Seeker

[Michael Vellas]

As he recalled, book stores were meant to be quiet places. Today seemed to be full of surprises.

He could not help but overhear the conversations being held, and they offered him much information. The first voice spoke and Michael listened to the unlikely story while he flipped through several pages before closing the first book to open the next, Apollodorus' Library and Hyginus' Fabluae.

The man took a class on comparative mythology with no knowledge of the oroboros? His mispronunciation only served to deepen the scepticism. The tale of his wife also rang false. It was a strange place to search for information on a simple tattoo, the internet would have sufficed for both casual interests.

It seemed the man was an honest one. His lies were almost as bad as Michael's - at least those told without the bubble of calm that came with the power. So, he was searching for the Atharim, and had enough sense or knowledge to lay low. Michael wished him well and hoped no harm came to him because of it.

The second man was not so cautious, his honesty dangerous.

Aria

Wanting to find her itself was harmless enough. He guessed Atharim interacted with people just as any other did, but his interest in the oroboros was telling.

He shook himself mentally. Why was he analysing the conversation of strangers like a battlefield? It seemed the interest in the Atharim had piqued his curiosity.

Soon. Only a little longer and I will be able to help.

Forcing the conversations from his mind, Michael read the opening lines of Apollodorus:

By gathering the coils of time from my learning,
come to know the myths of ancient times.
Look not into the pages of Homer or of elegy,
nor the tragic Muse or the lyric,
nor seek clamorous verse of Cyclic poets. Look into me
and you will find in me all the cosmos holds.

A preface forgotten to modern translations, surviving only from Photios, 9th Century patriarch of Constantinople, who reported that it appeared as a preface to the copy he read.

Very interesting. He had not seen this mentioned before about Apollodorus' Library, his only experience being brief forays into specific segments of the work online. Could this mean something? He would have to see.

All the while Michael did not notice the photo's being taken of him or the others.

[Connor Kent]

Connor went back to the stacks and started looking for one or two books that matched what the keep said. He saw one, Myths and Legends of Japan and pulled it out, flipping to the table of contents. "Yeh Kung-tzu and the True Dragon." There it was again. A dragon. And in another culture not related to Proto-Indo European. It went under his arm along with Watkin's book. He also saw Aboriginal Mythology: An Encyclopedia of Myth and Legend. And there was a section of Julunggul too. It was enough, he figured.

He saw a seat, took it and started leafing through the Japanese book first. As he flipped pages, he looked up. The second man who'd come in was wandering the stacks, touching different books as if they were old friends. He certainly seemed to be someone who'd wander into a place like this. Maybe he had over reacted.

He could hear the other man, though, asking the keep about someone. Not quietly either. He heard the name Aria and his heart jumped. He didn't turn around to look at the man again. Definitely didn't want to draw his attention. Maybe his instincts were right. That is, if the man meant the Aria he knew. It seemed like a unique name- he'd only heard it as a name the one time- but there had to be other Arias out there. Then again, the way things had been going since he got to Moscow, it was unlikely. More than ever, he needed to stay under the radar here. And that meant pretending he was just there to read.

He looked back at the book, now open to "Yeh Kung-tzu and the True Dragon" and began to read the story.

[Alex]

Giordano left knowing that all four of the men knew the girl he sought. But he didn't get any indication they knew where she was any more than the shop keep. This girl was getting around. It made him wonder exactly why they knew her. Where they marks? Friends? The scholarly gentleman didn't look like he had many friends himself, perhaps they were all Atharim.

But really it didn't matter. He had just narrowed his search by an extraordinary amount. The door bell chimed as he opened it and left into the cold winter air. The next shop hopefully would be promising. But Giordano wouldn't count on it.




Edited by Alex, Jul 25 2014, 03:33 PM.

[Armande]

The two younger men returned to their respective business. The one seated at the table was absorbed in his studies, perhaps too absorbed. At the very least, he should expect a quieter atmosphere. That he did not glare at the American suggested he was either deaf or he was trying overly hard to appear nonchalant. Armande doubted his sense of hearing was the issue. Meanwhile, the American fell into his own interests and soon settled in his own seat.

