The First of the Thirty

You may have heard of me. Perhaps they were whispers, or courageous voices, or perhaps even screams. Perhaps there are those who would warn you away from me, who claim that I am evil. I am naught but human. I am accompanied by an entity with shared goals. I have grown past my mortal limitations. Won't you join me? - N. A., et A. Do also spend some time among the Tales of Archleone, found at the very bottom of this worthless site.

[urielstepsdownfromheaven-blog]

The Prodigal

He looked homeless, he knew. It’s because I am, he thought to himself. He stood outside the building where his apartment used to be, smoking a cigarette. He’d always simply had his little tics - now, each cigarette represented a piece of his life. Both the piece it had consumed in earning money to buy the cigarette, and the piece it consumed by burning away a little more of his mortality.

Mortality. It is to laugh.

Worst of all, he was addicted now.

He looked at the door of the building, and at the doorman who had given him the bum’s rush - no pun intended, for once, he thought with a sour twist to his mouth. It was hardly surprising that his key card no longer worked; the building’s management tended to do that with tenants who didn’t pay their rent.

In some respects, that was a good metaphor for his relationship with Management these days.

He scratched his beard, grimacing as he felt a louse leap away from his fingers. He could coexist with the little bloodsuckers if they’d stop insisting on sucking his blood. But that is the difference between Nature and Creation, he thought absent-mindedly.

What are you doing here? You need to be figuring out today’s meal and tonight’s sleeping arrangement. He turned to go. As he left, he thought he saw a familiar face, and turned back. He wouldn’t call out; he hadn’t gone to see any of his old friends during his peregrination, and he wasn’t going to beg for help now.

But let’s see if they recognized the Archangel Uriel under the filth and rags.

[primum-de-triginta]

Nicodemus slid the phone into his suit’s breast pocket, travel arrangements secured. All that was required now was a quiet return to his vehicle from the investment firm, a short, relaxing drive to the nearest airstrip, and then a glass of wine and an old work of literature to pass the time as he soared over the world with his newest recruit.

What a splendid life.

As he strolled calmly and comfortably down the crowded walk, a horrible stench blew into his face. It was an unholy unity of terrible smells. The scent of filthy clothes, infused with sweat, dirt, and unknowable kinds of grime, no doubt dripping and seeping in the least glamorous of locations. The odor of an unwashed body, with a slick, slithering companion smell that put one in mind of used grease and moist fungal infections, with flaking skin and red, wet sores. The unpalatable wafting of low-rate tobacco from stained lips and teeth, the acrid and piercing aroma joining together with all the others to create a nasal symphony of disgust for his doted upon sense.

The revulsion was hard to quell, and though he had encountered and smelled his fair share of horrible things, this unwelcome intruder to his most welcome walk caused him to pause and look back, if only out of morbid curiosity as to whether a forgotten corpse had been squirreled away somewhere even in the public eye.

Nicodemus looked back and saw the man. His disgust was forgotten in an outburst of laughter. Passerby looked at him with concern, but continued walking.

Oh, but how he laughed. A near to forgotten thing, laughter. He certainly laughed at the absurd lengths many of his foes went to vanquish him, and of course he laughed at the stupidity of modern wizards and their feeble, misguided alliances. But this laugh, this laugh was pure, and uncontrollable. He looked at the stinking, disgusting example of the lowest of humanity, and the irony, the great irony of it all, and the wonderful nature of this new state caused the laughter to continue boiling from him.

He had to steady himself against a wall with one hand as his eyes began to tear at this upwelling of mirth. How glorious. How simply glorious it was! Enough to make him nearly shout ‘Hossanah!’ Saluting the wretch, the shadow of a grander thing, while his own shadow writhed and bloomed around him in ecstasy, Nicodemus walked away, laughing still. Laughing for who knew how long!

Part of him desired to go back, to tempt with a coin, to lead the starving man to the feast, to drive the thirsty man toward water, only to snatch it away. But how callous, how juvenile that would be. No, better to leave things as they were, to allow fate's guiding hand to take hold of this moment. And what did this new vagabond want? Pity? A comforting embrace? A warm word? He would have none of that. Let him suffer as so many others suffered as he watched. He reached his vehicle, and a large man in a suit stepped out to open the rear passenger door for him. Nicodemus slid into the back seat, still laughing to himself. He removed a handkerchief from his suit jacket as the man closed the vehicle door and settled himself into the driver’s seat.

Dabbing at his eyes in the full embrace of the shadows, Nicodemus bid a quiet farewell to the walking monument to irony, and both he and his merriment were on their way.

