Celtic Zodiac

Years of the Land, of Order and Stability

Wolf
Bear
Boar
Stag
*Dragon*




Years of the Sky, of the Endless Possibilities
Hawk
Raven
Owl

Years of the Horse
2007
1995
1983
1971
1959
1947

Concept: The Horse is a symbol of freedom; a wild, white stallion running along the planes. Following the Serpent, it symbolizes the energy of breaking bonds and new freedom.

Born:


Year: The year of the Horse is all about stretching your legs and enjoying a bit of freedom. The Horse is a creature of the wind and wants to get out. Like the butterfly that has just emerged from the old cocoon, the Horse wants nothing more than to go experience some of the newly found freedom.
*Dragon*







Years of the Sea, of Balance and Wisdom
The years of the the Sea are years when lessons are learned through hardship and tribulation. To survive these hardships we must acquire a good set of sea legs - means to rise above the troubles and find our own path.

Like the Sea, these years are calm, stormy and choppy from time to time and occasionally all at once. Those born in the year of the Sea have learned to anticipate and accomodate such hardships.

Years of the Crane
2008
1996
1984
1972
1960
1948

Concept: The crane is a symbol of balance; balance through wisdom.

Born: Those born in the year of the crane are often faced with having to navigate through the hazards of life to find their own balance. Like the crane picking its way through the reeds at the edge of the waters, they move from one leg to the other - gently picking the way through potential danger. Cranes will have hardship thrown at them over and over again but they have the capacity to find a balance that may not work for anyone else.


Year: The year of the Crane is all about figuring out some sense of balance for your life. It may not work for other people but if it works for you - if you can find some sense of balance, embrace it.
Salmon
Lynx

Year of the Serpent
2006
1994
1982
1970
1958
1946

Born: Those born in the year of the Serpent are continually reinventing themselves. Whether they stick to a New Year’s resolution or not, they seem to always be itching at their life, never satisfied with what they are for long. One year it’s yoga, the next it’s a tattoo. They are also more likely to change their appearance to match their ever-dynamic personality.

Year: The year of the Serpent is a year of transformation. In this year, you will slowly scratch yourself along the rocks to free your from the itchy dead skin of years past. The process of pulling the skin from your body is a painful process that can last the whole of the year but in the end you will have been transformed into something greater than you were.


*Dragon*

Metro:Thomas Book: Part 3

The headache began in the base of my head, back where your neck and your skull meet. It was a dull ache that began to seep into me like the chill of cold breeze. It takes a while for you to fully realize it but by then it's too late.

I wasn't sure, at first, whether the headache was more from casting the spell through the stones or listening to Wyck attempt to mutter through an explanation that had so many um's and 'uh's that I lost track what he was trying to say.

"Wait... wait." I told him and pulled the pistol from the top of my desk and slid it off into the drawer in front of me. I could tell that his eyes were starting at it like it was the only thing in the room. He really was just a frightened kid and I had turned things up a notch by waving a gun at him and that was before some...THING tried to huff and puff and blow my walls down.

Wyck eased himself into a chair across from my desk and with a glance over his shoulder to the mirror on the far wall, he let out a long, slow breath and tried to relax.

Sir William, hovering in the reflection in the mirror, folded his arms like a disapproving parent waiting for a child to try and explain their way out of trouble. Since he could only move from reflection to reflection, he was able to walk about in the mirrored version of the room as though he were in it with us. The professor, as I liked to call him - though he had no resemblance to the character from Gilligan's Island - walked over within the anti-room and leaned against a seat under a window between two bookshelves.

"Ok. All I know is that Mouse found me the night before he died and told me to hang onto something for him." Wyck began and placed the red, leather journal onto the desk between us.

"He said that if anything happened that I should get it to you no matter what," he continued.

My eyes paused on Wyck, I wanted to wait for a second to see if I could pick out any tick of a lie in his face. He was either very good at looking like a frightened, nineteen year-old kid who had gotten in way over his head or he was just too freaked out to lie about it. I shifted my attention from his face to the book on the desk and shrugged a bit. It wasn't one of my journals, I could tell by the design.

