RP:The Clock of Blood

From HollowWiki

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.


The Thorne Estate, Vailkrin

The gates to the manse were being fickle today. Perhaps wearied from the task of opening and closing for various deliverymen, they were now opening only to shut with a petulant snap before anyone could pass. Rinse, repeat, until the offending visitor gave up and went away. One or two of the cleverer couriers had worked out that loudly admiring the iron scrollwork produced better results than just tugging the chain to the bell appended on the gate-post, and so things did not come creaking to a complete halt. Still, Tenebrae frowned at the tardiness of her parcels. Should anyone on more personal business actually make it past the entry to the grounds, they’d find a note on the door, “In the Basement”, signed, “Tene”. The door was ajar, too, and while it may seem security was alarmingly lax, the manse’s many defense creatures and spells had been given the extremely short list of persons permitted to enter freely, and instructions to dispatch anyone else with due diligence. In the basement itself, the Necromancer was preparing a ritual circle taken directly from the Forsaken Book of the Dead, adapted for novice use in case of.. accidents… in the midst of which sat a barrel full of alchemically treated liquid.


Cerys was one of those here on personal business and the moody iron-wrought gates were not an obstacle she would give up on lightly. Oh there had been plenty of waiting. She tried feinting the things multiple times, walking away before darting back and trying to squeeze through at the last second. She'd added a few more bruises underneath her clothes along the way and lost a slipper in the process, but in the end was triumphant over the damn things so she could walk through the front door, keeping her eyes trained ahead on the path shown to her the previous night. Inwardly, her stomach does giddy flips as she makes her way down the stairs to the subterranean level. Anyone hearing her footprints would find one slightly more quiet than the other with the absence of a proper shoe. Upon reaching the entrance, however, she stops and calls out, rather than entering right away. "Thanatos Domina, is now a suitable time?" she asks as she lets her left eye wander freely about the multi-functional cavern while the points of her ears peek out from under her layered hair.


Artritus stood in front of a most childish contraption. A red clad figure before the endlessly closing and opening doors which seemed to be fairly self aware and under the false impression that they could, firstly: prevent his entry. And secondly: successfully lure him into trying to enter in some sort of childish game. Rather evidently, neither was true. At first, he stood still as a stone structure. His expression quite similar to a parent whose child has decided to throw food out the window. A single had rose as he contemplated a few options. Sadly, punishing the construction was out of his prerogative. As such, he would simply have to ask about their construction at a later date. Though the punishment would come, indeed. Umbreomancy was still quite the unfavored school with the sage. None the less. He did employ it. Must have. As he seemed to sink into the darkness upon the ground only to rise out of it on the other side, walking rather unsteadily out of it as if climbing a stair. "Blasted children.." he spat.


The gates emitted a cranky squeal of hinge in Artitrus' wake, and would only cheer up at all several hours hence and upon stymie-ing their dozenth courier for the day. As Vox found his way to the far less irritating portal to the manse proper, Tenebrae was speaking to Cerys while bustling about amid a fragile jungle of glass tubes, beakers and bubbling alembics. "Time?" She glanced up from her work, "Oh. Yes, as good a time as any. Did you find a suitable carcass?" The ritual's preparation work was almost complete - Tene had no intention of sharing all of the workings involved in that with anyone just yet , but visible to the eye was a circle of twelve intricate sigils, each linked to the other by complex lines, as though the whole was one gigantic knotwork rather than being comprised of individual parts. There was, however, a gap in the array, where black and white chalks ceased to meander. Gesturing to the central barrel, Tene said, "If so, plop it in there, will you. And do take care not to get any of that liquid on yourself, there's a dear."