Armande sighed and retrieved his Wallet. His seemingly old eyes tilted the screen so that he might see it better. What they observed surprised him very little. Two of the men in his company were known to the Atharim. The Italian gentleman was one of them.

Giordano was the target of two Atharim missions in the past: assassinations that obviously failed for one reason or another. The first took place decades ago, the second almost twenty years later. This monster that could delve into the minds of others and twist their emotions to his own whims apparently sought his own kind. Aria was one herself by her own admission.

Armande blacked out the Wallet and returned it to his pocket about the time Giordano departed. The bell dinged, a rush of cold air licked the back of his neck, and Armande contemplated following. Instead, he remained in the Repository and even unbuttoned the top of his coat like he might stay a while. If this man had business with Aria, then Armande would deal with them later. If he was here to kill her, and she couldn't defend against herself, she was a poor Atharim. Armande doubted Giordano would be living much longer.

There were few seats remaining open, but Armande pulled a book from the shelf and joined the two younger men. He sat at ease, relaxed, with one leg crossed over the other and one hand balancing the book while the other flipped the pages idly.

When he finally spoke, he had a quiet, but firm voice like a suit of armor dressed with a velvet cape. His eyes peered casually over the top of the book until they accidentally landed upon the American's. To fill the awkward silence, Armande asked a casual question. "Comparative mythology? Would that be Professor Olmert's course in the Faculty of Classics?" There were few institutions in Moscow prestigious enough to offer such a course but Moscow State University was one of them. Daved Olmert, the man whom Armande referenced, was indeed a professor, but not of the Classics, and certainly not at MSU. He died thirty years ago in Israel, but Armande doubted the American would possibly know that.

[Connor Kent]

"Comparative mythology? Would that be Professor Olmert's course in the Faculty of Classics?"

The question jerked Connor out of his reading. Julunggul was interesting. Not what he sought but still, interesting; The search had been a dead end. But enough paranoia remained. He wasn't going to cop to anything sustantiable. "Olmert? Not sure about that. It's only been a month- you know. Second semester classes and all."
He smiled and tugged at his coat. "Not like I'm I really care about the grade or kissing up to the teacher."
He looked at the man. Maybe 10 years older than him. "You know how it is. A grade t from a teacher younger than you doesn't exactly matter much. Especially in an elective.
" He snorted in emphasis. "That might be the name on the book though. Good class."
He thanked god he'd flipped through Ayden's catalog- thanked god she'd even decided to go back to school. "Think the name is Sikorsky."
he grinned conspiratorially. "Course if I'm wrong, don't tell him."


Connor put the book down. The man did seem interested in books. He'd seen the way the guy had fingered the others. It was the right word and he smiled on the inside. Course he was 12 on the inside as well. "You study mythology?"
He sort of half smiled. So many directions to go. "Any Jungian truths you've found?"



Edited by Connor Kent, Jul 28 2014, 01:10 AM.

[Michael Vellas]

Another mythology buff.

Michael was far from amused at the incredibly contrived scenario. Had the stakes not been so high, he would have walked out and returned home. Instead, his day off was again disrupted by the Atharim. Even when they weren't around they still managed to pervade his life, if only by proxy.

He should have left, but he had already let one man go today - perhaps to his death - he would not leave another two. The thought irked him. It would have been far more prudent to walk away. It seemed that Tony had influenced him more than he had thought.

That did not mean he was going to wait forever though. He had already been distracted long enough.

As the American man finished his lie, Michael seized the power. He held only a small amount, spinning a ward that split into two, snaking it's way around both the American's and the older man's head.

The curiosity on his face was genuine, if not for the reasons they might have thought if they looked in his direction. Now, to see who reacted.

[Armande]

Armande's simple question was returned with an elaborate answer. As the stranger in question was American, Armande did not dismiss the possibility that such was his habit, but more keenly, the Regus's suspicions remained.