Let me take a minute here to point out that wizards in general are book snobs. Whether it's old

The journal on the table in front of me was hand-bound, that was easily pointed out just by seeing the edge. The cover was thin leather that had been died a shade of red ochre, like rusty dirt. Whoever bound it didn't know what they were doing with dye - the color was uneven and splotchy. That's when it hit me.

It wasn't dye.

The journal was dyed in blood. Not dipped in, but worn into the leather itself. It was like the leather of most well-loved books, warn darker across the spine where someone might hold it and their own body oils had been infused into the tanned animal skin. The color of the book looked as though whoever had held the it did so with blood on their hand. The blood had dried once and had been reapplied over and over again to give the whole cover an oddly rust-like appearance. It was about as big as one of my journals - half the size of a regular piece of printing paper. It was packed full of pages, at least two-fingers thick, and the front and back cover were tied together with a black braided cord of something that looked like horse hair.

Though normally I would never peer into someone else's journal - that's almost sacrilege - but I wanted to see what Mouse may have died for. As my brushed against the surface of the journal I felt a spark - not unlike being shocked by having your feet rub across the carpet and reaching for a door knob.

"Warded," I commented.

"Really," Wyck asked and reached for the book. He was unaffected.

It occurred to me that Wyck had probably touched the book a dozen times since Mouse had given it to him. Why would it suddenly react to my touch and ignore his?

Unless it was warded against me.

Now I was definintely curious what was between those blood-stained cover, but I would need to hear more about what Wyck knew before I jumped into something. I was really good at leaping before I looked and after last year's problem with the high-school coven of necromancers, I had promised myself to try and be more patient.

"Ok, keep talking. Where did you see Mouse last? What did he look like?" I asked and glanced to Sir William in the reflection. He was already circling the mirror-verse of the room and looking at the journal on the desk in front of me.

"Uh, he found me at Fagan's place."

"Where?" I asked having only the mildest idea who 'Fagan' was outside of the context of Oliver Twist.

"Fagan. He's an alley runner down near the Warrens."

This didn't sound good. Alley Runners were basically black market entrepreneurs that were willing to find and sell you whatever you wanted to indulge in - so long as the price was right. Drugs were only the tip of the ice berg for these folks. You got the vice, they have the price. I didn't know what kind of runner Fagan was, but if he was anything like the Dickens character he probably dealt in stolen property. I knew that Mouse was an occasional thief, but it was always small-time stuff.

"Was he supposed to meet you there? Was this something already arranged?" I asked and shifted back in my chair a little.

"No," Wyck explained. "But I'm always there on Tuesday nights. Great place to pick up some...um... work."

"So he found me there and took me off to the side. He didn't look too good; kinda pale," Wyck described.

"Pale?"I asked. Mouse was one of the street gypsies. He lived here and there around the city and was rarely out in the day. Pale was a normal state for him. Anyone who would have known him would have known that. I wondered exactly how well this kid knew my now-dead friend.

"Not just his usual emo-pale, but anemic, paper-white kind of pale,"Wyck countered.

"Thomas," Sir William muttered.

"Was he hurt?" I asked.

This was actually the first bit of information that I had about what happened to Mouse. All I knew was that he was dead - jumped from a building a few days ago.

"His clothes were torn and he was sorta scratched up," Wyck explained with a half-glance towards William's mirror.

"Thomas..." Sir William repeated though with more emphasis - trying to get my attention but I wanted to hear about what happened to Mouse more than what the old ghost had to say.

"Scratched?" I repeated.

"Well, more like clawed. There were three big scrapes down his back and it looked like someone had ripped into his jacket."

Now we were getting somewhere. Wyck was on the run from something that had tried to grab him. Whatever it was almost got him and he ran to Fagan's place trying to find help.

"So then what happened," I asked and leaned forward in my chair only mildly aware of the journal on the desk.

"Thomas!" Sir William barked and just as I looked over towards his favorite mirror I could see black flames beginning to erupt from the reflected form of the book. The journal in front of me was still perfectly normal, but its reflection was starting to be consumed by the purple-hued, black flames of magic.

