2010-07-27 - The Fabulist: Chapter Three - Tome of Lies
From Four Color Comics MUX
| The Fabulist: Chapter Three - Tome of Lies | |||
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| Summary: A mad swordsman wanders the streets of the French Quarter, slaying innocent animals. But not all is as it seems. In fact, nothing is. | |||
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THE SETUP
At first, people assumed it was a stunt. A figure in ornate quasi-medieval armor walking down the street, clutching a glowing sword. But then he started laying about and smashing things. Then he butchered a blind mans seeing eye dog. By this point, he's killed several animals, but avoiding killing any people. He's getting closer and closer to doing it though, as though he's moving against his own will. Strange stuff is afoot.
AND THEN THIS HAPPENED
It's like a parade. Except horrible. And also not. At the front is an individual in stylized armor, it looks vaugely medieval, but also integrates flowing robes into a rather Arabian seeming affair. He has a helmet complete with face mask, so few other details are really notable about him. The bigger problem is the longsword he has clutched in one hand. Golden, inlaid with silver, and a true cross for a cross-guard... it would appear to be a holy weapon, if it weren't currently trailing unsavory looking red and black energies behind it. The man hesitates, and then smoothly runs through a passing cat... a not unimpressive maneuver in and of itself. Instantly, a black fog rises from the dead animal body, and moves to follow him.
Which is the other part of this little show. Including the new addition, twelve amorpheous beings composed of blackness and shadow are following the swordsman. They don't seem to do anything on their own, but they don't seem the savory type to look at them. By this point, much of the usually busy crowd of this hour has realized trouble is moving in their direction, and a paniced rush towards safety has begun. At this point, there do not appear to be any human casualties. But...
Hearing tell on the radio of a nearby police officer doing crowd control about the 'mad armored figure murdering animals in the midst of rush hour foot traffic in the French Quarter', Sarah Masters excuses herself from the pre-party for a fashion show and ducks out to change. Tigress bounds across the city rapidly. She's not nearly so familiar with New Orleans as she is with other major cities, but she heads for the docks and the coast, remembering that the French Quarter flooded early when the hurricane hit. Once she's close enough, she starts narrowing in, until her acute senses can catch a hint of this unholy procession. Then it's time to get to the business at hand. What is that, anyway? If he's killing animals ... time to give him a target that can take care of herself, instead of innocent pets and helper animals. So Tigress gives forth a mighty roar, and leaps out into the street, making a big orange and black spectacle of herself. Come and get it!
The surface world is... baffling. Complex. Huge. Dynamene's exploration of the coastal cities of the United States has gradually led her down the eastern seaboard, to the southeast and around the Florida Keys, and eventually to the harbour of New Orleans. Getting out of the harbour and into the city proper took some doing. And while she may be getting stares (no closethes to camouflage her against the locals yet), she's managed to walk through the city unmenaced. That is, until she sees the people panicking, rushing her way just as she begins walking through the French Quarter. She frowns and moves as quickly as she can, ducking into a small store that seems to have been abandoned in the mad rush. What is going on?
"God-fucking-damn street signs to /hell/." While Jade's directional sense is usually rather good, time spent on Venus has rendered her usual poise, grace and street-knowledge a little rusty, at least where New Orleans is concerned. And if there were ever a place with twisty, windy streets, the French Quarter'd be it. She crouches down to rest a hand on cobblestone streets, sending her senses out through her element. "Okay. Water /that/ way. Market-thing /that/ way. People running in panic /that/ wa-- oh hey." She straightens up and cracks her knuckles, cutting through alleyways towards the chaos with a certain amount of glee. "Magic /armor/!" ... oh dear.
Why? Why is Keisha in New Orleans? It- well, best not to think about the details too heavily, but it included 'ongoing fight on the roof of a bus down the interstate' and sort of spiraled out of control from there. Not that she couldn't handle mobsters or anything, really, but once she was most of the way there it was just easier to head down to the coast and get a proper flight back to Vegas. Easy! ... Except for the fact the bus drives down the street, right past that little sight... picking up speed, yes, as Kismet, despite her best wisdom, decides this is a good place to hop off. "Thanks for the lift!" Snatching an overhead traffic signal, then dropping to the street below. "Okay, now, this can't be good," she remarks. Pistol drawn, ammo checked... low. Great. Granted, it's also right after this that the heroine notices who she actually landed next to, peeking over and down at Jade. "Oh. Uh, hey. ... Not friends of yours I take it?"