[charity-able]

Do you think Nicodemus could be redeemed?

…..

No.

[primum-de-triginta]

Oh ye of little faith.

[primum-de-triginta]

Changes, Ante || Nicodemus and Mab

[primum-de-triginta]

“‘Vivere militare est,’ one could say.” Nicodemus held back a smirk at the history of the man who had coined the phrase. To live may be to fight, but Seneca’s poor body made too much a fight of it, and the last moments of his life were painful and excruciating. A lesson could be found in every moment of history, he found, and Seneca’s end was one of many: The fighting should be done before the living is near its end. Fight to live long before death ever approaches the door. If a man commands that you die, slay him before your wrists are opened in defeat.

“I wonder what should occur if the balance is disturbed. Here, winter has a weak hold, while to the north it is quite strong. This is a natural state, of course.” He looked into the woman’s eyes, the way he squinted his own slightly showing her that he was not at all intimidated. “I suppose when summer blooms everlasting in the north, or when ice freezes this southern sea, my curiosity will be sated. The balance will be undone, and the world will come to embrace a new natural state. Those who still live and breathe will scurry to survive, and I have no doubt that humans will, in fact, survive, in their own way. I have a suspicion, however, that if summer were to take hold of this world, someone would be rather…distressed.”

Nicodemus leaned back in his creaking chair, tossing fabric away from one arm as his other held his drink. This woman seemed to embrace, quite wholeheartedly, the concept of intimidation. The cloud cover, the way she held herself, were all simply different variations on an ancient theme, from the early humans who beat clubs on the ground, to the Roman soldiers who beat gladii and spears on shields, to the woman who sat before him now, thinking that her very presence should send a thrill of uncertainty down his spine. She seemed a child wearing her mother’s clothes, mimicking the matriarch’s tone and presence. Promise, yes, power, unquestionably, but she had yet to grow completely into them. The shadows spoke of the danger that surrounded this woman, that even pure truths shielded corrupt lies when spoken by her mouth. The shadows warned of underestimation. Even so, Nicodemus could not help but needle the woman. She had come to him. He had very little to lose.

”You need not call me Lord, lady. I am no Equestrian, and I am lord of nothing. I am but a simple man, enjoying a simple meal in a simple place with…perhaps less than mundane company. As to your question…” He smiled, as if they were old friends.

”Should I?”

[airanddarkness]

Vivere militare est.

That was so true for her entire life up to now that it almost verged on amusing. She doubted the man before her knew exactly how true his words were, even when not referring to her existence in particular. Letting her mind extend slowly, she examined the pulsing thrum of power around him, gently so that he wouldn’t notice.

He definitely seemed to be the one she had been looking for. The man before her–if he could still be called a man– was surely older than her, which was amazing on its own, and he held power that would have destroyed others. She had seen men trying to harness power like that being left nothing more than empty husks, and yet he seemed to be in a partnership with this entity so present in his aura.

That was excellent. She had no use for weakness.

She shrugged a shoulder, hands folded primly in her lap now, meeting his gaze easily, “A lot of people would be and should be distressed should such an event come to pass. It is only logical,” she knew he meant her and hers, but she always found more amusing to play along, “Doubt not that the scales always return to balance though, and this here Earth already had an Ice Age. Perhaps an age of fire will become necessary in the future.”

She didn’t like it, Winter didn’t like it, but if such a thing should come to pass it was hardly in her hands anymore to prevent it. Her task was something else now.

“It seems to me that you at least have an idea,” she murmured. His comment about mundane company was telltale enough. She considered her drink for a second but then decided against another sip for the time-being and returned her eyes to her acquaintance, “If not ‘lord’ then I would need something to call you.”

[primum-de-triginta]

“Is that so?,” Nicodemus asked. “Do you truly need to?” He couldn’t help but put an edge of light mocking to his voice. If she needed him, her wrath would hardly be his end. So why not simply see how far such a person could be pushed? “I suppose if you need to call me by a name, you may call me . . . Vigil. For a time. Until we better understand each other.” He laughed inwardly at that. Oh, let the Watcher hear him name himself Vigil. How that must burn away at him, and his inability to take any action to express his irritation. The shadows curled in contentment as well. Prodding an angel and a woman of such power . . . what an interesting day this had become.

Angels, though. What agony such an existence must be. His constant companion was in agreement. To never be able to act by way of one’s own agency? No independence. Shackles binding them to their divine purpose like Prometheus. Who would not chafe under such a burden? Nicodemus tried to imagine living such a life. No true freedom. To have all that power, and be unable to do anything with it that was in contravention to some grand decree of your maker, unless one chose to Fall.