Cerys is lacking any sack this time around, though the way her skirt falls, it's as if she's grown an extra hip overnight. She gives her guild-mistress a customary bow of her head as she makes her way in. She lifts her skirt just enough so she can be sure not to interrupt any of the winding sigils and lines of the circle. Her ever curious eyes trying to trace them in opposing directions almost makes her stumble to smudge something, but her balance was better than most and she is able to catch herself until she comes to the barrel. "Yes, m'lady. I poisoned it just before coming here. This one is much smaller..." she says as she lifts her skirt entirely to take the small bundle from the sling there. This dog had longer ears than the last, and much stubbier legs with hints of caramel coloring set about its black fur. Cerys had especially liked its eyebrows. Her treatment of the staring corpse is that of a china-doll, as she lowers it into the contents of the barrel and lets it submerge entirely. She examines her gloved fingers to make sure nothing splashed. "Finished, m'lady."


Artritus descended the stairs about the time that the apprentice declared to be finished. Long skinny legs carrying him down into the guild mistress' nest as it were. He appeared in the room, sweeping in like a red tinted, and somewhat annoyed shadow. Somewhat uncharacteristic, he lifted his hands to his spectacles as he spotted the two and asked, with no preceding greeting. "I notice your gates have an awareness of sorts." he half stated, half asked. And there he stood. Artritus Vox. Death preist, necromancer, sage. At your door. In your cellar. Angry with your gates.


Tenebrae was beaming at Cerys, having just spoken her approval of the carcass and the girl's deft wit in not disrupting the circle or absorbing harmful chemicals, when Vox arrived. He got a cheerful, "Hullo, Artie!" before he'd hear her laugh from behind a huge beaker filled with deep orange liquid. "The gates..? Are they malfunctioning? I'll look to them a bit later. The girl here and I were about to partake in a lesson. Will you stay to observe?" Out from behind the bench, she strode toward the intricate circle, a small sack in her grasp, a knife of ornate make in the other hand. To Cerys she said, "This is all very much above your current place, Novus. The important thing for you here is this circle. I'll give you the theory later, for now I want you to watch what happens when you read those sigils widdershins... you'll pick out the proper sounds in there somewhere, all the fancy knotwork is an unfortunate distraction but wholly necessary. We'll begin in a moment." She glanced to Vox, brows raised in expectation of him entering the circle.


Cerys felt the beaming, and those butterflies were doing delightful havoc on her stomach in reaction. Her right eye focuses in on the death priest as he is addressed and she gives a small bow of her head as her left eye goes mad, twitching all about his red attire to commit its every detail to memory. Mention of the gates draws her right eye down to her single remaining slipper before she look back toward Tenebrae. She gives a firm nod, quickly reaching into the pouch at her belt to pull out her little notebook and reference her notes from her current Curses, Incantations, and Arcane Sigils course. She was not Lorkain's favorite student in that class, despite her impeccable study habits and relative improvement because of them..


Artritus nodded briefly. First to Tenebrae and then to Cerys with a cold "Charmed" that didn't sound like he meant it in the slightest. Arms were folded across a rather fragile looking torso as he stepped into the ring, masterfully dodging any spot where he may smudge or disrupt the complex array. He glanced at said markings with a slight approving 'huhm' noise before he turned to the two. "A bit of an advanced course?" he more confirmed than asked. Though it was technically a question. A thumb reached up and swatted across his cheek as he studied the ritual as an observant, just as he'd been invited to do. Admittedly though, his curiosity was, at the moment, quite mild.


