Shadowy Illuminations

At the time, some four or five millennia ago, I’d been in a mortal city called by the inhabitants Numeira (though it would later be referred to as Gomorrah, which as I understand it meant in the tongue of the time, ‘that place we completely wrecked’), looking at some fairly detailed and creative erotic paintings, when I became aware an extremely large amount of magic being called nearby.  As magically near-sighted as I tend to be, the fact that I noticed it at all was sign enough of something significant, so I went outside the city looking for it.

Eventually I found a shining figure standing with his hands over a rift in a rock face.  He was drawing up from it noxious vapors, woven through with Fire and Earth magics, all in rather impressive if not indeed alarming quantities.  I was quite curious, both as to what he was doing and if he knew how bad it would be, so I interrupted him.

“Hey, you over there,” I called.  The figure stopped (though not without skillfully tying a temporary knot on the magic), turned, and approached me.  He was more than twice my height, with enormous wings, and a voice that seemed to reverberate from the ground around us as much as it issued from his mouth.

“Know thee what thou risk, disrupting the Work of Samkiel, prince of Destruction and-”  He stopped suddenly and leaned closer to me.  “You’re not a mortal,” he boomed slowly, with a combination of suspicion and disapproval.

“Keen of you to notice,” I offered approvingly.  “Is this-” I indicated his size and wings with my eyes, “-really necessary?”  The angel shrugged, and was suddenly closer to my stature (still a bit taller, I noted), with a simple white robe.  His voice was still impressive, but no longer shook the rocks nearby.

“Your ‘glamour’ should be of little use against me, spirit of the mists.  Why do you still appear human to my mundane eyes?”

“Oh - like you, I can physically change my form,” I replied, tugging on the rounded top of one of my currently-human ears.  “Something I picked up from my mother.”  He nodded and grunted, but didn’t say anything.  “So…I was nearby and couldn’t help but notice you seem to be about to, ah, set the land to shaking and burning?”

“Yes.  The Lord hath commanded the destruction of Bab ed-Drah - all the Five Cities, actually - as the cries of the people against them have been many and loud,” he intoned grimly, slipping back into his oratorical speech patterns.  I considered this.

“So, he-”

“-*He*-” interrupted the angel, adding that subtle emphasis that somehow indicates a capital letter.

“Oh, hmm, good catch,” I offered, then continued without restating it, “-receives some complaints about these people from distant neighbors, and immediately goes about with the smiting?”

“Not at all,” he countered with mild smugness.  “He sent representatives in mortal guise to investigate the truth of the matter.”  And he told me the story of what had happened some hours earlier with the angels and Lot in Bab ed-Drah (later known - not particularly creatively - as Sodom, which originally just meant ’scorched’ and had nothing to do with buggery).  I absorbed this.

“Has it occurred to anyone,” I said slowly, “that things might not have gone that way if you lot didn’t have such a habit of…well…for people who have the attitudes you do about glamour, your chosen physical guises - mortal or otherwise - always seem to be rather…pulchritudinous.  Particularly compared to the average down there?  And I don’t understand how the virgin daughters come into it.  I mean, good on Lot, very dynamic of him and all, but if you’ve a crowd of men-lovers who are lusting after a pair of incarnated *angels*, are you really expected to suddenly swap preferences just for the chance of popping a cherry or two?  Besides that - you’re going to smash all the other cities of the plain because…what…they were founded by people who originally came from there, whose parents have likely been dead for decades and weren’t even involved?”

“The Lord hath commanded it, and so shall it be done,” said Samkiel, with a frown and a shrug.  I shrugged myself, as I hadn’t been expecting much different an answer.

“So…” I said, conversationally, “why’re you here, then, and not standing over the den of iniquity itself?  I mean, they’ve some nicely deviant paintings here I admit, but according to popular report, you lead 12,000 other angels keen on the smiting - shouldn’t you be handling the main event, as it were?”  The angel’s expression darkened.

“No,” he said curtly, “that honor was given to Gabriel.”  I opened my mouth to question this, and he interjected, “The Lord loves all His creations infinitely, but He somehow manages to love certain ones a bit more infinitely than He does others,” and his expression did not invite further discussion on the matter.

“Ah.  Politics,” I said, nodding in commiseration.  “I try to avoid them myself.  Well, I won’t keep you,” I said, and withdrew.  The angel turned back without another word and undid his magical knot, resuming the process of building up enough power to flatten a city or three.

I went to a vantage point on one of the high mountains nearby and watched as the entire plain burned.  *Missed a spot,* I thought, noting a little town on the edge that had escaped relatively unscathed.  I sighed.  Sure, the scope of it was impressive, but there was no particular artistry in it, no real flair - just deific muscle-flexing.  I pondered it as I reached for the veil between worlds to Travel home.  Could you imagine the outcry if one of the Glittering Throng demanded such narrow devotion from their worshipers?  And I thought *they* had a high opinion of themselves.  I shook my head and reassured myself that this greedy no-one-else-but-Me cult was bound to die out soon.

I was wrong, of course.  Mortals don’t have a monopoly on that, though they do remain unchallenged at being wrong in such large groups.

My first ‘deployment’ was within the city itself.  According to the briefing we received, in addition to the portal which opened the city to worlds outside the mortal realm, there was another similar portal somewhere within the city - unwanted and uncontrolled.

The plan - such as it was - was to perform a ritual to draw the wild portal to our location, not by force but by making the area attractive to it.  Then we would seal it…somehow.  The hope was that in proximity, an avenue to do so would become apparent.  Like so many JET activities, it was worryingly short on detail - but not without some promise.  Miryam took the lead on the ritual and others assisted as best they could, myself included.  Mizuki was there as well, but they were the only two present I’d had much interaction with (of the two, I preferred Mizuki’s company by a wide margin).

The first part of the plan went swimmingly, as in short order I could feel the change in the local order of things.  Almost immediately, a spirit appeared - a rather powerful one by her animus, from outside the mortal world, albeit without tangible substance.  She - it was subtle at first, but there was a distinct feeling of the predatory female - examined those present, each in turn.  I did not give her cause to single me out - she was well beyond my ability to bind, in this place…even in faerie, I wouldn’t have been sure how to go about it.

Her animus began to manifest - at first spiders began to appear here and there, causing some distress for one or two of those present - there were nine JET personnel, as well as a number of local residents, either of the city or of the ‘P-Poc’, or of both - I remained unclear about those sorts of details.

Next, some of the locals began to be ridden by spirits.  They were quite upset, claiming to be of New Celtia - a land referred to only obliquely in the JET files, as it had been ‘unmade’ in some fundamental fashion due to the actions of the JET, and most of reality showed no evidence of it having existed.  They said that though their land was unmade, they persisted somehow in a horrifying nothingness - and they (quite rightly, as I understand it) blamed the JET for this fate.

It was soon after that my recall of these events becomes somewhat unreliable, as my own horror captured the bulk of my attention.  I began to…Fade.  My substance became tenuous, my perceptions of my surroundings weaker - as if through a layer of fog.  I was shocked to my core.  The magical ambiance was quite sufficient here to sustain me indefinitely, so it could only be the other - the slip from existence that comes from simply having nothing left to do, to see, no desire to continue.  I’d thought the JET would be a source of stimulation for some years, but apparently it wasn’t novel enough.  If I had been thinking more clearly, I would have wondered how I could produce such intense shock and fear in that situation - but the evidence of my senses (or lack of same) was very convincing.