All these tales of the fall of man, too. Such as the adversary who caused humanity to be cast out of paradise. And what was their crime? To what had the adversary exposed them? Knowledge. No longer were humans mindless and obedient. Now they knew, and in knowing they could choose to act, of their own free will. So horrible a turn of events! Such terror that humans now were more than simple bovines. Like Prometheus, the adversary brought the light of knowledge to humans, changing their nature forevermore. And now both humans and that adversary were to be punished for eternity.

And now faiths were springing up as grass in early spring that once more sought to bind humans to the will of the divine. A sad state of affairs. Perhaps, Nicodemus thought, the most efficient way to break such chains would be to show these believers that no divine salvation would come to rescue them from horrible fates. Bring them horrors to show the true horror: they were chained once more. What a feat that would be . . .

“And you, lady?,” he asked, bringing himself back into the present moment. “What might one such as I call you? And do please tell me why you seek the Lion, and what such a person could possibly do for a woman of your obvious esteem?” He waited for her answer as he sought to finish his glass of mulsum.

[primum-de-triginta]

The stench of entitlement pervades every inch of this worthless site.

Trust me when I say that it is quite possible that you do not deserve what you clamor for, like baying hounds in heat.  And like hungry dogs, you growl at those who give you anything but that which you desire. One would almost expect better, if one had not lived millennia, with all the experiences that educate one on a single, simple rule:  Humans will always howl with greed.  And what howling there is to be heard tonight. Would some enterprising soul simply stuff these clacking maws with all manner of delectable treats, so that we may all be spared their pitiful cacophony?

[primum-de-triginta]

What shall my future be a century hence?

I shall be toasting to your self-inflicted destruction.

[askthewizardpi]

(Plot) Dresden and his longtime enemies fighting against the Outsider hordes, uniting good guys and bad guys like in the upcoming show Legends of Tomorrow.

Wait, as in work together? With people like Nicodemus? Fat Chance!

[primum-de-triginta]

I elect to not suffer and die due to the wizard’s deficiencies. In any event, Dresden is unlikely to survive up to the day these ‘hordes’ of Outsiders arrive.

[askthewizardpi]

Bite me, Nic.

[primum-de-triginta]

Ever the bard, Dresden.

[primum-de-triginta]

Changes, Ante || Nicodemus and Mab

[primum-de-triginta]

The icy smile remained on his face as he watched the woman take her seat at his table.  He seated himself thereafter, and lifted his glass.  Sunlight sparkled in the nicks and curves of the glass, its shadows seeming to glow in the summer sun.  After watching the last droplets of his drink roll about the bottom, he quickly finished them off before pouring more in from the pitcher.  As he did so, he watched the woman. He was largely thankful that passerby had other concerns, than to watch two innocuous individuals simply sitting at a rough wooden table.  He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth with his lips sealed as he observed the change in the woman’s clothing.  An interesting magic trick, he thought to himself, leaning back in his own worn, creaking chair.  The shadows advised, however, that what he saw was as a snowflake to a blizzard, in comparison to what the extent of her power might be.  Hard to believe, such a young face being possessed of such power.  He ran his thumb down the rough stubble on his face in silent contemplation.  His face was no longer youthful, though the shadows promised it would not grow older, either. “Oh, there is not a worry to be had.”  Only annoyance, he thought to himself.  Nicodemus spared a look to the sky, an eyebrow arching when he saw the cloud cover growing.  Her work, no doubt.  She probably can’t even help it.  Not yet, at least.  He tapped a fingertip against his glass.  “I do enjoy summer,” he said suddenly with the shadow of a smirk, as if speaking only to himself.  “Something about the warmth, the life.”  His home had always been quite comfortable in summer, and he found no reason, even now, centuries later, to feel otherwise.  His fingertip ran atop the edge of the glass.  “Watching it struggle.  Watching it…strain, you see, to remain in the sun.  To remain in the warmth, as autumn comes.  As the promise of winter makes the shadows grow longer. Here, now, here it is less likely to be so obvious,” he said with a wave to their surroundings, “but only go to Germania, or even further north.  Summer is gluttonous, and winter is the bill that comes due.  That is why summer fascinates me.  It, like all these humans, is hopeful.  It says to living things, ‘See, see now, this is life.’  But then comes winter.  And winter, it must be said, does not mince words.  Winter only embraces, and whispers ‘Death.’” He looked to the woman seated nearby, as if remembering she was there.  “I suppose there must be balance to it all.”  He exaggerated a shrug.  “But here I am, rambling on, while you seek a gentleman whose name you’ve spoken aloud. What business do you have with the Lion?”  