I stood up with a shock and knocked the journal off my desk. It hit the wooden floor with the sizzle of a bit of fresh slab of meat on a hot grill. Wyck flinched and recoiled into his chair as though the book were going to bite his feet.

"What?" he yipped.

"Get the book, "I told him and pointed to where it fell.

"Hell no!" He retorted.

"Dammit, it won't hurt you. Pick it up." I lied. I had no idea what it was doing, but I was hoping that since the book hadn't hurt him this far that it wouldn't hurt him now.

"Fuck that." He scrambled out of the chair and backed away from the book as though he expected it to blow up now.

The flames were now a column of black fire in the reflections of the mirror. I didn't have much time. Sir William was now across the room in a smaller mirror on the wall so that he could keep an eye on Wyck. I reached out my right hand and spread my fingers while I called up the words of a spell to mind.

"Winds I command thee...to bl.."

Usually, I would say the word 'blow' and a big gust of wind would barrel out from my hand and knock back whatever was in front of me. It's usually was only good for small things but I thought that it could at least scoot the journal across the floor and hopefully into the circle of copper in the corner. It wasn't my main protective circle - that was in the basement, but it should have been enough to hold whatever was happening in the Netherwhere.

However, as I pronounced the final word and the power of the spell popped in my ears, I felt a huge fist of wind slam into my gut. It doubled me over and knocked me back into the shelves behind me with a crunch. The shelves were built to hold several dozen pounds of books and were sturdy to the touch. Sturdy enough that when my back slammed into them I swear I heard a pop or two. Not good.

I was a barefooted, crumpled heap of still-damp jeans. Whatever hit me went right through the protective bracelet I wore on my left wrist. I hurt in places I didn't know could hurt. It took some effort but I finally managed to twist my head so that I could look out to see where the journal was on the floor - unmoved by my spell.

The wind that I had tried to call to move the journal was now spiraling and twisting around the room like a miniature tornado. Books were being blown off their shelves and free pages swirled in the air with a growing roar in my ears.

"Put it in the shukle," I muttered through a rapidly swelling lip.

Wyck seemed to have understood what I was saying and scampered over on his hands and knees to pluck the journal up and tossed it towards the circle that had been scorched into the wood of the floor. As the journal left his fingers, a hefty tome came off a nearby shelf and clocked the boy in the side of his jaw; enough that it forced him to bite into his lip.

As soon as the journal's cover touched the wood inside the circle the wind died as though someone threw the switch on a big fan.

I lamented not not keeping the reams of blank paper for my journals in some kind of a container. The floor of the office was about a finger's thickness with loose pages and I slowly tried to rise. Being hit in the gut was worse than power crunches in the gym. I got my shoulder blades about three inches off the ground before the pain hit me and I collapsed back onto the wooden floor with a dull thud.

"Ow..." I exclaimed, trying to make light of the pain.

I rolled over onto my stomach and pulled my knees under my gut. I could feel the lump on my lip swelling with each throb of the pain in my back and stomach.

"You ok kid?"

"Wyck," he corrected me.

"I'll take that as 'yes'." I commented as I reached for the staff beside me and used it as a crutch to get to my legs.

Sir William clicked his teeth as he looked at the mess of blank paper all over the floor. "I tried to tell you, Thomas, that I thought I recognized the ward on the journal."

"Try harder next time," I groaned.

"Some kind of reflexive magic or something? Bouncing back whatever's cast on it only worse?" The boy had an uncanny knack at chiming in at the right time with the right information.

"Ok Wyck," I began reaching up with my hand to gently touch the bruise on my lip just to see how badly it had already swollen. "You sound like you know a little something about what's going on so don't make any plans on leaving until we've had our talk. For now," I glanced towards the circle and scattered pages on the floor. The swirl of the wind had moved the pages from their perch on one of the shelves to cover the floor but thankfully none of them interrupted the continuity of the protective circle opposite the door to my office.

Circles had been used in magic since the begining. They were for holding things in or keeping things out. The small circle I had burned into the wood of the floor was for keeping things in. It was only about three feet across so it wasn't really large enough for summon something but it had come in handy as an extra layer of protection on more than a few times.