I explained the problem to those present - Mizuki primarily, who seemed most concerned.  She began casting about for novelty to keep me anchored.  I only remember brief flashes.  She tried to get me to write a poem.  She kissed Cary on the mouth, which was quite surprising and appealing, but not actually all that novel for me.  I remember someone else had fallen down - I tried to amuse myself by moving my intangible hand through his chest, but that didn’t last long.  Mizuki kept trying to touch me, hold my hands, despite my lack of substance.

It became apparent that those present were being confronted with things they deeply feared, and the spirit was feeding off of this.  But as the fear was sustained, it crystallized much as magical energy is wont to in faerie - and these crystals might be used to gain control over the portal and bar it from the city.  I would have liked to assist, but I was rather debilitated.  Some had managed to break free of their fears by embracing them and coming to terms with them, but I could not do that - to embrace Fading is to accept it…even if what was happening now was not “real”, it might well become so if I surrendered to it.  So I endured, and was at least helpful in being a continued source of crystals.

The entity spoke to me once.  She drew close and I could actually see her face, within layers of darkness.  She seemed quite pleased and said that I would make a fine *something* - I heard “lover” and “plaything” and “companion” with my ears and mind all at once, I know not which from which - for her in her dark oblivion.  I tried to take it as flattering, though it chilled me - there was no promise of pleasure in it, at least not for me.  It is well accepted even among immortals that there are fates worse than true death…was this one of them?  Considering the question actually gave me some helpful distraction.

Mizuki stayed with me constantly, so I dimly witnessed her own fear - it appeared to be her father, and he did not think her actions in joining the JET worthy.  Based on what I knew of the JET I would hardly disagree, but she determinedly insisted that she might turn their course slightly, by adding her voice and leading by example.  There were no threats from him, only words.  It surprised me, that her deepest fear was something so…philosophical.  I wondered what it would be like to care so much about someone else’s opinions.  As the others had done, she broke the manifestation, and turned her attention back to me.

I admired her courage.  I thought I had very good reason not to try to break my own fear - my situation was unique.  But was that true?  Or was I just comfortable enough with fear, and attached to my existence, that I would agreeably dwell in terror indefinitely than risk non-existence to end it?  I have lived a very long time, even by fey standards, and I have grown steadily more attached to my life.  I did not want to give it up.

As I lay there, struggling to maintain my presence, Mizuki looked down on me, inverted, as she knelt at my head, her hands unfelt against my intangible cheeks.  She seemed so concerned for me.  I wondered what it felt like, or why she cared.  My thoughts began to fall away, and I found that only one remained - I wanted, perhaps more than I had ever wanted anything, to be able to feel her hands, to grab that rescue she held out to me.  And suddenly, I could.  I was overcome with it - this simple living touch.  I sat up, and took her hands - she removed her gloves so I could feel them more, feel the warmth of them, hold them to my cheeks, my lips.

I learned shortly thereafter that they had managed to bind the portal with the crystals - though they had needed to weave it through Cary, which linked her with the city in some fundamental fashion.  Mizuki may have pulled me back just before it was too late - or perhaps the binding restored me as the entity was pushed out.  Even if I had not been in genuine danger - which I acknowledge is possible though difficult to credit, given what I felt - I still felt uncharacteristically indebted to this small mortal woman for her comfort as well as her assistance.  Combined with my unwise fascination with her, it made me deeply uncomfortable - something had to be done.

After everything was resolved, and deployments were returning, I drew her aside to speak privately, and thanked her for her assistance.  I explained the debt I felt, and offered her any boon within my ability to grant.  She seemed unsettled by it, but accepted and said she would think on it.  I relaxed somewhat - my debt was not yet settled, but it was at least balanced.  I still felt a hint of some unfamiliar uncertainty, but at the time I decided it was a natural result of my traumatic experience, and tried not to dwell upon it.

—

My next deployment was to Rising Sun, for what was being referred to as a ‘game show’.  I’m still unclear on what the entertainment value was - there was incomprehensible directed enthusiasm and shouting, and the main challenge was eating strongly-seasoned food quickly.  I was quite uncomfortable, as we were in the south of Rising Sun, and the ambiance here was non-existent.  I did find the food quite enjoyable, though I do not know why it should be enjoyable to watch others eat - but there was a very large audience present, so there must be some attraction.  Perhaps it was in the hope of seeing others humiliated - but my partner and I (a woman from Penn State named Sophia) did well enough, and though they insisted we wear unusual hats, I found mine quite nice.  There was little potential for even embarrassment that I could see - eating is something even most mortals have had ample practice with - though Kadiri apparently found the seasoning (wasabi) unsettling to her stomach if not her tongue.

We were told afterward that we would receive prizes as well as a ‘video recording’ of the event.  I have the latter in front of me now - a multicolored ring of plastic and other fruits of mortal Arts.  I’m trying to decide whether it will be worth the effort to develop some means of displaying it, or taking it to a knocker.  There had been very large ‘cameras’ and ‘microphones’ and ‘cables’ everywhere, at the show.  For them and for me it seemed like a lot of effort merely for the ability to show small moving pictures of something I had been physically present to view in the first place.  Perhaps they offer these ‘recordings’ up for sale to more common people who did not have the means or opportunity to attend in person?

At any rate, after we returned, we found many people in the midst of an interesting ritual.  The Morrigan had apparently invited people to play a sort of game, which required them to publicly reveal things about themselves in exchange for a small token.  It was exactly the sort of thing fey did with mortals from time to time, for amusement - though she apparently did not discriminate in who took her up on the offer.  I circulated amongst those participating and found a card with a proper collection of things for which I might qualify - though I stretched things a bit with two - “summoned an angel” and “murdered an innocent”.  Regarding the latter - while I’d never specifically killed mortals for sport, I’d certainly killed mortals who had tried to do me harm - even if I could have just as easily left them alive…one doesn’t stand for that sort of thing.  And I’d not infrequently created situations which had resulted in mortals killing each other, or themselves - though it was still their choice in the end.  While innocence is very much a matter of perspective, I’m sure at least some of them must have met that criteria to the Morrigan’s definition of it.  As for the other - on one irritating occasion some millennia ago in the mortal world I’d called out “Hey, you over there,” to someone, and he’d come over and turned out to be both an angel, and an apologist.  So in a literal sense, both were accurate, which was good enough for the Morrigan.

Upon hearing about the murders, Julia expressed disappointment - I’m not certain why…we had not talked much and I’d never claimed to be an innocent, so I had no response but a shrug.  My reward for this was an interesting mortal toy called a yo-yo.  Once I’d divined how to use it, I was quite taken with it, although I was told it was apparently of an older design, and thus not capable of certain more interesting behavior.  It turns out the item was needed in some symbolic sense for the JET’s attempt to re-knit some of their shattered world - I graciously agreed to allow them to use it if I could have it back when they were done.

—

After that  I went on a deployment to a shard of Sidney, Australia.  I’d braced myself as it was reportedly another shard with ambiance conducive to mortal Arts but not my own - but when we arrived, it was clear that was not accurate…the magical ambiance was as comfortable as is possible in the mortal world.  That, however, was all that was clear or would become so during our ’stay’.  We found ourselves in a corridor of some sort with numerous numbered doors, and decided to simply knock on the one directly before us.  We were welcomed within by a strange man who seemed to be expecting us.  He was not strange in appearance, at least, no more so than any mortal dress in this age - but his behavior was peculiar.

He performed a little ritual, of cutting a rope and then mending it, though there seemed to be no purpose behind it - if it was meant as a demonstration of power or ability, it was…somewhat lacking, though the JET members made polite gestures of appreciation.  He explained that such things had once been considered wondrous, but since the Event true magic had returned to the world (implying that what he had done was not?) and such demonstrations were trivial.