[airanddarkness]

She could feel his eyes on her and could tell he was weighing her mentally–a thing that felt oddly satisfying. She had met such reactions before when she was still the Lady Winter but her presence had changed, had become heavier, more solid, and darker with her ascension. This one was no fool. Good.

Her face remained expressionless at his reaction to the sudden weather change, even though she was amused.  Opal-lacquered fingernails tapped on her glass as her new acquaintance spoke.

“Summer is needed in the balance of things,” she agreed even though he had moved the subject forward. She did take not, however, of that name, ‘Lion’. "However, summer can be equally murderous as winter. The cold will kill you, indeed–It can be a clear sunny bright day and the cold could still kill you and yet there are crops that will not grow come spring without winter’s cold. Pests would take over, and come summer everything would burn without the winter’s snow. I find the seasons are both gluttonous and paying in their own way.“

She took another taste of the mulsum, longer this time and then deposited her glass on the table. The cloud-filtered light somehow made her eyes look brighter, more luminous, and her skin glow impossibly pale, even next to her snowy hair.

"Do you know who I am, my Lord?” she questioned eventually.

[primum-de-triginta]

“‘Vivere militare est,’ one could say.” Nicodemus held back a smirk at the history of the man who had coined the phrase. To live may be to fight, but Seneca’s poor body made too much a fight of it, and the last moments of his life were painful and excruciating. A lesson could be found in every moment of history, he found, and Seneca’s end was one of many: The fighting should be done before the living is near its end. Fight to live long before death ever approaches the door. If a man commands that you die, slay him before your wrists are opened in defeat.

“I wonder what should occur if the balance is disturbed. Here, winter has a weak hold, while to the north it is quite strong. This is a natural state, of course.” He looked into the woman’s eyes, the way he squinted his own slightly showing her that he was not at all intimidated. “I suppose when summer blooms everlasting in the north, or when ice freezes this southern sea, my curiosity will be sated. The balance will be undone, and the world will come to embrace a new natural state. Those who still live and breathe will scurry to survive, and I have no doubt that humans will, in fact, survive, in their own way. I have a suspicion, however, that if summer were to take hold of this world, someone would be rather…distressed.”

Nicodemus leaned back in his creaking chair, tossing fabric away from one arm as his other held his drink. This woman seemed to embrace, quite wholeheartedly, the concept of intimidation. The cloud cover, the way she held herself, were all simply different variations on an ancient theme, from the early humans who beat clubs on the ground, to the Roman soldiers who beat gladii and spears on shields, to the woman who sat before him now, thinking that her very presence should send a thrill of uncertainty down his spine. She seemed a child wearing her mother’s clothes, mimicking the matriarch’s tone and presence. Promise, yes, power, unquestionably, but she had yet to grow completely into them. The shadows spoke of the danger that surrounded this woman, that even pure truths shielded corrupt lies when spoken by her mouth. The shadows warned of underestimation. Even so, Nicodemus could not help but needle the woman. She had come to him. He had very little to lose.

”You need not call me Lord, lady. I am no Equestrian, and I am lord of nothing. I am but a simple man, enjoying a simple meal in a simple place with…perhaps less than mundane company. As to your question…” He smiled, as if they were old friends.

”Should I?”

[mitigationunlimited]

Spill it!

John Marcone died in 1973.

[primum-de-triginta]

If only that was true.  There is, of course, no offense intended, Baron.

[mitigationunlimited]

Are you certain you’re not going senile, because in context, this doesn’t make any sense.

[primum-de-triginta]

From this, I deduce that you do indeed know what words are, but simply cannot put them together in a meaningful and sensical way.

[mitigationunlimited]

Spill it!

John Marcone died in 1973.

[primum-de-triginta]

If only that was true.  There is, of course, no offense intended, Baron.

[askthewizardpi]

(Plot) Dresden and his longtime enemies fighting against the Outsider hordes, uniting good guys and bad guys like in the upcoming show Legends of Tomorrow.

Wait, as in work together? With people like Nicodemus? Fat Chance!

[primum-de-triginta]

I elect to not suffer and die due to the wizard's deficiencies. In any event, Dresden is unlikely to survive up to the day these 'hordes' of Outsiders arrive.

