead the dark figure down the hallway. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

“Vigor Mortis.”

Even on Sharkhead Isle he felt it.

The summoning.

He could see it in the darkened threads that had lain dormant for so long.  The flaring of black energy within them.  The noose upon the world that would be its undoing had begun its tightening. 

Yet the white thread, through the immeasurable darkness and years had remained and even now, kept pace with its black brothers, advancing through time as an equal.  He usually knew better than to count on such empty hopes, but it was all that remained to grasp.  He rose out of his chair and walked over to a chest, opening it and removing a small box.  It was heavily inscribed and ensorcelled, wards erupting all over its surface. 

Maros had finished all his preparations for the end of the world.

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