Apparently, he served a patron, and this place was similar in that fashion to what is called Feral Detroit.  His patron wanted the city to join the JET, and the patrons could supposedly be helpful to hamper the powers of Apophis - but such an agreement would in some way doom another shard unrelated to this one (’Ancient Egypt’, I believe).  For reasons which were never made clear, the patron insisted that a binding decision be made on the spot, before we departed.  Various people tried explaining in various ways how this was not appropriate, and those explanations became less polite once we discovered the patron was using its Arts to in fact keep us from leaving before we made that decision.

While at least one of those present was in favor of making the commitment, no one was willing to do so one way or the other without the consent of the rest of us.  Felicia managed to establish direct communication with the patron (which was linked to a cloth bear doll for some reason), but this was not as helpful as one might expect - it was not inclined to listen to our objections, it merely wanted and acted to satisfy that want.  Eventually an arrangement was made in that we could leave without making a decision if we “played a game” with it.  My ire was such that I did not question this in as much detail as I ought to have - it turned out the “game” was a binding magical ritual, which could free us but also do us harm.  We “played” it, and eventually discerned its rhythms enough to succeed with minimal damage.  As we made our way back, I surreptitiously obtained a small quantity of the fur of the bear doll - I wanted to make certain this particular patron would be punished for its lack of proper manners.

I was in a foul mood after that, even as I tried to remind myself that the goal here was new experiences, and they were bound to not all be pleasant.  Still, it was difficult to just put things in perspective - captivity was, I had found, nearly intolerable.  As the Fates would have it, however, my next experiences would force perspective upon me quite firmly.

I don’t know what it means.  I’m not certain what anything means, anymore.  My life seems to have been as upended as easily as a certain ancient canoe, but where it has taken me I do not yet know.  It is not where I once dwelt, but it has similar furnishings - I will do my best to make a home here.  Still - I would prefer to know who built it.

I will go over the events of the past two days.  Perhaps, upon reflection, it will be clearer when, and how, it happened.  Slightly more than nine thousand years after I was born, a mortal called Aristotle made the claim that “love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies”.  I would hesitate to call it that yet, and that is only one of an unknown number of possibilities…but could that really be the answer?

—

When I arrived, I simply wandered for a while at first.  I’d been to a modern city once, shortly before the shattering.  It was interesting - it shimmered in the sun and glittered at night.  But it also smelled, there was iron everywhere, and it was noisy.  This place was different.  Not nearly as much iron, not nearly as much noise - or at least not noise of the same character.  And more lovely - it blinked and shone in the night, as if the night itself was courting a lover and had donned all her best jewels and glamour besides.

I sighed to myself.  Once again I’d been surprised at mortals’ capacity to create beauty, even when that wasn’t the main goal.  Or perhaps it was - I still didn’t fully understand the impulse to create this city, in this place.  But it was time to go swim in the currents of the JET again anyway - I’d ask and see what they said.

I managed to find the right place by listening to random remarks, and watching for where security seemed the most dense.  I had a brief discussion with security about the fact that I had not yet been issued a proper ID, but there seemed to be a number of non-credentialed visitors, so they decided to be accommodating.

The combination of music and conversation inside was very loud, almost overwhelmingly so.  Felicia Jones was there, the ambassador from “Feral Detroit” to whom I had spoken via the network.  She seemed quite earnest and vigorous - she reminded me of mortal shamans I’d met in my youth.

Shortly after my arrival, I found Mizuki.  She gave me a ’souvenir’ in honor of my visit to the ryokan (as well as the others).  It was a small parchment, with decorative script of her language which represented my common appellation (literally, “cloud-aura”), surrounded by illustrated clouds of violet outlined in silver.  I found it lovely, and said as much.  She quickly confessed that she had not made them, but had commissioned them from a professional, as her talents did not lie in that direction.  I assured her that the gesture was appreciated nonetheless, and carefully pressed it into the center of my sketchbook for safe-keeping.

It seemed to be a night for immortals - there were at least three different mortals being ridden by others.  Dale by Odin, which made it evident he’d been successful in the plans for self-mortification he’d revealed at Danzig.  Angelina by the Morrigan, who was behaving normally, for her, and presumably not normally for Angelina - though to be fair I have thus encountered her more often in leave of her senses for one reason or another than otherwise.  She and Odin behaved slightly rudely towards me, or so I thought at the time - in actuality they were just giving me a bit of unpleasant short-range prophecy, as is not uncommon for either of them.  I encountered Kamiko, who mentioned that she was being ridden by one of Yahweh’s Host, though passively for the moment.  I offered her my condolences.  Orias was there as well - we had an interesting open conversation about what the “point” of human existence might be, if any.

I had another interesting conversation with Orion Mannheim about the apparent differences in physical travel between my own Arts and those of his people.  They have the capacity for much longer travel within a shard than I can manage outside of Underhill, but the success of their method is always in significant doubt.  From what little I grasp of it, this uncertainty presents genuine danger…exercising power that holds unavoidable risk may be gratifying when it is successful, but is not conducive to longevity.  It was not clear to me whether or not his people avoided it for that reason, or used it despite the risk.

It was late by then, so I returned to the cottage.  I found Marcelline awake, drinking tea at the table in the common room.  “Marcelline - good evening.  I expected you would have found your bed by now.”  She stood and nodded to me.

“Monsieur Nimbus.  I wanted to remain available, in case you needed…had need of my assistance.”  Her eyes quickly scanned me up and down.  “Your activities tonight went well, I trust?”

“Yes, yes…well enough.”  I walked past her towards my bedroom door.  “Events tend not to get dicey until the portal confluence actually begins tomorrow.  You should get some sleep, if I need your assistance, it will be then.”  Something drew my attention - some small sound - and I looked back at her.  She stood there calmly, and gave no sign that she’d heard anything…perhaps it was something from outside, beyond her hearing.

“Very well.  You should get some rest so you have your wits about you in the morning,” she said with mild admonishment.  “Bon nuit, monsieur.”  I smiled at her ruefully.

“I’m lucky to have you watching over me.  Good night, Marcelline,” I replied, then entered my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

She’d been more right than I knew - if I’d known what awaited me in the morning, I might have gone to sleep much earlier…or even not risen from bed at all.

As Nimbus began putting on his belt of pouches, he nodded to himself in satisfaction, watching the young woman industriously writing at his common table.  Marcelline DeRouen had seemingly adjusted well to the new life he’d given her here.  She had been vastly relieved when he explained that the only ’services’ he required of her was her assistance in organizing the large and growing amount of parchment which was the hard-copy manifestation of the Network within Nimbus’ cottage.  Relieved enough that she was willing to swear any number of oaths guaranteeing her behavior and discretion - which he’d made sure were enforced with magic.

She had taken to the work with a will, though, and had a natural talent for it.  She not only grouped the files in logical ways, but made summaries and cross-referenced.  Her father had owned a Phonograph store, which is where she’d acquired both her organizational skills and a natural curiosity about technology.  She had a better grasp of certain modern concepts than Nimbus, and he’d taken to sometimes telling her what he was looking for and letting her make requests of the Network, which generally got him answers more quickly and with less wasted parchment.

She’d become so useful, in fact, that the fey was considering putting off his notion of gradually seducing her.  She was certainly attractive, but there was no sense in jeopardizing that usefulness by adding her complicated emotions to the mix.  At any rate, the cottage was now much more tidy, though the excerpts from the Network magically enscribed upon the walls resisted removal - possibly the cottage itself had grown attached to them.

Nimbus slid his sword into place on his belt, then walked into the washroom.  He pulled aside the curtains which covered the only mirror in the cottage and checked his appearance, making minor adjustments here and there.