[t-raith]

100 Years: An Explanation

Since a couple people have asked about this and expressed interest over the past few days, [100 Years] is a series that Molly and I started up to explore where our characters might be a hundred years from present canon, and how personalities and interpersonal relationships may have changed and evolved in the time that passed.

Since we started plotting, and then actually posting, others have expressed interest in playing around, to develop a potential future for their own characters. This isn’t really a closed verse or anything. It’s just a possible future setting. I didn’t really anticipate anybody else being interested, but apparently I was mistaken.

In any case, since people have been asking for permission, feel free to open threads and play around in the distant future. And be glad if you’re a tech-allergic wizard who doesn’t need to figure out the state of futuristic modern technology (and can finally use that ancient iPhone 4s).

We did effectively write out a number of characters (Harry, Lara, Mab, Lord Raith and basically all mortals without at least a wizard’s time span, sorry!) for the setup and because it was only initially meant for a handful of exploratory AU threads, but it seems to be expanding a little bit now, which is cool, but unexpected. In light of that, Molly will be posting some of the AU background and some information on the characters involved to keep track of things.

[golly-missmolly-deactivated2018]

AU Background Info below the cut.  Feel free to add what your characters have been up to as well:

Keep reading

[zephyrchat-deactivated20160308]

100 Years: Council Restructuring

(And AU Character information for the Thorn Twins)

Keep reading

[miaswordmaiden]

Mia is the Jabberwocky in a cave somewhere in Wonderland…so if someone wants Vor then we can do that thread, just let me know. That’s the only really important thing I think. Althea has followers now.

[studiocitypsychic]

Orchid Ashleigh 100 Years Info Below Cut

Keep reading

[primum-de-triginta]

This sordid ensemble promises to have near to an eighty-percent casualty rate within the next century. But humans, and near humans, do so often blind themselves so that they might not see the truth.

[primum-de-triginta]

Let us all be realistic:

It would strain credulity to even assume, in the abstract, that any of you imbecilic prattlers could possibly still exist a century from now.

[primum-de-triginta]

Changes, Ante || Nicodemus and Mab

[primum-de-triginta]

As he watched the milling multitudes, his head cocked to the side as if listening for a far off voice.  His chewing slowed as his eyes no longer focused on his environment.  He listened to the whispers of his shadow, felt it sense something change.  It was then that he noticed the slightest wisp of cool air trickling past him.  It smelled of cracked ice and, quick as lightning, it was gone before he could study the scent further.  He picked up his glass and took another sip of the mulsum, washing the fish and seasoning down, considering the whispers and the sensation that had passed him by.

The summer sun heated his tunic and paludamentum of dark colors.  Not just for emperors anymore, he thought to himself as he tugged lightly at the fabric that embraced him.  He could be forgiven any possible fashion mistake.  He was, after all, a simple traveler from distant lands.  Except when he had to act.  Why, when it came to playing the part, he could largely be a man of any land.  Now, he chose to be largely anonymous.  Or so he thought.

He was near to finishing his meal when a voice spoke in unison with more hushed words from his shadow.  He looked up to see a somewhat young woman directing her gaze and her words at him.  Her accent was out of place in this bustling city, and her clothing and gait spoke more about her than her words had, as of yet.  His head tilted again as he listened in the silence that followed her question, information flowing to his ears.  He extended the silence by taking another sip of the mulsum before responding.

“And I you, lady, though your appetite may have to wait.”  He gestured with his glass to an empty, rickety chair by his table.  "Please, join me.“  He stood and lifted a clay pitcher containing more of the mulsum and poured some into an empty cup that rested alongside.  "A hot summer day such as this necessitates a soothing drink, I think.  And then you can tell me why you are seeking this ‘Nicodemus Archleone’.”

He looked about to see if anyone listened to their conversation.  He was…unhappy with his name being spoken so publicly, by anyone.  He returned a cold smile to the young woman, a feeble attempt to mask his irritation.

[airanddarkness]

Mab was aware she had made a mistake the moment her words had spilled from her mouth.

Names. Names were important and she shouldn’t have used his–if this was indeed him– in its entirety. 

The second mistake was apparently her garment, if she could judge correctly from the look it got, even though she had taken care to study what the women in the region favored. She had opted for a stola made of pale blue spidersilk, tailored by her personal seamstress instead of simply using a glamour, and after some thought Mab had also decided on an added limbus of a darker blue. She was a queen after all. The colors though were seemingly out of place; she could see the mortals preferred hues much too bright and vivid for her liking.

The summer heat was making her inattentive.