Ewan looks up from his sandwich, a piece of turkey tumbling away from his lips as the procession comes into view. He swallows and frowns and rewraps his dinner, pocketing the deliciousness and picking up his staff. "Well then," He observes, striding into the path of the armoured whatevermacallit and spreading his arms, "Look, bear with me here," He asides to the assembled heroes, "but: You shall not pass!"
Sometimes a wizard just can't help himself.
Well if the heroes expect a fight to break out... it dosen't look like the troublemaker is going to be nice enough to start it for them. The armored man pauses, his helmet swiveling towards Tigress, regarding her perhaps for a moment... although its impossible to see his eyes through the slits of his visor. His arm trembles.... tensing... as the point of his sword starts to rise... and then /steam/ rises from where his hand grips the sword, the scent of burning flesh on the air. He trembles, pivots, and evicerates a totally inoffensive pigeon. God /damn/ he's fast and accurate when he chooses to strike. A thirteenth shadowy entity joins the other twelve.
As for the entities themselves, they remain passive, just floating along in his wake....
Recognizing none of those who have appeared, save the presence of Jade nearby, Tigress is a bit baffled and frustrated that her display does not garner the desired response. The large bipedal feline leaps forward, stopping right in front of the armored figure as if to speak, growlingly. Yet before she can manage, she collapses with a groan, her body flailing spastically, whimpers of agony escaping her maw. Whoops.
Nereid pokes her head out the door, staring at the assembly. She frowns and looks back in on the shop she's stuck herself into - a gift shop of some kind from the looks of things. A gallon-sized fishbowl holds souvenir seashells. Why humans would want these, she's not sure, but she knows why she might want them; she scoops up a handful and heads back into the open air. People running in the direction opposite this metal-figured. People confronting it. They must be protectors of this city of some sort, right?
"Hardly. My friends tend to be chucking elements around," is Jade's amused response to Keisha's landing, the earth-mage crouching once more, head bowed, to read the situation again before moving. "And no Ji around to wave fire-whips," she mutters to Ewan's comment. Evidently, yes, she's read or listened to Lord of the Rings.
It's debatable as to whether pigeons are inoffensive, but the cats and dogs left behind? /That/ annoys Jade. She straightens up, brow furrowed as Tigress makes her leap--
"I want to see that sword," she says suddenly, sliding one bare foot forward and then back-- and succeeding only in yanking the sword and its bearer a stumbling step towards her. "The hell? It's /welded/ to his damn gauntlet."
"Sorry. That magic stuff isn't my specialty you know?", Kismet remarks casually to Jade. Also, no comment to Ewan. Still... as the mysterious stranger attacks nearby fowl, she almost reflexively raises her pistol, leveling it at the dark figure. Not the shadey things though, perhaps unwisely. "Hey, hey! Lower the sword and settle down some. You do speak english, yeah? So... don't want a big firefight out here, got it?" Not that she's holding her breath for a response, but.
Ewan frowns, when he's ignored and then shrugs and points his staff at the animal-cleaving armor, a brief word of power and a sudden explosion of thick red ribbon coalesce in the air a foot or so away from the tip of his weapon. They fly across the distance, seeking limbs but only manage to drape the armor in crimson finery as they fall limp. "Well, dammit."
A storm of hideous motion follows Ewans attack. The Neverwere's, all thirteen figures of blackness, all freeze as a magical effect targets the Sword Saint. What follows is... excessive. The thirteen shades float upwards a bit, and all of them direct blasts of black energy at the mage. Astonishingly, he survives. So good for him. Only three blasts make contact with them, and of them, only one manages to penetrate his magical defenses... rattling the mage about considerably. But his luck cannot hold long against such a barrage....
The figure in armor meanwhile, arm wresting his sword briefly away from Jade's manipulation, whirls and watches the Neverwere's suddenly take action. His free hand, the one not weilding the sword, is free to reach into a pocket and withdraw what appears to be a mystical talisman in the shape of a sword. He hurls the object at the black clouds... a magical abjurement! Thirteen glowing translucent swords appear in the air, and strike down at the shadowy figures... only five of the Neverwere's manage to dodge the blades. Those that fail, are transfixed to the ground, and both mystical swords and shadowy figures disappear in a flash of light! Only five of the Neverwere's yet remain...
But there is a price to be paid for splitting his attention. Focusing on casting a magical charm means he isn't focusing on controlling his arm... he skips forward, aiming a thrust of his wicked blade directly at Jade! Fortunately... despite being forced to use his skill, he misses her entirely.