He’d been productive since Danzig.  Rosalie’s request had gone smoothly enough.  It was a minor enchantment, really, but involved enough for him to be proud of it.  On his own initiative, he’d even - he believed - tracked V quite close to its ultimate source.

Of course, perhaps for naught, from Rosalie’s perspective - he’d just seen the article about the V vaccine.  But that was of no moment, as he’d already been paid and the Bargain still held.  Perhaps he could find some value in the results himself.

He’d also managed to unearth some useful information on the Shadow Minister.  While the JET upended Lady Darkflame’s household with their investigations, they provided an excellent distraction for more subtle inquiries.  A boggart named Barnaby Tuck who was a servant of the Countess was apparently connected with a group of commoner ‘revolutionaries’.  Which was just stupid - unlike mortal groups, power amongst the fey was not a function of control (by whatever method) of a large population that provided force and resources.  It was quite direct - power, as a real and tangible thing, either existed or it did not, and no simple force of numbers could change that.  At least, not without a fundamental change to the nature of faerie itself.

If that wasn’t enough, the revolutionaries were being funded with money apparently embezzled by someone high in the Ministry of Pneumatics and Communication in Manhattan.  This was significant, but the question remained - why?  Who stood to gain anything from such an act of folly.  If it was the ‘Shadow Minister’, how would it aid him, what actually *was* his goal?

Nimbus drew the curtains over the mirror and entered the common room.  Marcelline finished writing and stood, handing him a small packet of papers.  “My notes, Monsieur Nimbus.  Is there anything else you require?”  The local fashions suited her, she looked fetching enough in a simple blouse, bodice and skirt - though she was still on the thin side.  Her experiences in New Orleans had apparently changed her eating habits permamently - or at least beyond his ability or her desire to alter.

The fey accepted the notes and glanced over them.  “Thank you, Marcelline, this is excellent work,” he said with a smile.  “Go ahead with your normal duties, but watch the network for messages - if I need anything I may contact you there if it is not convenient to return.”  The young woman smiled at his compliment, then nodded.  “Bonne chance dans la Ville de Cristal,” she offered, then exited to her bedroom-cum-filing room, shutting the door behind her.  She leaned against it and her professional expression shattered, a wild play of emotions racing across her face - she never let the faerie know what she was feeling, but who could know what he saw?

Nimbus, oblivious to his ‘assistant’’s distress, tucked the notes away in one of his pouches.  Not *all* of his efforts had been productive.  No one had taken the bait of the charm embedded in his network message.  He doubted that no one had noticed - perhaps such things were more common than he had thought, or perhaps those who noticed were simply skilled enough to have avoided the trigger.  But fish are not found near every eddy - he would think of other things to try.

The rumors about the Marquis were still just rumors.  He had not even been able to verify that the Marquis was old enough to qualify.  There was a common assumption amongst mortals and fey alike that great age implied great wisdom and great power, and if one lacked either of the latter, one lacked the first.  The other path - having the combination of caution and luck necessary to survive the millennia *without* great power - was not common…it was possible few of the High Court sidhe were actually aware of his true age, or that of some of the lesser fey - after all, such things were generally beneath their concern.  But he would continue to watch, and listen.

His analysis of his encounter with Franz Mesmer was interesting, but ultimately without much future.  Unless the mortals managed to do even more damage to their world first, of course, which was certainly a possibility.  Nimbus would keep the possibility in mind, just in case.

He thought about what he might encounter on the deployment, and considered, as he often did, attempting to peer ahead and see.  If he had, what he would have seen might well have sent him back to his bed.  But as much risk as the unknown offered, boredom was riskier yet.  He set the wards on the cottage, reached for the paths, and Traveled.

I circulated through the throng at the New Orleans market, keeping my ears open and making casual conversation when necessary.  It did not take long to get a good idea of the buyers present whose needs or desires overlapped with mine - there was a sort of relaxing energy in the air, a place where those beings who had found the modern universe stifling or uncomfortable could now act freely…it inclined them to speak more freely as well.

Then it was simply a matter of waiting until those had departed or already made at least one purchase, so I would not have significant competition.  I occupied myself in the interim by watching the mortals as they were brought up for bidding.  Most were sullen and broken - overwhelmed with shock or horror or physical injury.  The reactions of the rest varied.

A few were defiant, but none so effectively as to cause them to be killed - the market guards had learned by know how hard they needed to strike to subdue a slave without killing it.  Interestingly, defiance seemed to raise the average price - I couldn’t fathom why, but then my needs were different than those of most here.  I asked someone near me, a sort of spike-covered demon I didn’t readily recognize, who had been outbid on one such.  In gutteral and broken English, it explained that if they didn’t struggle when you fed on them, what was the point?  I nodded and shrugged.

Some were overcome with fear - they simply wept or wailed or screamed the whole time, and they were generally allowed to…except when the screaming was actually loud enough to interfere with the bidding, in which case they were beaten into submission or unconsciousness.

The most interesting to me were the ones who still had control of their faculties.  You could see the intensity on their faces, as they thought and schemed, as if desperation could somehow bring enough inspiration to save them.  Most of these seemed to play the same game once the bidding began - they watched only the ones who actually bid, or who seemed interested.  They were trying to guess - what will this one do to me?  What does that one want?  A few even seemed to make a choice - mostly women for some reason - and played up to the one they’d decided was their best option.  Sometimes it even worked, and I marveled at it - they had somehow managed to shift the current of their lives ever so slightly, even as they were being tossed helplessly by a flow far beyond their strength.  Of course, a couple of these discovered they had guessed wrong shortly after their new owner spoke to them.  If I’d been able to imprint their emotions at that moment, I could have probably sold them alone for a tidy sum.

There were quite a few pleading looks cast in my direction by this sort.  Looking around at my fellow shoppers, I supposed that from a mortal perspective, I seemed less threatening, less sinister, less foreign.  I tried not to roll my eyes.  Just because something is pretty does not mean it is good for you - as many mortals have come to learn about even the Seelie, far too late.

Eventually a woman was brought up.  Young but not a child, fair, but dark-haired, comely but not striking.  It was announced that she was literate in English and French, but barren.  She was one of the watchful ones, I could see.  She saw me studying her and immediately I checked the crowd - none of my remaining competitors seemed interested.  I bid a conservative sum, and there were no other offers.

I made my way to the front, and she was brought down.  As soon as she saw me, she began studying my face as if her life depended upon knowing what lay underneath - which from her perspective I suppose it did.  The demon running the sale was largely unremarkable in appearance, except for her serpentine eyes.

“Two Econ,” she demanded curtly, “refined essence or fissionables.”

“In good time,” I said.  “I need to verify she’s sufficient for my needs.”  The girl tensed at this, while the demon became somewhat irate.

“I have certified all that we have claimed - she is barren, she is literate.  Payment now, or she goes back up.”

I pulled a sheet of parchment out of a pouch.  “I merely ask that she read some of this aloud.  I apologize for any offense, but you are not fae, and I do not know you - I am reluctant to accept merely your word in this matter.  If I cannot be sure she will be useful, I do not care what you do with her, for I will not be purchasing today.”

“Tread lightly, *fairy*,” said the demon.

“Fae *always* tread lightly…since we flit hither and thence on gossamer wings and drink nectar from blossoms and pose no threat to anyone,” I tossed back sneeringly.  “Look, are we going to do business or not?”

The object of this debate looked back and forth between the demon and me.  I don’t know what she saw in my face, but the demon’s was not pleased at all.  The demon opened her mouth angrily, but before she could say anything, the girl lunged away from the guard holding her and grabbed the parchment from my hand.