Tenebrae said, "Just a bit..." to Vox, with a coy little smile as she stepped toward Cerys. There, she tugged the notebook from the girl's hand and flipped it over her shoulder, upon which it would land with a clatter among a pile of extra copper tubing several feet distant from the circle. Her smile grew wider, and more smug as she continued, "You may have -heard- of Aloysius Putt and his Clock of Blood?" It was one of those spectacularly awful tales necromancers whispered to each other in the dark around ritual fires. "But you probably haven't," she said to Cerys, "So listen: Putt was among the first to attempt resurrection of the banished works of Aranoch the Damned. He cobbled this ritual together from bits and bobs he'd gleaned from the few surviving texts he could locate. However, Putt did not see the glaring omission..." While she spoke, the Necromancer handed Vox the knife and sack, and proceeded to chalk in the circle's gap, then make two straight columns of similarly complex marks which dissected the result into three equal portions, so that Vox, Cerys and herself would eventually stand within their own segments of the whole. "... of the core, and most essential part of it, and so it liquefied him and sent him spinning on a perpetual loop - in liquid form - around his own circle for almost two decades. Until, of course, some random bumbler happened across it, broke the circle and caused a small but significant disruption to the fabric of space and time. They say Putt..." Tene finalised her part by continuing the sigils around the barrel, ".. still trickles about the lands in abject torment.. how true that is, I do not know." Careful steps brought her to the notebook-bereft Cerys, "Novus, you won’t find these sigils in any book. Starting here, when I give the word, you must become the vessel for the sound inherent in the lines. -Listen- for it, let each sign reveal to you its truth. I have faith in you, girl." Tene grew grim momentarily. "And don't, for the gods' sake, cock it up." She then looked to Vox, "And on that word, would you be so kind as to behead that little serpent , right there, at.. three o'clock," she pointed to one of the sigils in his section. The grimness faded, then. "All a bit exciting, isn't it?"


Cerys opens her mouth to protest the throwing of her notebook, but then she remembers who was the master here and her mouth goes back to its usual line as she blinks to sync and focus both her eyes on Tenebrae's similarly colored ones. Her ears are quite obvious now, as perked as they are with interest to the vampire's tale, eyes tracking every movement the Thanatos Domina makes. It seems a miracle both of her eyes are cooperating with minimal effort from the elf, a fortunate one at that. The smallest of furrows appears between the girl's brows as the point of the entire note tossing is revealed. Listen to the sigils? She tries to think back on her self study, if she'd had any frame of reference of which to use as an anchor. Her memory takes her further back to when she was but a youngling and her mother was showing her how to wield elements, how they had a will of their own in a way. How one would have to reach out their senses to find out their whims. The girl takes a deep breath, figuring taking that approach would be better than doing nothing. So she extends the senses of her magic, 'listening' for the symbols and their inherent power, opening herself ever so little so as to extend invitation for that outside force to use her if it so pleased. Her fingers, which up until then had been clenched over her skirt, loosen ever so little as she lets herself float ever so little into that state until she actually heard a signal to open herself up entirely. Even partially entering that state calms the anxious butterflies making war in her stomach at the eyes of both her guild mistress and the other superior necromancer studying the whole performance.


Tenebrae watched Cerys the way a snake watches its prey, and was ready to get the heck out of there should the girl not make the necessary connection. But on observing in Cerys the correct expression sought - the one that spoke of knowledge opening its door to the girl, she glanced to Vox and raised her hand in the sign for “Continue”.


Artritus stood with a single eyebrow raised and one hand grasping the corner of his spectacles as he observed the entire... well. Spectacle. Equally ready as the Thanatos Domina to make like the most agile of trees should the slightest detail go just wrong enough. Still. He was given the sign and shrugged. It wasn't the most comfortable situation. The old sage was no coward, but as Valentin would most likely grumble to anyone, he had survived this long by carefully making sure of such. Still he lopped the head of the actual snake, not the mistress that was so reminiscent of one, and folded his arms behind him as he turned to see the result. His curiosity was slightly more piqued at the project now. But so was his wariness. It was a project he'd been interested in attempting himself. Though perhaps not with a Novus as the dominating catalyst. Still. He could have easily informed the apprentice that the sigils were resounding receptors. Echoes waiting for their cause, of sorts. That the language was everything in necromancy. Everything spake or listened, as a rule. But he stayed silent. This student was not his to teach. Though he still might. Should the old man within the mask be poked enough to actually comment. Still, Tenebrae was given a short nod. Still with her. For now.