Wracked with pain, confused and desperate, instinct forces Tigress to twitch and flop herself over onto all fours, crawling away back the way she came when she leapt forward, struggling blindly to escape whatever it is that is causing her such agony and weakness. She's of no help to anyone right now, and an easy target.
Ewan is forced to withdraw, amidst injury and distraction.
The Atlantean darts forward. It is the fallen feline that spurs her into action, as the (to her, anyhow) unusual creature seems defenseless. As she moves, the shells in her hands are shaped slowly, lengthening and fusing into something resembling a sword. She puts herself between Tigress and the knight. "Stay behind me," she advises the feline. Her voice is oddly-accented; English is definitely not her first language. And then... there's that smell. Brine and fish. Pleasant, isn't it?
"Not really mine, either." This might be surprising, given Jade's admission to being a mage of some stripe or another -- but perhaps that's just a catch-all phrase that doesn't translate well. She studies the situation for a moment longer, reading the vibrations through the ground and the jerky reactions, and coming to a swift conclusion. "He's not wielding it. It's wielding /him/." Her first instinct is to shelter Tigress, but another's already doing that. So--
She moves more swiftly than one might expect, the cobblestones themselves carrying her steps longer than they ought as her metal bracers suddenly melt down and form a shell around one small fist. She strikes, not the Sword Saint, but the gauntlet with stunning force.
The gauntlet shatters, and the sword clatters to the ground. The Sword Saint's hand is a blackened ruin. It's amazing he is functional. He skips back a few paces, and then /screams/, as he had been unable to do. "The sword! Destroy it! It is fouled! Tainted! Blasphemed!" Between pain and shock, he is unable to do anything else then make that raspy, pained utterance...
"Okay, I-," Kismet exclaims as... well, look at all that happening. "Okay! Right. Makes sense! Evil sword," she chirps at the explanation, pistol readied as she changes her targets from the man, to the spirits, to the man's now-disarmed sword. Fortunately, she adjusts quickly. "And hey, you do speak english! Handy." Not that there's time for random banter... just a burst of shots, quite carefully aimed. It's not the best target; something small and light is going to clatter around. On the other hand, evil and enchanted or not, good old armor piercing bullets do a noticeable number on it regardless. Luckily she had those, huh?
The black shadowy creatures, the Neverwere's, react with aggression to the sword being at threat. And without the Sword Saint surpressing the blade any longer, they are able to act at full power. Gouts of black energy, darkness, entropy, despair, barrage Kismet and Jade... managing to knock them both back on their heels, breaking their offensive momentum.
The Sword Saint shakes his head, forcing himself to focus despite his maimed hand. "Without a blade I have no power to affect them... and my charms are exhausted..." He hisses, and then pivots, running across the street, diving and rolling into a nearby store-front. A cowardly escape?
If she were not nauseous and wracked with pain, Tigress might find the scents of brine and fish interesting, but instead she merely struggles not to hurl up whatever remains in her stomach as she crawls, weakly, away from the center of her agony. If only she knew what was causing this! But all she can do is crawl weakly away. Good thing the rest of the motley group of heroic folk seem to have matters in hand without her.
Keeping herself between Tigress and the knight, then then the Neverweres, Nereid backs up slowly - mostly to keep gerself as close to Tigress as possible. "This is harder if you move. Hold still," she advises. "I will help you once it is safe." She holds out her hands, as though she's ready to your classic Street Fighter-style fireball attack... but one hand pulls back and the other points forward. Without warning a very large halibut appears out of nowhere, leaping above the Atlantean's shoulder, crashing into one of the Neverweres, taking it to the ground.... and then the fish promptly vanishes.
Halibuts raining down, shadow-creatures creating painful blanks in her mental capability-- Jade falls to one knee. By coincidence, or sheer luck, however, a woman's dropped shopping bag is oozing some noxious perfume: she inhales, sneezes vehemently, and her mind clears.
"Ugh. I've smelled some nasty shit in my life, but /that/ nearly tops 'em all." The Sword-Saint's move towards the shop is ignored in favour of his suggestion. The sword is metal. The sword is resting upon /Jade's/ domain. And so, with a vicious twist of her hand, she undoes the alloy that should not exist.
And the alloy... is forcibly unmade. This causes the magical properties of the cursed sword to break. There is a flash of light, and the sword is gone... even its component parts now missing. But something else is now unmasked. It is tall, with a body seemingly composed of whirling black cloth. Atop it, is a white featureless face-mask. With all deceptions destroyed, the Visage stands revealed...