The sheet shook in her hand as she cried out in terrified, rapid, French-accented, but otherwise fine English, “Inter-thread task force!   An in-international treaty org-organization originally sponsored by Rising Sun as a counter-”  She managed that much before the guard recovered and bludgeoned her into unconsciousness.  The demon looked down at her, and again opened her mouth.

I interrupted by holding out a upturned palm with two crystals of Econ upon it.  The slave-master looked at them, then stared at me with pure irritation.

“I believe that is enough to satisfy me, presuming your guard has not killed her or damaged her brain…there was little enough interest in her *before* she was marked, as I recall.”  I kept my face empty of any amusement or pleasure - not that I was experiencing much, but I sincerely wanted to finish my business expeditiously, and if she took this any more personally, I wasn’t likely to do so.

She treated the unconscious slave and me to one last glare, then snatched the Econ, spun on her heel and stalked away.  The guard grinned at me in commiseration - I think…his face was…atypical - and followed her.

I looked down at my crumpled acquisition and sighed.  I traced out a charm for strength on my arms, then lifted her and set out for the Unseelie Gate.

That was certainly interesting.  Once we got into to the Ryokan and were relatively secluded it was pleasant enough…but it was very difficult to just walk around, letting mortals see my natural appearance - mortals whose names I did not (and still do not) know and had no business with.  It just seems wrong, somehow.  It’s different with JET participants, somewhat - in participating with Team A, I effectively have business with all of them.  But I’ve learned that many of those participants have in their activities gained public notoriety - uncomfortably detailed personal notoriety in the modern fashion - some without deliberate effort or indeed desire.  I’ll have to do my best not to distinguish myself any more than necessary.

Bethany Spark is interesting, but foreign.  And with some emotional problem besides - the phrase ’stupid man stuff’ implies it is of a romantic nature, but I can’t be certain of the idiom.  No details - she did not unburden herself, at least not in my presence.  She seems well down the path of dependence on mortal Arts - some of her fellows in the ‘technosphere’ have actually taken on the form of clockworks.  It is in equal parts fascinating and off-putting.

Thorn seemed subdued in comparison to what I have come to expect from a ‘Hiver’.  She said very little.  Perhaps she is still concentrating on seeing new things, learning.  I would approve if that is the case.  But I still do not have enough experience of the Hive culture to feel confident of identifying aberration when I encounter it.

It would be tempting to feel that I know as much of Rom as there is to know - but simplistic behavior does not always imply simplistic thoughts.  It is becoming comfortable to think I can predict that behavior, which is a mistake - it would only tend to make a surprise more unsettling.

Kurizawa Mizuki is a puzzle.  Once again, the exact sort of woman I’ve tried to avoid - she’s hard to read, she’s intelligent, she sees far more than she gives away.  And yet - I can’t stop from sparring with her, testing, tempting.  She reminds me of myself.  Fetching, even for a mortal.  It would be dangerous to allow her too close - out of the question, really.  Probably.  She does not seem the sort for casual encounters in any case.   And yet - I find myself imagining speaking to her of my life, of things I have told no one, even Trickle, and of her nodding in understanding with a knowing smile.  Dangerous.  And yet.

There was less casual conversation than I expected.  I was forcing much of it, and it tended not to go much of anywhere.  Still, I did learn a few worthwhile things.  And I enjoyed the sybaritic aspects - I approve of any culture which shares my favor of heated soaking - though the separation of soaking and bathing, all tangled with mortal concerns of disease and ’spiritual cleanliness’ is confusing.  But that is much of the point - anything which is confusing is a puzzle, a riddle to be worried at for months or years, providing occupation and engagement.

From what I’ve learned of Franz’ efforts, creation is not feasible without destruction.  I hope the mortals are able to build a life-raft of shards, and extend the duration of their presence significantly.  If they fail, I may try to plant the notion in the Courts of taking up Franz’ plans with a few modifications - existence would be dangerously dull without mortals, I think - and perhaps we could forge them to be more interesting in the bargain, rather than less, as he would have apparently preferred.

Nimbus lay on his bed,  toying idly with a small crystal.  It was filled with a colored smoke which slowly twisted around itself…it was also filled with memories from the woman whom he’d just returned to her home.  There was a small basket beside the bed with a number of similar crystals - different colors, some luminescent, some shadowed.

That was…quite pleasant, he thought.  For a very long time, he’d avoided intimate relations with anyone with the slightest whiff of power or intelligence, and now he’d broken both of those rules at the same time.  Twice.  I am lucky that she *hasn’t* really embraced her nature…I might not have escaped with my will intact otherwise.  As it is, she fears it too much and knows too little. He counted the number of crystals, the impressive size of which was evidence of that inexperience.

What is it about these mortals of the JET - some who are not one or the other - that is bewitching me?  Is it just my unmasking, treating them like peers?  Or that they *are* peers - or even my superiors? He chuckled ruefully, not ready to concede that last notion.  But they are like nesting-flowers, you can just stare deeper and deeper and find more layers of petals - or thorns.  It’s difficult not to get lost in fascination.

He shook his head and rose from the bed suddenly, depositing the crystal into the basket.  I should get that filing servant as soon as possible - having her around all the time will help remind me what most mortals are like…keep me grounded.

He swiftly buckled on his sword and pouches, set the wards on the cottage, reached for the paths and Traveled.

I was not actually scheduled for any deployments in the morning, but as I had returned home the prior evening, I was now well rested, washed and wearing fresh clothes - thus fortified, I was enthusiastic about simply spending more time speaking to JET personnel.

Before I could properly begin any, however, there were loud warnings of an ‘unscheduled gate’, and various people rushed to aim firearms at the portal location.  A number of mortals emerged.  Some seemed to be reflections of JET participants - one was female but shared a similar name and history to Adam.

There was also - and I am still unclear as to its source - a projection of some kind, who ‘explained’ various things which alarmed many of those present…when I examined the visitors I found they had sufficient reason to be concerned.  The visitors were from what the JET referred to as “the Cloud” - a group of shards which had fallen out of contact with the JET shards, and which had been sacrificed in some manner I did not fully understand.  But the visitors’ existence was akin to loose threads in the weave of the mortal world - were they to remain, they would unravel all they touched.

They began to hurriedly attempt to prevent this, by forcing a controlled unweaving limited to the visitors - in some manner I never managed to fathom.  Indeed, I was asked many questions in various unrelated disciplines, which I answered - either from my own knowledge or that of the spirit riding me - I have little idea how they were meant to help, but I am assured they were useful.

As this work continued, there were additional unexpected portals.  One was a sort of animal-spirit manifestation, which gained power from aggressive emotion.  It was eventually forced into the paths - I went there and confirmed that it was dead, and removed some of its claws in the event they might prove useful.

There was a man with some sort of changeling crafted from mortal arts that caused different concern - some apparently thought it was a weapon for some reason, targeted against Sam…something similar had happened recently?  This threat too was pulled into the paths.

I encountered a mortal offering thralls for sale - I’m not certain if he too had entered through an unexpected portal or if he had arrived earlier.  It occurred to me that this might solve some of my difficulties with the ‘Network’.  I asked if any of the females could read English, and he believed one could.  I offered him glamour-touched crystals, equal to what the JET would call ‘two Econ’.  But there were others of the JET bidding as well, apparently with the intention of immediately casting them loose - for philosophical reasons, I supposed.  I pointed out that if the intent was to improve their lot, turning them out to the same situation they’d been in before only risked the same thing happening - if I were to buy one, she would be well provided for and live quite safely, until she managed to complete the tasks I had in mind.  In the end, Nigel was unwilling to relent to any arrangement that did not involve complete self-determination - I refrained from pointing out that this was a very rare ideal, even at the time of the shattering.  In the end, my offer was not high enough to secure one - but that was not surprising - I had not offered much as it should not be overly difficult for me to find a servant myself in the traditional fashion.