She tilted her head as she gingerly sat in the chair and accepted the cup with a thank you. Her eyes half-closed as if the light was bothering her, but then a breeze, too cold for the season and the place, swept over the street just as Mab’s stola and limbus slowly shifted in hue until they blended in better with the crowd. If anyone had noticed they probably would have attributed it to a trick of the light or perhaps the sudden grey clouds that had gathered to stain the rich blue sky.

She sipped on the mulsum. It tasted sweet and refreshing, and holding the cup in front of her mouth for those few seconds helped her compose herself again, her confidence returning full force. Her eyes followed him as he checked their surroundings and she settled her cup on the table, leaning back with a satisfied smile, “If you are afraid someone might be listening in to us, worry not. I took care of that.”

[primum-de-triginta]

The icy smile remained on his face as he watched the woman take her seat at his table.  He seated himself thereafter, and lifted his glass.  Sunlight sparkled in the nicks and curves of the glass, its shadows seeming to glow in the summer sun.  After watching the last droplets of his drink roll about the bottom, he quickly finished them off before pouring more in from the pitcher.  As he did so, he watched the woman. He was largely thankful that passerby had other concerns, than to watch two innocuous individuals simply sitting at a rough wooden table.  He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth with his lips sealed as he observed the change in the woman’s clothing.  An interesting magic trick, he thought to himself, leaning back in his own worn, creaking chair.  The shadows advised, however, that what he saw was as a snowflake to a blizzard, in comparison to what the extent of her power might be.  Hard to believe, such a young face being possessed of such power.  He ran his thumb down the rough stubble on his face in silent contemplation.  His face was no longer youthful, though the shadows promised it would not grow older, either. “Oh, there is not a worry to be had.”  Only annoyance, he thought to himself.  Nicodemus spared a look to the sky, an eyebrow arching when he saw the cloud cover growing.  Her work, no doubt.  She probably can’t even help it.  Not yet, at least.  He tapped a fingertip against his glass.  “I do enjoy summer,” he said suddenly with the shadow of a smirk, as if speaking only to himself.  “Something about the warmth, the life.”  His home had always been quite comfortable in summer, and he found no reason, even now, centuries later, to feel otherwise.  His fingertip ran atop the edge of the glass.  “Watching it struggle.  Watching it...strain, you see, to remain in the sun.  To remain in the warmth, as autumn comes.  As the promise of winter makes the shadows grow longer. Here, now, here it is less likely to be so obvious,” he said with a wave to their surroundings, “but only go to Germania, or even further north.  Summer is gluttonous, and winter is the bill that comes due.  That is why summer fascinates me.  It, like all these humans, is hopeful.  It says to living things, ‘See, see now, this is life.’  But then comes winter.  And winter, it must be said, does not mince words.  Winter only embraces, and whispers ‘Death.’” He looked to the woman seated nearby, as if remembering she was there.  “I suppose there must be balance to it all.”  He exaggerated a shrug.  “But here I am, rambling on, while you seek a gentleman whose name you’ve spoken aloud. What business do you have with the Lion?”  

[primum-de-triginta]

Changes, Ante || Nicodemus and Mab

A.D. XVI KAL. IVL MLVIII AUC (June 16, 305 CE)

BYZANTIUM, THRACIA Former District of Galerius, Caesar 

Mulsum was a satisfactory drink for the meal.  Seasoned fish, freshly caught, sat before him with crisp skin.  A collection of beans and common vegetables were arranged around the fish, and their own seasonings and preparations wafted into the air.  He breathed it all in as he tasted his drink again, holding a crude glass cup.  His eyes lazily floated over the passerby, and the distant strait that connected two seas and which made Byzantium the magnificent city that it was. He would not be surprised if this place would become even more grand and powerful than Rome.  Rome was, after all, in decline. It was a time of change.  Diocletian and his adopted brother Maximian divided the Roman Empire in two, though they were not distinct empires in and of themselves. Each an equal Augustus to the other. Their adopted sons Galerius to Diocletian and Constantius to Maximian then became Caesars.  Each would come to control a quarter of the Roman Empire. Each would have their seat of power in their part of the empire.  Rome was forgotten.  Rome was abandoned.  The Roman Empire was now beyond Rome. It was indeed a time of change.  He reflected, with a smile, on the ongoing persecutions of the Christians.  Before Diocletian, the Christians had known relative peace for a few decades.  It irked him, to be sure, but there was little to be done about it at the time.  Diocletian and Galerius, though.  There was fertile soil for action. True pagans, they sought wisdom from oracles.  A few coins in the right hands, and suddenly it seemed that someone or thing was preventing Apollo from communicating with the oracle, to guide Diocletian and Galerius.  The eventual advocated response by the appropriate bribed persons?  Persecution and execution of Christians throughout the empire.  Things were surely changing.  Oh yes. Let the angels tremble in their inaction.  His shadow writhed in ecstasy. And now, Nicodemus sensed more chaos and change in the making.  Surely Diocletian and Maximian could not imagine that there plot for the Empire would last forever.  Already he sowed yet more seeds to ensure the collapse of the system.  Friends and family and generals all jockeyed for power after the willful abdication of Diocletian and Maximian. Galerius and Constantius were Augustus, now.  But for how long?  Smiling again, he took a bite of the fish.  Not for long, if he had his say. The world was changing, and he was at the center of it all.  He needed only plot, and wait.  Another sip of the mulsum.  Another bite of the fish.  Another glance down busy market streets, another look to the shining strait in the high summer sun.  He needed only wait. And perhaps find himself a distraction or two. To keep himself busy, of course.