"Pick up the pa..." I started.

Wyck was already on his hands and knees starting to gather the papers into neat stacks. He didn't wrinkle a page or dog-ear a single corner. The kid was meticulous, far more careful with the pages than I would have given him credit especially considering his appearance. With his help I was able to step to the circle without having to walk on the blank pages and I stared down at the journal. It laid there innocently. Anonymously. Patiently.

"One book to rule them all," I muttered.

Sir William just rolled his eyes at me from his side of the mirror at the allusion.

"Professor - can you tell me anything about the book?" I asked as I bent to help Wyck collect the pages and put them back onto the shelves as well as a few other books that had fallen in the micro-storm.

"Nothing, Thomas. Not a thing. It has been warded against my sight. Actually, there are wards against almost anything one could imagine placed on that book."

"That would take a lot of umph to be able to layer all of that magic onto something like that, wouldn't it?" I asked and stepped over to the chair behind the desk and eased into it with my staff as a crutch.

Wyck pulled himself back into the chair opposite my desk but turned it around so we could both watch the book sitting there within the circle like someone had simply dropped it from a nearby shelf. The black flames had died out or had stopped through some other means. I had only seen flames like that once before and I didn't want to bring myself to even think of what it could mean.

It was bad.

Very bad.

"So what happened after Mouse gave that to you at Fagans?" I tried to continue the conversation while I had the presence of mind to do so.

Wyck shrugged. "Dunno. I was already on my way out when he found me. He just asked me to hold onto it and then went to go talk to Fagan about something."

"That's it?" I asked and began to realize that I was bare-footed and half out of my clothes when this whole problem started. I needed to either get a shower and clean up completely or just put back on what I had taken off and ignore the feeling of walking around in wet denim.

Or not.

"He was going to meet me the next night and we were going to hold up with this guy I know. He likes to party and he likes 'em young. You know, get off the street for a while."

"I..uh... see," I tried not to judge but I really didn't like hearing that Mouse was willing to sell himself for a safe place to crash. He could have come to me and I would have let him sleep on the couch or something.

"So did Mouse find you?" I asked as I stripped off my damp socks and winced as I could feel some bruises forming on my back.

"Nope. I waited and waited but he never came. I tried to look around for him but no one one the street had seen him since he was at Fagan's place."

That settled it. I knew that I needed to go and find out what this guy knew. Getting Wyck to show me where it could be a bit more complicated.

"How... leather tomes of arcane knowledge musty with age or papyrus scrolls made fragile with the passage of time, we know from books. Aside from the books that I've collected while working for my uncle Julian's rare book business, i have a lot of journals that record my own experiences with magic and such. Julian insisted that I learn how to bind my own journals so that I could inspect and appraise books more effectively. So I have black covers for my personal journal and brown covers for magical stuff.WELL... did you know Mouse?" I asked trying to at least sound polite.

"We were close," he responded enigmatically.

"Ever see his tattoo?" I asked - testing just how close of a connection there may have been between them.

Wyck blushed. His eyes dropped from mine and he looked away immediately. Whether he wanted to conceal the details of the relationship from me or not, his face told it all.

"Oh. Ok, " I commented just trying to change the topic as quickly as possible, "Well, I am going to need your help if I'm going to find out what happened to Mouse and what's up with that book."

"I'm down." He replied and stood up as though he were ready to charge off that very minute.

"Whoa there boy. Have a seat. First thing's first." I pointed to the journal, "First, I need to lock that up somewhere until I can figure it out what it is and who might have killed Mouse for it."

"Then we can go talk to Fagan. Once you get me there, you can head off and do whatever."I explained while I stood up and tried not to let the deep inhale of breath sound too much like a moan of pain. " I don't want you to get in any more than you are."

"I'm already in over my head," Wyck snerked darkly.

"Sir William," I asked while stripping off my still-damp shirt. The centuries-old spirit appeared in a mirror nearest me on the wall and inclined his head as though he were waiting for me to finish the request. "Please keep an eye on Wyck here while I change my clothes."