There were some spirits riding slain mortals - and riding them rather more skillfully than mortals do themselves.  There was general consensus to try to ‘kill’ them, though I have yet to discern a reliable pattern as to what prompts this decision in general.  Eventually they managed to destroy all but one of the bodies, which Traveled away - one spirit returned, possessing Angelina, but only briefly for the purpose of explaining how if the mortals didn’t like the spirits, destroying the dead bodies which trapped them was rather counter-productive, and thanking them for the favor.

The JET participants finally managed to avert the Cloud-crisis - what would have happened if that portal had opened in a different shard?  Individual mortals perish constantly, but I continue to wonder if there is not some persistent charm which guards the whole of them.

On the whole, I’m satisfied with my decision to join them for a time.  It remains to be seen if it will be of practical use, but I am sure to be kept busy, if not invariably entertained.  Anything that passes the time…

After dinner was served, it was time to deploy again.  And once again, I would be going back to Underhill, but this time I was even less certain what awaited me.  Here, apparently, was an artifact of the fae of incredible importance, somehow removed and now recovered, which the JET knew more of than I did.  If it had not, at least, been discovered first by fae, I would have been very concerned indeed - as it was, I was merely humbled - I had thought myself well-informed.

We were led to the proper location by Adam Starke, because he was a Paladin of the Lady’s Court.  I’d never been clear what that meant, or why mortals would be involved.  It would make sense perhaps if it was entirely based on this artifact, which it was made rather unclear that fae should not touch.  It was implied that it would be bad, perhaps the fae involved would die, but perhaps something else, as the Seelie said he would attempt to kill me should I attempt to touch it, which wouldn’t really be necessary if the artifact *itself* would kill me, would it?  I would have preferred to have had a chance to be alone with it for a while, but it simply wasn’t possible under the circumstances.

We were told that there would be tests or challenges, since the item had not been stolen in a straightforward way, and so there were.  I let the mortals contend with the first, a simple test of thought millennia old.  I would intervene only if they appeared to be making an error, but it was not necessary.  The second was more interesting, so I applied some effort to it, but the mortals solved it first - or at least I presume so…no one seemed interested in taking the time to check their solution.  That solution gave us a path to walk on warded symbols, which we did in turn.  The Seelie was using one of the mortal hand-lamps to indicate the path.  When it was time for me to traverse the path, he indicated an incorrect symbol, which caused me an injury despite my defenses.  I might have put some thought into why I even bothered to raise them at this point - so often were they completely ignored - but I was more preoccupied with attempting to determine whether or not the Seelie had misled me deliberately.  He could not have thought I was fragile enough to expire from one misstep.  Why would he wish to incur my ill will?  I attempted as best I could to withhold that ire, in case that was what he had wanted, but my frustration made this only partially successful.

Next was another challenge of reason.  This too was resolved, though the poor illumination caused some initial difficulty.  It was suggested after that Miryam Laughing Fox had determined the correct answer significantly before those discussing it at the front.  I am not certain why she did not make it clear if that was the case - I never personally heard her mention it, or any rationale to defend that choice.  Possibly she simply guessed - there were only seven options - or perhaps she had for some reason taken a similar position to mine in the first test, that she would speak only if a mistake seemed imminent.

Next, there was an actual guard, and no space for more than one to engage him.  I waited silently, sure one of the mortals would be keen to test themselves, and sure enough Adam stepped forward, though he seemed more resigned than eager.  The crowding in the passage was such that I saw nothing of the combat, but it was quite short as duels go, and the mortal seemed uninjured afterward.

So it was that we finally entered the guardian’s chamber.  He was still there, though he was unnaturally infirm.  We established that the artifact had been taken millennia ago, he did not know how.  But that the name of the artifact had been lost to him when it left, leaving him drained somehow.  So not only must the artifact be returned to its proper place, but someone who knew the name must take the place of the guardian.  There was significant confusion and frustration at this, since no one appeared to know the name - until I pointed out that it had been told to me that the Unseelie had been found by the Seelie with the artifact, she had discovered it first, so perhaps she knew more about it than she was telling.  In fact she did know somehow where the artifact would be, as well as its true name - her father was a renowned smith (it was not entirely clear to me whether he had in fact created it originally, or this had allowed him to learn these facts in some other fashion).

I began to feel a measure of concern in the pit of my being - the fae pair had already been locked into connection with this artifact for a mortal century and had no interest at all in continuing that association - and it was suggested (but not explained) that the guardian could or should not be of the Courts.  Since I appeared to be the only other immortal present, this did not seem to be going well for me.  While it was true that I would be able to get my time alone to study the artifact, “forever” was somewhat more time than I was interested in having with it, and I suspected it might be more difficult than it seemed to rid myself of the obligation once I had accepted it.

Fortunately, it came out that guardianship of the artifact would sustain the guardian, even if they were mortal.  Then the whinging began - no one at all seemed willing to make the personal sacrifice, and many lacked the courage to say so directly.  Not Adam - he stated quite early that he could not perform this task, though he did not explain why.  I wondered if this was aligned with his commitment as a paladin, or in spite of it.  I too stated my - after it was clear a mortal would do - complete lack of desire to accept this post.  Eventually after the Unseelie reluctantly admitted she knew the name (but was unwilling to serve), there was a moment when the mortals began clapping their hands over their ears to avoid being told the name.  I had thought mortals prided themselves on the rationality of their society - I was quite surprised and disappointed, and pointed out they were being quite childish, which did seem to shame some of them but did not endear me to many.

After a significant amount of this sort of thing (as I wondered idly if there was a practical way to force someone to accept the position, as it seemed likely we would eventually have to do), Albert Einstein decided to make the gesture.  He reasoned that he was the one who was carrying the artifact and thus technically more responsible already, and in some convoluted reasoning based on the mortals’ twisting and knotting of linear time (as opposed to the much more reasonable fae habit of meddling only with the speed of its flow), he presumed he would be able to escape eventually.  The Unseelie whispered to him the Name, and he approached the guardian with the artifact and spoke it to him - he spoke it aloud so everyone heard, and there was no ear-holding this time - and I could feel the power in it.

However, the Name appeared to rejuvenate the guardian, such that he explained there would be no need for Albert to take the position.  I had already pointed out once that the current guardian had somehow failed to protect the artifact once, and seemed not even to know what his mistake had been, but no one else seemed concerned, so I held my tongue (in large part because I had no wish to volunteer to replace him or begin again the discussion of who would do so).  We returned from whence we came without further incident.

My last scheduled deployment of the evening was to be an expedition to confront Franz Anton Mesmer.  From my reading of the JET archives, he was a mortal ‘hypnotist’, who had channeled the will of his native shard in an effort to concentrate power of arts.  But apparently he did it too well - such that there was not sufficient will left to support life there.  The implication, of course, is that there was not sufficient will to begin with - his efforts only changed the form but not the outcome.  But apparently in his obsessive desire to ’solve’ the problems of mortal existence, his reach grew past his own shard, and he gained some ability to affect others, use their energy, destroy them.  And presumably some ability to protect himself in these efforts, as the JET uniformly opposed him yet he’d not been killed - though I was not convinced the mortals had tried very hard to do so.

But now they appeared to have aligned significant resources had a somewhat convoluted plan devoted to halting his progress and hopefully killing him.  There didn’t seem to be much need for my presence - there were numerous tasks assigned to specific people, none of them me.  But given the scope of what was going to happen one way or another, I didn’t mind going along just to watch.