[airanddarkness]

Things were in disarray in Faerie.

Newly crowned Queen Mab of the Unseelie had been preparing for her station almost her whole life and yet she found that she had been entirely unprepared to be the reigning monarch of the Winter court of the Sidhe.

The war at the Outer Gates had been going on ever since Mab had joined herself to the Winter Court as its Lady. She had bent the knee and pledged herself in her Queen Mother’s cause, even though Winter had only been assisting at that point. The old lords were dwindling. New blood was needed on the field and the fae were the most suitable replacement.

Nobody had expected though–not even the Winter Queen– that the Mothers would die while Winter was being handed over the baton of taking charge of the fight against the Outsiders and the Adversary. The magnitude of such an event still hadn’t settled, nor had it been easy to stomach all the other changes that followed like a domino after that.

The Queens became Mothers, the Ladies became Queens, and neither Mab nor her sister knew what to do with all that new responsibility suddenly dumped on them. 

It would have been easy for Mab to take care of everything if she had time to adjust to the new regime but time was unforgiving, ever-running and threatening her newly adopted cause if she dared to stop and catch a break.

She needed numbers for her army and she needed a counter against the Adversary.

Word was that this contact she was meeting today could help with at least one of these.

She opened a Way from Faerie to the busy market street, forgetting for a moment that she didn’t need to open Ways anymore. Her nose scrunched up immediately at the intensity of the smells, a mix of good and bad, and each stronger than the previous.

Mortals had a long way to go concerning personal hygiene.

She pressed her lips together and her eyes rested on a man feasting alone. He matched the description she had been given and she walked towards him, letting her natural grace guide her movements. She had stepped outside the Nevernever still feeling like a wary, worried Lady, however now she was walking a confident Queen towards the man.

“I greet thee and wish you a good appetite, my lord,” she greeted as she approached him, “Do you, by any chance, happen to be Nicodemus Archleone?”

[primum-de-triginta]

As he watched the milling multitudes, his head cocked to the side as if listening for a far off voice.  His chewing slowed as his eyes no longer focused on his environment.  He listened to the whispers of his shadow, felt it sense something change.  It was then that he noticed the slightest wisp of cool air trickling past him.  It smelled of cracked ice and, quick as lightning, it was gone before he could study the scent further.  He picked up his glass and took another sip of the mulsum, washing the fish and seasoning down, considering the whispers and the sensation that had passed him by.

The summer sun heated his tunic and paludamentum of dark colors.  Not just for emperors anymore, he thought to himself as he tugged lightly at the fabric that embraced him.  He could be forgiven any possible fashion mistake.  He was, after all, a simple traveler from distant lands.  Except when he had to act.  Why, when it came to playing the part, he could largely be a man of any land.  Now, he chose to be largely anonymous.  Or so he thought.

He was near to finishing his meal when a voice spoke in unison with more hushed words from his shadow.  He looked up to see a somewhat young woman directing her gaze and her words at him.  Her accent was out of place in this bustling city, and her clothing and gait spoke more about her than her words had, as of yet.  His head tilted again as he listened in the silence that followed her question, information flowing to his ears.  He extended the silence by taking another sip of the mulsum before responding.

"And I you, lady, though your appetite may have to wait."  He gestured with his glass to an empty, rickety chair by his table.  "Please, join me."  He stood and lifted a clay pitcher containing more of the mulsum and poured some into an empty cup that rested alongside.  "A hot summer day such as this necessitates a soothing drink, I think.  And then you can tell me why you are seeking this 'Nicodemus Archleone'."