"Certainly Thomas," he nodded and turned his eyes towards the boy in the chair and leveled him the full weight of his professorial death-stare. In life Sir William was a professor at Oxford in the mid-sixteenth century. He was more than accustomed to staring down students of various degree and putting the occasional upstart in his place with just a glance. Since his death and eventual enforced servitude, he had gained quite a sum of arcane knowledge though his ability to influence the world of the living was limited, he could cast his own illusions and make people think otherwise.

I looked directly at Wyck, enough to make eye contact with him, and told him to stay in the office. He nodded and I headed out and down the hall to change out of my wet clothes.

Metro: Book: Heather Coffee

She's part Erin Brochovitch, part Laura Croft and all trouble.

Character Pic

This is a pic of a guy from the BBC series, "HEX". In the series, he plays an angel named Azazael.

Though I'm not sure if I could use him as an angel, I have to use him for someone in Metro.

Modern bits of Architecture

Thomas Book's Loft

Kindred vs Vampires

In the world of Metro there are two kinds of "Vampires", the Kindred and the Vampires.

Kindred appear human and can exist with limited exposure to sunlight.

Kindred saliva is hallucinogenic and will often lull their victims into a euphoric, painless state while feeding.

Vampires are undead - having gone through bloody, Red Rites to return as something more than Human. Their skin is ashen gray, they loose their hair and their fingers will slightly elongate to give them a monstrous appearance.

Vampiric saliva is paralytic, immobilizing their victims temporarily so that they can feed.

Thomas Book - Fragment

This is a fragment that shows pacing of the first Chronicle of Thomas Book.

= = BACK STORY = =

THE MIDNIGHT MARKET
The Midnight Market is the Black Market of the Supernatural World of Metro; Black Magic Market. It's location is kept secret and travels around the confines of Metro - never appearing in the same place twice. It is called the Midnight Market because it only exists for one hour.

It is almost like a Rave in that those buying and selling will suddenly appear in a secret location, do their business and then as the hour strikes one a.m., they vanish.

The Council and other members of the Eastern Conclave have been trying trying to find and close such markets for decades but they seem to pop up and operate even in the face of dutiful Sheriffs and Wardens.

To traffic in (buy or sell) items found within the Midnight Market is generally grounds for a Summons to Court as this almost always involves infernal magic.

THE TWILIGHT MARKET
The Twilight Market is the Metro version of Diagon Alley from Harry Potter. It is in a fixed location (opposite the Midnight Market) in the Underground with shops and stalls of various sort. The Twilight Market sits inside a huge, vaulted cavern somewhere below Metro. There are many ways to get there and get back but the paths are often hazed or fogged with shadows and illusion magic to blind them to Mundanes.

With the plethora of candles and crystal lamps, the whole market has a twilight haze to it. Anything and everything one can imagine that would be of magical need to the Supernatural world can usually be found here.

KEEPER OF THE KEY
The Key is an object (thinking a medallion or disk of some sort) that is found using the map that is the cover of the Red Journal.

The Red Journal is the book that Wyck delivered to Book at the request of Mouse - who stole it from Iago for "Evil Bad Guy".

((Evil Bad Guy, we will eventually find out, is actually the former Sheriff for Metro who went Infernal years ago. He sent one man after Book (who ended up killing Natalya in the crossfire) a year ago and then recently sends Marco to try it again. Evil Bad Guy (EBG) is also the same person who kills Uncle Julian after Julian discovers his identity.))

The Key is a powerful artifact that the Council immediately would snatch up since it's just too powerful to leave out there on the 'Street'. It calls to certain people and whispers to them. It has a will of its own. It is Metro's version of one of the Rings of Power (LOTR); not THE ring of power, just one of them.

EBG

((Evil Bad Guy, we will eventually find out, is actually the former Sheriff for Metro who went Infernal years ago. He sent one man after Book (who ended up killing Natalya in the crossfire) a year ago and then recently sends Marco to try it again. Evil Bad Guy (EBG) is also the same person who kills Uncle Julian after Julian discovers his identity.))

EBG is still around - though more in a sagely capacity, helping people live comfortable lives. He would strike you as a Gandalf or a Dumbledoor by day and an Emperor Palpatine by night.