We were transported by a ‘guardian of the tower’ - a tower which had been suborned by Franz to his own ends, though the origin and previous purpose of this tower was unknown to me.  We arrived there and I was unsurprised to find it held an accommodating animus, similar in flexibility to my own world - much was possible here, with the proper power and the proper knowledge.  When we approached it, we were told by the guardian that he could not allow us to enter unchallenged.  There were three opponents, including the guardian - we were to choose three to face them in single combat.  Rom and ZQ stepped forward fairly quickly, then there was a pause.  I thought quickly.  If I were to develop a reputation amongst the JET for combat skill, it would be…less than ideal…and yet, if someone less skilled were forced to engage and failed, perhaps I would not get to see anything.  Also, it was possible the mortal world would be destroyed, though that was of somewhat less concern.  I stepped forward and feigned exasperated reluctance.

It was well that I acted - despite the logical assumption one might make from three opponents and three champions, when ZQ began it became clear each of us was meant to face each of them in turn.  He managed to prevail with what appeared to be only moderate difficulty.  I was next, and I was duly impressed - these opponents (whatever their nature) were more skilled than the mortals I had faced that morning.  After I defeated each in turn, I saw the stone of my aegis ring was cracked - I had actually been struck twice - and this place, as flexible as its animus was, did not allow me to reinforce it.  Finally Rom was called up, and he waded through the opponents, dispatching them with brutal efficiency and utter disregard for their return blows.

We were then allowed to proceed, though we then had to wait outside the main chamber until various factors aligned.  Miryam asked me if I could “stop being a dick”.  I did not understand what this meant, and she elaborated, citing my “childish” remark, and my apparent contempt for the lack of volunteers to fight earlier.  I reminded her that they *had* been acting childish at the time.  I offered to give protective enchantments to anyone who was not already so defended.  Angelique accepted, while Miryam said something along the lines of “not from you”.

While I traced out a charm on Angelique’s back, I considered the matter.  She was irritated because I’d belittled her once - possibly twice…was my play-acting before the combat personal for her?  Did she think herself a warrior?  Or perhaps someone else who didn’t step forward…  But she didn’t have the ability to protect herself in the manner I offered - she’d have used different words otherwise.  So she was about to face a presumably powerful magical threat and was willing to forego protective enchantments, why?  Because I was *mean* to her?  Undeniably mortals can and had been that foolish for thousands of years, but given what the JET regularly faced and what was about to happen I wondered if it was that simple.  Had she had dealings with fae before?  Or was there something else?  I added it to my growing mental list of things to look into.

Eventually, the time was right and we entered.  We found Franz in a chamber, and the air was thick with arts - he was clearly intent on his task.  Before anyone could effectively act, he made a sweeping gesture, and we found ourselves bound into a paralyzing curse.  Of course, my defenses instantly buckled, which came as no surprise at all given my day thus far.  Perhaps Myriam had just known protections were bound to be futile.  I waited patiently - a curse so quickly and broadly cast could not last long.

He explained what he was doing, much as the JET information had suggested - trying to unmake the mortal world that he might put it back together in a more orderly fashion.  But he seemed quite earnest about his desire for them to be happy afterward, and the notion didn’t seem all that implausible - he could not really do a more haphazard job than whoever had arranged the mortal world, could he?  Nor did it seem a particularly more heinous action than the ‘Technosphere’ had already been doing itself, according to JET records.  Sacrificing shards so that theirs might go on - Franz at least claimed to be preserving what was lost somehow.

His curse broke and things began to happen very quickly.  Various people began to attack him - physical attackers were flung back, while assaults from arts impacted a substantial defense, and began to ablate it.  Curiously, I found myself amongst those attacking with arts.  I had no specific argument with the man - I think I just felt it unbalanced to allow his curse to go unanswered in kind.  I was merely a distraction, however.  The others had arrayed mighty forces against him, and one by one they were directed.  Franz defended himself almost as an afterthought - he remained focused on his task.  Eventually Marie - ridden by something rather more powerful than a mortal spirit - struck through his defenses, and he just wasn’t there anymore.

His work, however, remained - and it did not seem to have been left in a state conducive to health and well-being.  The mortals began to try to determine a way of containing it, or repairing it.  I attempted a sketch of the focus symbol, which was rather beyond my abilities, then just stayed out of their way.  Though as the structure became less and less sound, I did turn all my arts towards giving it strength and stability for as long as I could.  The mortals here were striving and wrestling with the powers of young gods, and I wanted to watch for as long as possible - though I gathered myself to Travel should the situation become untenable.  Fortunately for them, they identified a solution and negated the enchantments Franz had been weaving across the shards so they were no longer a danger.

We returned.  The mortals were varying degrees of jubilant and satisfied.  For my part, I wondered what possibilities they’d turned aside from by choosing this path - or whether they were really watching the path, or even the ground beneath them.  Actually, I did more than wonder.

There were no deployments scheduled until the morning, and I would have left, but I noticed a conversation taking place.  Kamiko was arguing with Hudson about Lancelot, and Arthur.  This would have intrigued me even under normal circumstances, but it held another resonance for the spirit riding me.  His memories suggested they were talking about mortal devices - created for some unfathomable reason (even to him) to mimic the supposed personalities of only vaguely historical figures - known to him as Arthurian Hubs.

Apparently, he held a ‘top-level access card’ for the devices, which was crucial to any long-term success in working with them.  I watched for a while, and tried to find a way to help, but a combination of drunkenness, stubbornness and the influence of anima-altering properties of the devices present made that impossible without physically attacking Hudson.  I was engaged in a debate with the spirit on the appropriateness of that course when someone else beat me to it.  Relieved of any obligation, I retired for the evening.

As I wandered the camp and talked to people, a woman was brought over to speak to me.  She seemed quite familiar, though she was not a member of the JET.  She was introduced as Mahuika, and then I realized who she was.  The spirit riding me had participated in a very one-sided massacre of her family quite recently - she had been the only survivor.  I asked how she was doing.  I was feeling…concerned for her.  It was uncomfortable, and odd.  I realized that I was not suppressing the spirit as well as I thought, and its emotional resonances were affecting me.   I explained how the spirit was sorry what had happened had been necessary, and she was understanding, saying that it was good that they died in battle or some such.  It was a ridiculous mortal notion, but I found myself nodding and agreeing with her.

I couldn’t let this continue, so I excused myself to those present, and turned my attention inward and opened a dialogue.

“Heed me, spirit - I do not appreciate being manipulated in this fashion.  Must I spend the time and energy to punish or expel you?” I asked under my breath.

I humbly apologize, came the response.  This invasion of you was not by my choice - though I did appreciate the opportunity to interact with those to whom I had become connected.  And I am not deliberately forcing my emotions upon you - it seems to be a side-effect of the general process, which I note is being generated by consensual reality and thus is unlikely to be subject to alteration by you, short of leaving this thread entirely.

“Well.  Is there some way we might minimize these disruptions?”

I can attempt to control my reactions, though it would be easier if the actual components of concern were lessened…<image of Mahuika struggling to survive with no family and no resources>

I sighed.  “If I give her some of my personal wealth, will you swear to do all you can to restrain your emotional resonances?”

That seems equitable, though I cannot guarantee success - there is a difference between preventing an emotion from visibly displaying on one’s face and preventing an emotion from occurring at all.  But I will make my best effort - I so swear, upon whatever honor I have.

I shook hands with myself, then handed Mahuika an energy crystal and explained the bargain I had made and that Henteko wished her to make a better life for herself with it, for which she seemed grateful.  Thankfully, the spirit’s resonance diminished.  After she departed, it was nearing the time of departure for the next deployment, so I located the proper meeting area.