Despite the title, if the American had glimpsed it, the book beneath Armande's scrutiny was titled the Great Red Dragon by an Englishman named Anthony Gavin. Its popularity was consistent throughout the centuries following the English split from the Holy Church. This particular copy originated from the nineteenth century, although by the time the book in his hands was printed, the work had existed well over a hundred years.

He did not look up to meet the man eye-to-eye. Rather, he continued to browse the book in his palms. He did pause on a page with a drawing of an execution from the age of the Inquisition.

"Legends and tales by which to conceal moral lessons that change with the centuries; I have no interest in mythology. The Word of God is the only caste by which humanity should glean its self-perception."

Finally, he lowered the book, but the panel-illustration of torture remained clear for his companions to see. A warning.

"I have devoted my life to the causes of the Church. Carl Jung should have done the same. Pride is the greatest of all sins." Armande's suggestion lacked the rancor of judgement.

The Vatican Historical Society was a small and easily-dismissed group devoted to the preservation of history and study of the Arcane. It was led by a man who was not himself a priest, but a wielder of Catholic authority none the less. Rightly so, their society was headquartered in Vatican City, but those few who took interest in the dynamics of the Society assumed their affiliations in Moscow were political in nature. The Catholic church lost a great deal of influence as the CCD grew stronger. Their reach to their eastern orthodox brethren was natural.

And it seemed Connor and Michael met the very man whose mind possessed every secret the Catholic Church harbored.

Armande left the book open to the page of the illustration and pushed from his chair. He turned before leaving. "A word of advice: devote yourself to studies other than folklore," he said to Connor but not without glimpsing the face of a god as he made to depart. "Do not poke the darkness. Something might come for you."




<small>((OOC: I left it open at the end in case Michael did follow through on channeling. Clearly Armande is unaware of it happening around him.)) </small>

[Michael Vellas]

"Do not poke the darkness. Something might come for you."

Ahh...

He understood now why his web had not elicited a reaction from the old man. He was Atharim, it seemed. Perhaps his words could be taken as a friendly warning, but his tone and the pointed illustration of an Inquisitorial execution put any doubt out of his mind. It was a threat.

Michael was slightly surprised that the American did not react to his web either. Even worse, the man might not know what he was getting himself into. Nor did he have the power of a so-called God to defend himself against trained killers.

He held onto the power, but did nothing as he watched the older man depart. It seemed he was focused on the American, and he would not start a fight if the Atharim had no intention of doing so.

Instead, he spoke in a quiet voice before the American could react. His words were hidden steel. "Do nothing."



Without moving, Michael continued after a pause. "That man is dangerous. He would not hesitate to kill you."
Michael knew if a man was willing to kill if he knew nothing else. Whoever the Atharim was, he was more than capable. "I suggest you do what he says if you want to live a long life. He's not looking for someone like you, be glad for it."

[Connor Kent]

"Do not poke the darkness. Something might come for you."

The man had dropped his book earlier and there was an image of torture. Connor thought it looked like it was from the Inquisition. Between that, what he carried in his pocket, his own paranoia and the man's comment, Connor had a strong suspicion the man was Atharim.

Fear and anger warred inside him. The man looked and moved dangerously. He was definitely a deadly man. And yet...this man was a member of the group that would have put down his son without a second thought- perhaps him and Jamie too. Atharim. They sat in judgement over humanity and answered to no one. The anger pulsed. Just like "The Holy Inquisition". Contempt roiled in his stomach. Just as blind and stupid.

The man spoke of the Word of God. What a joke. That very word condemned him and his group. He was sure there was some sophistry- some philosophy or twisted permutations of logic- that allowed the man to reconcile the two in his mind. Cognitive dissonance. But it all came down to this one simple truth. The man claimed to believe in and condescendingly admonished strangers to devote their lives to divine truths. And yet he was part of an organization that lived the opposite of that standard. There's a word for that.