Julian discovers just how dark EBG is while he was also trafficing in the Black before he died.

EBG's presence will be felt for several books until there is a showdown between he and Book later on. Book will learn that it was EBG who killed Julian and will want the payback, Evil Willow style.

= = MAIN STORY - IN ORDER OF EVENTS = =

THE RIDDLE

The Red Journal is only translated partially by the "Map Guy" in the Twilight Market. The one page that was translated before the Vampires approach is a fragment of a riddle:

"with Seven Wings and Seven Rings and Seven Stars Under Heaven."

Every seven pages in the journal the languages shifts. There are seven identified languages in the book and the pattern is fairly consistent. The languages vary ancient Greek, Shadowkin, Troll, ancient Elvish, etc.

Mostly they are languages of peoples of crumbled kingdoms.

WYCK KIDNAPPED

Wyck and Book have a falling out when Book thinks that Wyck has been stealing from him.

Wyck calls Nugget from the metro station near Book's house. He is heading to the 'Nest' and plans to crash with her for a few days until things blow over with Book. Wyck never arrives. He is grabbed by two Vampires at a stop before the Nest (where Nugget is waiting for him).

((Nugget's older brother disappeared similarly 2 years ago on his way home from working at the Neverland Cafe'))

Wyck is held captive (molested, fed upon) for three days by the Vampire Iago who is searching for information on the "Key".

Nugget demands information from Book - who has no idea where Wyck went after leaving his place.

Wyck, under the power of Iago's mesmerism, says that the 'Nest' is the location of the "Key".

MARCO VS. THOMAS

Marco, a newly appointed Warden of the Conclave, uses an infernal sigil to try and kill Thomas.

Thomas, using his unorthodox method of redirecting magic, accepts the infernal bolt of balefire and redirects it back at Marco - killing him instantly.

Nugget, arriving at the mouth of the alley where Marco and Thomas are fighting, only sees Thomas redirect the infernal bolt and assumes that Thomas cast it rather than redirect.

Thomas, turning to see Nugget springing to attack him, silences her with a 'Shhh' spell.

Nugget runs to the Neverland Cafe' to tell Darcy that Thomas cast the whammy on her. She tells her that she saw Thomas cast "a ball of green fire" at a guy and kill him.

Darcy and Duke Sin, who overheard the conversation, go investigate the alley. Duke Sin immediately senses the presence of Infernal magic and leaves the scene. Darcy sees and sketches the sigil that has been burned into the man's right palm.

Darcy contacts Heather Coffee for info on the Sigil. The only reference Coffee can find is that another man was found with the same mark one year ago - around when Natalya died.

The next morning, Book has a warrant issued out on him by the Sheriff (secretly Duke Sin) for his involvement in the death of a Warden (Marco).

RESCUE WYCK

The next night, Book is contacted by Augur, the blind Seer, that Wyck needs him and can be found at a specific point in the city.

((Augur offers the information to repay an earlier, undisclosed, debt))

Wyck finally is able to snap the rusted bedsprings and escapes down a drainage grate - leaving at least five other people who are held captive with him.

Wyck falls down into a sewage / drainage stream and floats along for a while until he manages to grab ahold of a ladder set into the wall and climbs up forever. He eventually pushes aside a manhole cover and is found by Book.

Pouring Wyck into his jeep, Book takes him back to the firehouse and cleans him up.

DELIVERING A WARRANT

With Wyck resting, Book waits for word of his return to the firehouse to reach the Sheriff on the second floor balcony. Coffee arrives and displays the "Mark of the Herald" (blue glyph on the back of her hand visible to magic-folk) to signify that she's there on business.

Book lets Coffee into the house and she discovers that he's rigged the house's defenses to repell a magical seige. Every ward is activated, every counter-attack is armed. He's playing jazz - to calm him down and let him think. It's the same Jazz he listened to when Natalya died.

Coffee listens to the whole story but is duty-bound to deliver the Warrant and escort Book to the Court to answer the charges. Rather than leaving the Firehouse, and put himself at the mercy of every one on the street who would attack him for the warrant (sometimes considered a bounty) or for information on "The Key" - Coffee pulls the Court to them (virtually) through the various mirrors on the walls with Sir William's help.