As blood touched the sigil positioned at 'three o'clock', and Cerys continued her connection to the midnight sign, Tenebrae drew a breath in and held it.. a human habit, difficult to shed in moments like this. But further proof of Cerys' sympathetic connection with the circle came when the blood began to wend its way around that intricate circumference of white lines and black, offering a third element in red to the overall arrangement. And, as the blood travelled to 'midnight' and touched upon the sigil Cerys had begun with, the Novus might find the circle singing to her its awful song, a resonance unheard for centuries. Blood crept and wound, serpent-like, sigils became a choir. Success.. so far. Tenebrae gave silent thanks to all the dark gods, even the ones that were, in her opinion, a bit pathetic.


Cerys 's ears were actually still perked, despite that the eerie chorus ringing through her senses was in her mind to the best of her awareness. Her fingers loosen and let go of her skirt entirely, letting the fabric hang as limp as her hand at her side. All awareness of the outside world, the concerns of the watching superiors is let go in favor of the enrapturing chant, melody, combination of sounds. While her usually meticulous mind would prefer dissecting each syllable before letting it from her mouth, the elf surrenders to that rare trance-like state and merely speaks what she hears, as accurately as within her power. The words come out with a resonating undercurrent, almost as if something chose to possess the young woman. After all, she was surrendering her power to its disposal, as completely as she is able. Despite the way that undercurrent makes every hair on her body stand on end, sends chills up and down her spine in time with each syllable--after all, she is still a living creature, where these forces run against her natural instincts. To quell the fear threatening to tie up her tongue should she continue, she focuses even more resolutely on a single goal that renews her boldness, the smiling image of her twin before the light in Bella's blue eyes went out entirely.


Artritus leaned backwards, slightly. As if expecting a explosion from the central sigil structure. Not that any such thing came. There was that slight crooked smile of his. The one those closer to him had learned to recognize. Had the Domina informed this Novus of the danger of channeling such things through yourself directly with such heedless gusto? Was she unaware of the forces she were dealing with, treating them like other arcane energies rather than the malevolent force they were, a force to be mastered and manipulated rather than worked with, so long as the user was indeed alive? It did indeed seem so. Yet, so far, the Novus remained... fine. In general. Perhaps not the most healthy of people, practicing necromancy at all, but fine in a sense. Old ears, trained ears, knowing ears listened to every sound that passed the younger girls lips. It was a language perhaps more familiar to Vox than his own native tongue. There was still that old familiar crawl in the soles of his feet. Just in case. Always be ready. Just in case.


Tenebrae was not Thanatos Domina for lack of good reason. While the Novus was young and inexperienced, she had that certain air about her, rare as ostrich teeth, which spoke of inherent tenacity and wit, the sort less likely to get you liquefied for eternity when attempting notoriously lethal rites. Plus, Tenebrae herself had done the necessary work to render the Clock of Blood actually useful, rather than inherently dangerous. All the same, she too was on edge, the sounds Cerys spoke walking her spine and the back of her neck like cold little spiders. That breath was held, still... and as the twelve signs of each 'hour' came 'alive' those radiating lines leading to the barrel filled with scrolls and knots of blood... the focal point, the center of the Clock, Putt's folly.... Tenebrae startled a little as the coalescing force of the summoned power drained toward this point - and the barrel trembled. Cerys would suffer an abrupt silence of mind, as the sigils needed her no longer. A vast etheric 'thoomph' resounded in the circle's center, and the ritual was complete. The barrel had been seething as arcane might melded with alchemy, but now it was quiescent, the liquid inside utterly inert. "Well done," whispered Tene, finally releasing that captive lungful of air. "Novus.. see to your creation."