He looked about to see if anyone listened to their conversation.  He was...unhappy with his name being spoken so publicly, by anyone.  He returned a cold smile to the young woman, a feeble attempt to mask his irritation.

[charity-able]

[primum-de-triginta]

Calm yourself, wizard. It is quite evident that it is a largely benign guardian angel talisman. In fact, one should not be surprised to find a ribbon stamped on the reverse side. A denarius has a more…noticeable appearance, and I daresay I would recognize one of my own. Mrs. Carpenter has simply deprived some poor soul of their token, nothing more. Doubtful still whether it will offer her protection of any kind, whatsoever.

[winterknightwizard]

-squints-  If you look at it in a certain way the contours of the wing look like horns. And you seem very mellow about this, one could say as if you were waiting for something.

[primum-de-triginta]

Why, whatever have I done to make you so paranoid, wizard? Sometimes a coin is only a coin. Why not pick one up yourself, if you do not believe me?

[charity-able]

I picked this up off the ground outside.

I may be possessed? Jury’s still out.

Whoops?

[unseelieaccords]

Whelp. Sucks to be you.

[caintheconfused]

Remember:

Keep calm and just say NO.

(Or say yes. And profit. Profit handsomely.)

Also: No hanky panky with your new head friend.  The spirit of intellect business is getting crowded. 

[charity-able]

Wait, what’s the fun in that?

[winterknightwizard]

What the hell, Charity? You should have known better than PICKING COINS OFF THE GROUND WITH YOUR BARE HANDS, HELL’S BELLS!

[primum-de-triginta]

Calm yourself, wizard. It is quite evident that it is a largely benign guardian angel talisman. In fact, one should not be surprised to find a ribbon stamped on the reverse side. A denarius has a more...noticeable appearance, and I daresay I would recognize one of my own. Mrs. Carpenter has simply deprived some poor soul of their token, nothing more. Doubtful still whether it will offer her protection of any kind, whatsoever.

[primum-de-triginta]

Changes, Ante || Nicodemus and Mab

A.D. XVI KAL. IVL MLVIII AUC (June 16, 305 CE)

BYZANTIUM, THRACIA Former District of Galerius, Caesar 

Mulsum was a satisfactory drink for the meal.  Seasoned fish, freshly caught, sat before him with crisp skin.  A collection of beans and common vegetables were arranged around the fish, and their own seasonings and preparations wafted into the air.  He breathed it all in as he tasted his drink again, holding a crude glass cup.  His eyes lazily floated over the passerby, and the distant strait that connected two seas and which made Byzantium the magnificent city that it was. He would not be surprised if this place would become even more grand and powerful than Rome.  Rome was, after all, in decline. It was a time of change.  Diocletian and his adopted brother Maximian divided the Roman Empire in two, though they were not distinct empires in and of themselves. Each an equal Augustus to the other. Their adopted sons Galerius to Diocletian and Constantius to Maximian then became Caesars.  Each would come to control a quarter of the Roman Empire. Each would have their seat of power in their part of the empire.  Rome was forgotten.  Rome was abandoned.  The Roman Empire was now beyond Rome. It was indeed a time of change.  He reflected, with a smile, on the ongoing persecutions of the Christians.  Before Diocletian, the Christians had known relative peace for a few decades.  It irked him, to be sure, but there was little to be done about it at the time.  Diocletian and Galerius, though.  There was fertile soil for action. True pagans, they sought wisdom from oracles.  A few coins in the right hands, and suddenly it seemed that someone or thing was preventing Apollo from communicating with the oracle, to guide Diocletian and Galerius.  The eventual advocated response by the appropriate bribed persons?  Persecution and execution of Christians throughout the empire.  Things were surely changing.  Oh yes. Let the angels tremble in their inaction.  His shadow writhed in ecstasy. And now, Nicodemus sensed more chaos and change in the making.  Surely Diocletian and Maximian could not imagine that there plot for the Empire would last forever.  Already he sowed yet more seeds to ensure the collapse of the system.  Friends and family and generals all jockeyed for power after the willful abdication of Diocletian and Maximian. Galerius and Constantius were Augustus, now.  But for how long?  Smiling again, he took a bite of the fish.  Not for long, if he had his say. The world was changing, and he was at the center of it all.  He needed only plot, and wait.  Another sip of the mulsum.  Another bite of the fish.  Another glance down busy market streets, another look to the shining strait in the high summer sun.  He needed only wait. And perhaps find himself a distraction or two. To keep himself busy, of course. @askmab