"Geeez," Kismet whines a moment, covering her face... she hates being put on the defensive like that, especially as she's sent reeling! ... Maybe. She sort of stumbles a moment, rolls... but huh, go figure, she's better off than someone might've guessed at a glance. Lucky! Pistol raised, and two shots fired... that hit none of the enemies! But that's okay, she was aiming for the propane tank a little beyond. One to pierce it, one to spark the stuff.
Kismetaboom! Man that's bright isn't it?
Effective too, from the looks of things; the wash of light and heat engulfs the dark and spectre-y things; once everyone's eyes adjust, they seem to have been blasted to kingdom come. "Hah! Bet you didn't see that coming."
The figure of whirling black cloth begins to speak... "So it was that the entities fiction stood revealed. It's form exposed for all to say. Despite all its best efforts to repurpose the Sword Saints twisted ritual towards an honorable goal... destroying all creation... the Visage found itself at mortal risk from its enemies. Yet still there was hope... perhaps... they would understand. They would chose to protect the destruction of all things, instead of cruely defending the shrieking horror of nightmarish /life/!"
Too Kismet, the speech is a jangling, discordant voice. Painful to listen too. Nonsensical in fact. Nereid actually finds herself listening for a moment, befre tearing away in mental revulsion. Jade and Tigress fall further into the trap then the others. They hear a smooth, elegant voice, and everything he says sounds perfectly resonable... until they stop to think about it. While they are able to remind themselves what is right and what is wrong... the mental strain is significant.
Sword Saint misses the speech, and good for him, because he's already had to struggle against significant influence. He manages to emerge back onto the field of battle, holding a lead pipe in his good left hand. He's an excellent swordsman, but unfortunately, he is not left handed. Nor is he holding a sword. But he readies it all the same. "What on earth..." He whispers in horror... not having been present to see the Visage escape from the blade.
Ensnared, confused, weakened, Tigress is barely able to wrench her mind away from the course of darkness laid out so seductively by the Visage. Bedazzled and confused, she knows not what to do. She has no ability to strike such a non-corporeal figure, unfortunately. She rolls over enough to face the shadow beyond the mermaid-like woman with the cockleshell sword, but that's about it.
Managing to shake off the disgusting words that come from the Visage, Nereid points her cockleshell sword at the being before letting loose with a war cry in some venerable language that has not seen continuous use on the surface world in centuries. She hurls herself at the being, slashing repeatedly with the sword... only to catch cloth.
The doubt is hard to shake, but it rattles the usually-grounded earth-mage long enough to make her try something she'd /never/ normally do, with her rooted style of fighting: she draws up several of the cobblestones with a stomp that leaves her stance more open than it ought, and then sweep a high kick to send them flying at the figure. The stones catch cloth, but no more than that.
"-Nrgh!", Kismet winces as the... thing speaks. These sorts of encounters, supernatural horrors, are well outside her areas of expertise. But she isn't about to stop it even so. "Great. Any of you know how to deal with evil magic or something? I'm kinda short on crosses and all!" Not to mention she's short on /ammo/ too, having been in a firefight before she even got here. Running across the pavement, she ejects her empty magazine and quickly slots in a new one, as she runs low. Armor piercing, gone. Incendiary, used the last shot on the propone. Silver (in case of werewolves)? ... Well, she doesn't want to accidentally hit Tigress there, but /that/ is so not an issue with her.
"Bang!", exclaims Kismet as she fires off a burst, bullets slamming into the shrouded figure. She's aiming for non-lethal spots, even if she's using live ammo... who knows what sort of monstery is under that thing you know? Looks like it /hurt/ despite it, a followup grazing across the figure's temple. "I've had it up to here with crazy cultists or whatever. Can't you just join Scientology like a normal nut?"
The Visage has been rocked back by the barrage of gunfire from the bullet-slinging Kismet. It's all it... he?... he can do to reorient himself and stand up straight again. The important thing is that his monologue has been interrupted, keeping him from, for the moment, making the damage done worse.
The Sword Saint dodges forward without hesitating, taking advantage of Kismet's distraction to launch an offensive barrage... with his pipe. In his off hand. It dosen't go so well. His strikes fail to connect in a meaningful fashion.
The Atlantean has pulled away from the Visage by the time Kismet makes her attack. As the being rights itself, Nereid reaches behind her with her non-sword hand. In this free hand appears a starfish, which she throws at the being... and misses her mark by a mile. Damn.