Cerys uses an even more tremendous force of will to hold back the first cough once she feels the sudden decline of her power upon the completion of her role in the ritual. Tenebrae's whispered praise undoes every ounce of that control as Cerys covers her mouth with both hands to keep from her own blood melding with that of the snake used to enact the ritual, despite its completion. You never knew about bodily fluids. With her entire body spasming from the racking fits she has to pause before oh so eagerly peering over to see what exactly emerges from that barrel. Head pounding, she is slower going as she shuffles over to the barrell, gingerly avoiding the chalk incriptions, if only because of the desire to not rub out even a speck of that intricate design. That balance comes in handy, though it's diminished as she has to close that pesky left eye that wants to take in the world at its leisure and make its master more disoriented than she already is. She arrives at the barrel and positions her gloved hands on the edge to keep her legs steady. Another stubborn resistance against hacking up a much needed lung. What emerges from the alchemic mixture is a series of ripples, as if something inside was bubbling or shaking. Then a high pitched barking. A pointed black nose pops from it, followed by two beady eyes and mock caramel eyebrows. The eyes are glassed over, but the enthusiasm coming from them isn't as blank as her former corpse. The canine bounds from under the concoction to rest its little claws on the edge of the barrel. Its master gingerly lifts it from the liquid and sets it on the ground with a little pat from her gloved hand. Not even the ensuing coughs and crippling headache can keep the beaming smile from her face.


Tenebrae offered Artritus a silent nod of thanks for his role in the ritual, and stepped closer to the Novus in order to peer at the result. "Perfect.." was her first response, then, "Don't tell Lorkain." This was spoken with a sly glance at Artie whom she suspected may not approve, but the man was already on his way up the winding stairs, presumably off to tackle those bolshy gates once more, in the effort to leave the Thorne Estate. Tene returned her attention to Cerys. "The Clock of Blood has not been successfully enacted for several thousands of years. Congratulations, girl. You didn't kill us all. And look..." she cooed, ".. at this little feller!" The dog got a waggle of fingers, "He's so... stumpy."


Cerys would use better manners toward the departing if it weren't for the hammers pounding at her brain. She makes good to cough away from the vampire, shielding the spray of blood with the crook of her elbow. That should be the worst of it, based on prior experience she thinks to herself. The dog, on the other hand, positively preens at the praise, his pointy little nose going up in the air and his tail wagging so hard his back legs couldn't stay in one place. Cerys manages a laugh at the woman's remark and kneels, if only for an excuse to give her legs a rest. She gives the undead little creation a scratch behind his large ears, eliciting another bark from the creature. "Indeed..." she replies, probably a response to all of the above statements. "Do you have...the..." Her stomach nearly empties right then and there as she thinks of even digesting what she thought of. "...that yucky elixir?"


Tenebrae smirked softly, and nodded. "Take your dog home and lie down. For about .. a week. There's a big brown bottle on the desk over there, take it with you." Tene resolved to speak with the girl regarding several things, not the least a solution to the frailty of mortal flesh.. but those could wait. "I'll clean up here. I expect you back when you are fully recovered - Lorkain will be informed you are on leave with my consent." That ought to irk the old bonebag – something of an added bonus.


Cerys manages a nod and a firm, "Gladly, m'lady," The expression she so often tries to keep blank was merely tired with a corresponding kind of smile as she looks upon the pup. She would take many moments to savor the experience, but later, when she was abed. And a week off from the vindictive windbag was also a plus, despite the fascinating material. She takes the pup in her arms, which were trembling a bit less, and makes her way toward the bottle. She was tempted to leave without it, seriously tempted, but she takes a deep breath, which ended in yet another hacking spasm. "My...thanks m'lady," she says just before she was about to leave for the stairs. "You are...good at surprises." And with that the young elf makes her way on shaking steps, finding support against the wall every once in awhile to rescue that lost slipper and say some choice words to those blasted gates.


Tene bounced on her toes a little - and only briefly, as she had her own headache to contend with now - for yes, she -was- rather good at surprises, and it was nice to be reminded of that fact now and then. Cerys got no farewell, the task of cleaning up already consuming the Thanatos Domina’s enthusiasm and attention both, along with the odious knowledge that her day was still, at this point, far from over.