Among others waiting there were Kamiko and Albert, who were having a discussion about kissing inevitably leading to disaster.  I naturally told her that if she wished to test this theory, she could consider me at her service in that regard (there was a minor burst of resonance from the spirit, but it was largely complimentary to my own, so I ignored it).  To my mild surprise, she immediately took me up on the offer - mortal women had certainly become more inviting since last I visited their world!  I closed with her and we shared a pleasant kiss.

I immediately noticed something was amiss…I had felt not the slightest brush of arts against my defenses, and yet I could feel my mind beginning to unravel.  A manic grin appeared on my face as I desperately attempted to contain the urge to begin capering and laughing.  Perhaps I would have, but the spirit riding me gripped my mind fiercely in an apparent effort to confine its wild energy to a narrow focus.  My mood and intentions returned to normal, then intensified, shifting intensity wildly.  My natural curiosity about mortal existence became focused, for no rational reason, on the functioning of their knees.

I began examining the knees of two people close by (I believe they were Nico and Natalie, though their identities were of essentially no relevance to me at the time).  Without regard to the consequences, I whispered a brief curse and brushed the woman’s knee.  Then I put the opposite charm on the man’s.  Nico at least cooperated somewhat by jumping for me - Natalie stubbornly refused to move around.  I was about to attempt to compel her via arts, or attempt to open their knees with my sword when I was distracted by our departure - and when I had passed through the portal, I found my mind immediately settled into its normal course.

I was forced to change my evaluation of Kamiko - the spirit’s memories insisted she was a capable worker of arts, though I had found little animus of talent about her.  But clearly she was a sorceress of impressive puissance and subtlety beyond either of our impressions.  After our group had been invited into the establishment known as the 7th Circle, I sought out the young woman again.  I complimented her by apologizing for underestimating her skill with arts, and watched her carefully, hoping to divine some part of her intentions in bewitching me.

She acted every bit the part of the confused innocent, and betrayed no hint I could see.  I countered graciously that if she did not wish to discuss it, I would of course not press the matter, and withdrew.  I resolved to be very, very cautious in dealing with her until I could discover what game she was playing.  I circulated within the establishment, then took the opportunity to sit near Rosalie - I was quite interested in  discussing the matter of Brigitte with her.

We did so, and I was surprised at how little she knew given how much she had sensed.  It was a reminder that though the JET participants may be much more familiar with fae than the average mortal, they do not share our experience nor often think as we do.  I explained the realities of the situation, and that I had not decided whether to attempt to profit from my discovery by informing one or more of the Courts.  She played very well, saying what she could to imply a desire to avoid that, without actually making a clear statement or request.

We also discussed her newfound inherent nature, and the difficulties and advantages it presented.  I wondered if - were we to have an assignation - my arts were sufficient to provide for her needs while protecting my own energies.  I found her attractive and refreshing - with a very fae attitude towards pleasure without vulgar specifics - and resolved to make an overture at some point if she did not.

Later, she was addressed by an associate of the proprietor regarding a matter of some confidence - curiously, I was asked to hold it confidential but not to leave, so I listened intently.  Apparently Rosalie was involved in an effort to contain a perceived threat from a drug known as “V” - I had read some about it from the JET archives.  He suggested there was a substance, which if it could be duplicated might be a suitable substitute which could be used to under-cut the distribution of V.  From what I gathered, they knew very little about where the drug came from, or who was arranging for it to be peddled.  Once he had left, I discreetly mentioned to Rosalie that I had, on occasion, worked as an intermediary in certain similar matters, and I would be happy to negotiate for such services if she cared to.  She acknowledged the offer but made no explicit commitments, and again I admired her skill.

After we returned, it somehow came up in a discussion that the bewitching laid upon me by Kamiko was, like my spirit-rider, a ‘gift’ of the inherent nature of the local area, and she had not deliberately used it.  This was both relieving and troubling - relieving in that it explained again how my defenses had been so easily bypassed, and troubling in that it appeared traveling with the JET would be more hazardous than I imagined since the nature of the shattered world could make effective preparations impossible or irrelevant.

The next deployment was to the lands of the Unseelie, specifically the residence of Lady Swift, where a gathering in honor of Lord Blackthorne’s ascension was being held.  I put myself on my guard - I had no standing in the Courts and little direct experience in dealing with them, and had made a habit of doing so as little as possible.  I considered making an excuse to leave before we entered, but it was possible some within might hear of it and consider it an insult or a sign of vulnerability which could end up being quite inconvenient indeed.

We entered, and found an intimate gathering.  In addition to Lady Swift (and two servants) and Lord Blackthorne, present were Baron Oakblood, Countess Darkflame and Tisiphone Nyx.  Upon seeing Countess Darkflame, I regretted my earlier decision not to avoid the gathering, but it was far too late now.  I resolved to make myself of as little interest or note as possible.  This was made easier by the fact that Nico threw himself into the Unseelie banter with what might be considered suicidal enthusiasm, particularly for a mortal.

Curiously, it was Oakblood who over-reached, though I did not hear precisely what he said to provoke it, Countess Darkflame ran him through with a blade of unworked Iron.  To his fortune (or perhaps misfortune, it remains to be seen which), he did not expire - he accused her of being under the influence of the Shadow Minister.  The logic was quite convoluted, but apparently he himself had been engaged with the Shadow Minister, who had guaranteed his safety at Court, and thus he presumed she must be also with him (since only he could revoke this protection?).  I waited for the Countess to remove his head, and became quite alarmed when Nico attempted to interfere with this natural course of events, but the room was too crowded for me to effectively explain his error.  But it turned out to perhaps not be an error, as the Countess actually conceded the possibility she was not herself, and it was later determined that she was being poisoned with Iron and this was affecting her emotional control.

Oakblood gave various details - he had heard that the Shadow Minister is not a sidhe or a true fae at all, but a changeling - constructed for the Winter Court for some purpose but now operating (presumably) independently.  Nor did it use arts to accomplish its aims, but instead strange devices of some kind, including one called the “Autumn Device”, which was not encouraging - the mortal equivalent would be the “Existential Wasting Device”.  The servants (Stig and Snig, I believe) claimed to have an uncle who crafted chimera who might know more.

I was briefly made an object of attention when Lady Swift voiced a rumor that the Marquis mac Ronain was the person who had fathered me.  It was the Lady’s opinion (offered privately to me) that it was merely an attempt to embarrass the Marquis, in which case its truth was almost irrelevant.  It seemed unlikely that a secret so long kept would suddenly come out just as I happened to make an appearance in the Courts - eleven millennia is a very, very long game to play, even for a fae.  Whereas if the rumor were taken from whole cloth, my appearance would have simply been a serendipitous detail - Lady Swift may have simply fabricated it on the spot.   I thus discounted its accuracy, but confirmed the name with Lady Swift so I could look into it - even if false, it behooved me to be aware of anything which might threaten me, as this sort of entanglement could easily accomplish.  I wondered if it might in fact be aimed more at me than the Marquis, but could not think of any noble who might have both learned of my activities and been inconvenienced enough by them to want to make trouble for me.

In a development I could scarcely credit, the Countess agreed to return to the JET camp with the group, that efforts might be made to purge the Iron from her system.  She must have been truly shaken by this apparent breach of her personal safety.  Or perhaps by the implications - she might have lost control at any time or with anyone…including the Queen.  It was doubtless these same implications which helped influence Lord Blackthorne to agree to arrange for a meeting with Queen Selene to discuss the issue of the Shadow Minister.