For all of Kismet's worry... the fact the enemy could be /hit/ is a great reassurance. If something can be shot, she can deal with it somehow... ephemeral spirits and demons and whatnot are another matter, of course. Almost out of ammunition now, Kismet ducks low, raising her pistol and steadying her aim - leaving herself open, yes, but trusting in fate to protect her chances. "Dunno who or what you are... but we've had just about enough. And I'm done playing nice!"
She was nice before? Well, not really... but her aim is a bit more /decisive/ now regardless. Four shots, rapid, aimed at the knees and shoulders, and all striking home. A normal person would be unable to stand or move after that; she's trusting this villain to be a bit more durable. But not durable enough.
The Visage is sent flying, and long before it makes impact, it has already begun to... dissolve? The black fabric that enswaths its body begins to rapidly tatter and shred, and by the time it impacts the ground, cracks are racing across its white mask. Within seconds, it is no longer a Visage at all. The figure beneath is revealed... it is withered, twisted, and worst of all it has no eyes, just ragged holes in its skull. But it is still recognizable as what it used to be. A Soractid, a grey Alien?!
It whispers, almost inaudibly... in its last moment... "Hope always ends..." Before it falls and begins to rapidly decompose. It is naught but grey sand in mere minutes...
Gasping, Tigress inches backward until finally the wracking pain she has endured subsides, leaving behind only the cold ache in its wake. Trembling, she rises to her feet, wobbly despite her normal grace and aplomb, and looks around, ears drooping. Some heroine she turned out to be, today. "I don't really know what caused that ..." she murmurs, a rumbling tone in her voice. But as the dark shade is vanquished, she sees little here she can do to be useful. The feline figure soon departs, growing quite tiny to escape notice, a mere tiny kitten scampering about on its way back uptown to a certain hotel. Such is life.
Nereid keeps her makeshift drawn as she eyes the dissolved being. Naught but sand now, huh? She steps forward, using her cockleshell weapon to poke at the pile of sand, unsure. Her experience with magic is sadly lacking, with her only lessons referring to events and incidents long past, outside the view of the mortal men of the surface. "What was that thing?"
The man who was to be called the Sword Saint just stares at the pile of sand... letting his lead pipe clatter to the ground from numbed fingers. He shifts his gaze over to his other, ruined hand, and shakes his head. "I... I do not understand. How could such a thing have happened?" He seems as short on answers as everybody else. Of course, thats missing the correct questions...
Kismet ... exhales slowly, and slumps to the ground. Even if she got lucky in avoiding worse harm, she still got beaten up there some! A shame her powers aren't more visible, too; a mundane woman armed with a pistol throwing themselves against /evil magic aliens/ would seem slightly less insane if so. A curious glance is turned towards Nereid - "Er, heya?" - even as Kismet's eyes remain hidden behind her goggles. "And you alright there? I mean, I don't know any exorcists, but this seems about on par with my usual experience with magic stuff. Beat out the zombie-infested nightclub, though."
The latter question directed to the previously-possessed man, of course.
The man seems almost numb. "In every generation... there is to be a Saint of Swords, who commands by the grace of god the magic of swords in a rightous crusade..." He trails off, looking simply horrified. "I just don't understand. I performed the Ritual flawlessly, I said the correct words, sang the correct songs, forged the blade in the proper manner.... but it was not holy! It was... it was an instrument of killing. A tool... I..." He looks down at his ruined sword hand, then over at where the sword once lay. It would seem his nascent heroic career is at an abrupt end.
Jade, about to take another swing at the thing, relaxes as it shifts into sand, though she gives even /that/ a suspicious nudge via the cobblestones beneath them. "Weird skeletal structure," she notes absently, then turns her head towards the Saint of Swords. "Crusades tend to be righteous only from certain points of view," she notes dryly. "It's entirely possible, 'far as I can tell, that you wound up attracting the wrong spirit of vengeance and power to stuff in your blade. I /am/ pretty interested in how you managed to get that alloy to work. Didn't think anyone outside, well, /me/ could mess with that." She doesn't seem to recognize the heroic career as over -- but then, why would she?
The woman in the fishscale-like outfit - Nereid - lifts her gaze towards Kismet, her eyebrows raising. She assumes it's a greeting. "Hello," she replies simply, nodding her head. She examines the dust as best she can - but she's no Magister of Atlantis, and has no idea what she'd even do from here. Then the man speaks, and she turns to regard the Visage's victim, listening. "My limited experience with magic tells me the problem may be on the inside." As her tutors would no doubt insist on, if one isn't pure, then the intentions don't matter.