His mind flashed to Aria and that night. What gives you the right? he'd asked her, boiling in rage. And she'd answered, We don't have that right. She had been Atharim but seemed to live by her own moral compass. She had shown compassion and humanity. He could only judge by his own standards of right and wrong. And she had been good. She fought and killed creatures that needed killing, that threatened humanity. And if the Atharim were just about that, he'd have no problem with them. But he remembered what Alex had told him, remembered what Aria had done to him later, what she had become. Did the Atharim do that to her? Had they discovered her unorthodoxy and somehow changed her, purged it from her? Was this man what Atharim truly were?

If he's Atharim, he amended his thoughts. He breathed. He had Atharim on the brain. That file was weighing him down. He had no idea who the man was. You could be dangerous and not be Atharim. And he had to be honest. If the man was Atharim, why the warning? Why not simply act? Had it been merely a random statement from a man who felt it incumbent on him to share his beliefs with others? There were no shortages of those in the world. He knew that all too well. All too well, he thought sheepishly, think back to his youth.

He shook his head to dispel the confusion in his mind. He realized that the young man at the table had said something, told him to be silent. Connor smiled slightly. Well at least that wasn't his imagination. The guy had been dangerous.

Indeed, the young man seemed keyed up and his words only heightened the sense of threat from the man. Connor turned his head to see where the guy had gone to. He'd been too lost in thought to remember if he'd heard the door. The anger and fear were still there, but confusion had joined too.

Life had gotten so complicated. Connor just nodded at the man's words and then looked at him. There was something familiar about the guy. His accent said Australia but Connor was sure he'd have remembered meeting someone with one. It wasn't exactly a common occurrence for him. So why did this young guy seem vaguely familiar. He watched the kid for a moment. Maybe 2 years older than Hayden had been. It was hard not to think of him as one. Gettin old I guess. But his demeanor was anything but kid like. There was a coldness and authority he'd not expect in someone so young. Usually that came from age and experience.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"



Edited by Connor Kent, Jul 31 2014, 09:58 AM.

[Alex]

Giordano strolled shop by shop until he found himself at the Delicate Scroll. There were only a few more shops before the Bacarrat Mansion. A place worth a visit if he were interested in Moscow's moguls. But he was not. He was here for one purpose and one alone, and that was to deal with the creature he had spawned. He spat at the thought, one like him, being one of them - a true abomination. To think what this girl had done. Who she killed? Knowing she was different.

Giordano knew he was guilty of many things, but he did not kill. Yet now, he was on the verge of doing just that. How such a small thing could fester until it became anger and hatred. He hadn't truly hated Autunna Luna. There was some feeling. But the Atharim, them he hated. They had killed his daughter. And he intended to make them pay for that loss.

Giordano took hold of his anger and stamped it away for later use. He smiled, pulled open the door and listened to the bell jingle as he did. The man at the counter was dusting off the shelves behind him. He looked sagely, and decrepit, how he managed to keep the store open was truly beyond him.

The man turned around with a smile, Giordano nearly expected a toothless grin, but he did not have one. "How can I help you?

Giordano placed the picture on the counter. "You seen this girl? Her name is Aria."

The shop keep looked down at the picture then back up to Giordano, questions and fear, Giordano could feel the fear, it bit into his psyche like, he nearly closed his eyes to feed on it, to make him pay for knowing this girl, because he did know her, there was a fondness in his heart for her. He knew her!

The shop keeps question spoke volumes "What do you want with her?"

Giordano smiled, he was a master manipulator, he could do and say whatever was needed to get what he wanted. "She's family. We've never met, but I'd very much like to meet her."

The old man coughed, he wasn't aging well. "Family you say. She's not home right now." Giordano could feel the surprise at his words. Family had set off surprise, he wondered why. What did this old man know about his daughter? He almost had the nerve to find out.

Giordano asked. "Do you know when she'll be back?

He shook his head in response. "No sir, she's not usually out at this time of day. Her schedule seemed to have change as of later. You are free to wait for her here. I'm sure she'll be by soon."

Giordano nodded and grabbed a book from the shelf. It was a book about something he could care less about, but he browsed it as he took a seat at the closest table to the door. He might as well wait. He had found his prize!