"Maybe something else messed with it? I'm not expert, but maybe it's not impossible to influence. Or texts were misleading or... something, right?", Kismet wonders, arms crossed. As Nereid addresses her, the dark-skinned woman grins and straightens up a bit. "Seem like an out of towner yourself, yeah?" And to Jade, "Dunno what the heck it was, but it wasn't human. Almost like an alien or something, all grey and withered." She'll leave out the 'eyes carved out' bit. Eew.
The man just shakes his head solemnly. "You may be right... clearly the flaw must have laid in myself. There have been dozens of Saints of Swords. Using the same ritual to bond the impossible metal Orichalcum into a flawless blade. If I performed the ritual properly, and I'm sure I did... what else could it have been?" He looks down again at his ruined right hand... and shakes his head. "I must seek... a priest. I must begin atonement. Clearly I have failed my god. Failed myself."
"If by 'atonement' you mean 'figuring out why the hell you wound up with a Soractid skeleton in your sword,' you're on the right track," Jade agrees, voice dry. "Not that I'm an expert on magical rituals, since most of 'em require /writing/, but wailing to a priest that you're not worthy isn't exactly going to answer /those/ questions." Pause. "Yeah, what the girl with the guns there said. Flaw's not in you. Flaw's in something nasty going down and your ritual probably being an attractant, /or/ the components of the ritual being flawed somehow. The metal seemed sound, if impossible."
"I am not from here," Nereid agrees with a nod that is directed at Kismet. Her knowledge of magic lacking, she doesn't interrupt Jade's explanation. She has no idea what a Soractid is. Obviously Jade has some idea or would not have brought it up. If her tutors have taught her anything, it is to keep expanding her knowledge base. "What is a sor-ack-tid?"
Kismet listens to Jade's explanation! "See? Lucky there's a bunch of us around. Someone's gotta be a specialist even in this weird stuff." A brief pause. "Uh, no offense you two," to Jade and the swordsman. And to Nereid, "Alien. I think? But who ever heard of cursed alien bones."
The man looks back, hesitating. "If what you say is true... if the ritual was somehow fouled... then that means either someone sold me false components, or somehow the ritual was changed after the last time it was performed." His hand drops down to the pouch at his side. "It was all I could do to turn the blade away from humans and towards animals... it was only going to be a matter of time before I lost control entirely." He pauses, and then strides forward. "Without my proper enchanted blade, I cannot be the Saint of Swords. But... I am Germaine St. George. If there is any way that I can help unravel what was done here, you have my aid."
"I'm not a specialist, so no offense taken. Only reason I know anything about this sort of shit's 'cause it has to do with metal and swords and ... eh. M'family's ... traditional." It's not a satisfactory explanation in the least, but Jade's going to leave it right there. "So learn to channel the power through something else," she notes to Germaine St. George. "You seemed pretty ready to whack things with a lead pipe. I approve. I'm Faultless." Pause. "I am also really not drunk enough for that to be hilarious, so try 'Jade'." She doesn't glance back to Nereid or Kismet, but her attention shifts there. "Violet enough death? I don't think it matters what you are, if you can think. But that's going into the whole matter of souls and blah blah blah." She makes a talky-motion with her hand.
'Alien'? Nereid tilts her head. She remembers checking that word out, once. She the dictionary linked it to a word she understood much better - allos. 'Another'. 'Different'. Trying to understand the concept of other worlds beyond this one took a little doing. She probably wouldn't have encountered the concept had she not come across the word alien in her studies. "I only offer an explanation from what I was told," she says seriously, frowning. "If I'm wrong, so be it."
Kismet raises her hand almost casually, as she chimes, "Kismet! I don't, uh, usually go shooting at strange demon mind controlly things, but guess I'm glad I was in town regardless. Turned out handy. You'd be surprised how many villains aren't actually bulletproof."
Germain is left with many things to think about... as he simply nods to Jade, kind of an amusingly useless response actually.
In the final analysis, the rampage was stopped. there were no human fatalities. The bizzare forces at work were banished. If the career of a potential hero was delayed, well, perhaps there will be a Saint of Swords yet. Who can say?
Of course there are questions. What on earth was that entity? What was it doing /inside/ a magic sword where it had no buisiness? And why was it an alien of all things? More questions then answers perhaps. But at least utter disaster was averted, before that cursed sword turned towards human flesh.
END OF CHAPTER THREE: THE FABULIST - TOME OF LIES