COURT

Coffee has information about the Infernal Sigil that was used one year ago against Natalya. It is enough to remove that stain from Book's name for Marco's death. Marco, using infernal magic, was guilty of violating one of the laws of magic and Book was just in defending himself against it with lethal force.

ATTACKED

Before the Court can get into the crux of the matter with Book, but after he was cleared of the more serious charge of Infernalism, the firehouse comes under attack.

Vampires, under the command of Iago, have attacked whatever street-folk who were watching to see if Book would emerge. This is the supernatural equivalent of having the police surrounding a place and having sent in negotiators. With a few dead at the rear of the house, the others scatter for the cafe' or the metro line.

Coffee, who has "officially" delivered the summons, can not 'arrest' Book; only Wardens of the Sheriff can do that. With the attack, the connection tho the Court is broken.

Wyck is too sick and injured to travel far and so Coffee tells Book to take him to the Sisters. As a Herald, she can't help or hinder him - but she can help Wyck.

((Three old witches who are part of the House of Avalon. They have a "House of Healing" on the opposite side of town))

Book gets Wyck to down a shot of 'Super Coffee' so he can walk and the two escape out Book's basement and through the tunnels that eventually lead to the Boardwalk.

DESTRUCTION OF THE NEST
((Not sure where this fits))

Nugget returns to the Nest where her and a few friends have squatted. It's not much but it's dry, warm and usually out of the sight of anyone who would do them harm. They have to be careful about letting anyone see them sneak into the place for fear that they will be discovered (by the police or other forces) so she has to take a weird way in.

Late at night, she climbs up the fire escape of a nearby building and then crossing the roof to shinny down to a ledge and then cross a gap that's bridged by a pirate-like, plank-bridge to another building. From there she can enter through a sky-light.

At some point in the process of her entering the squat, she picks up that there's something wrong. When she enters the squat she sees that the other four friends are all dead; slaughtered. As she tries to escape, a Vampire, still feeding on one of her friends in another room - hears her and tries to attack. She manages to kick his hand free and climb out onto the roof.

The plank-bridge isn't designed for combat or quick escapes so she ends up falling from it to the alley below as the Vampire follows her.

((2 stories down. Enough to screw her up for a while but not kill her. ))

The Vampire jumps down on top of her but ends up stabbing himself with a stake and ashes himself.

Wyck, Book or someone find her and take Nugget to the Sisters (of the House of Avalon) where she heals up and pledges herself to become a full-fledged vampire-hunter complete with bow and arrow. This, however, is another story.

THE MIDNIGHT MARKET
((Not sure where this fits either))

Coffee or Book would have reason to try and find the Midnight Market as part of an on-going research for the origin of this very powerful Infernal Sigil that not only destroys the caster but also consumes their soul in the process. By using all of this power it normally rips through normal magical shields and thus ensures the immediate death of its intended victim.

Book can't be seen investigating this matter as his earlier involvement has put him on the Sheriff's "Watch List". Any suspect behavior would result in his imprisonment, death or ostracism.

Thomas Book: Timeline

This is going to be where I post the known dates for the Chronicles of Thomas Book (as opposed to the Journals of James Blackthorn, the Steam-Pulp character).

1976, June - Child (male, unnamed) stillborn to Daniel and Margarette Book.

1976, August - Thomas Book born to Julian (name?) and Lucette. Lucette dies in child birth.

1976, September (6 days after birth) - Julian leaves Thomas with his sister and her husband and leaves to deal with the death of his fiance.

1976-1994 - Julian occasionally visits Margarette and Daniel (and Thomas) and presents himself as Thomas' uncle. Thomas and Julian exchange letters regularly. Julian often sends Thomas post-cards from his travels.

1994, September - Thomas enrolls at Harvard University to study Archaeology.

1998, September - Thomas is accepted into a small, paleography (ancient writing) program at Poague University (Ashland Kentucky - prior to creation of Metro)

1999, "Winter" - Thomas gets a new roommate, Alex Saunders - an undergraduate in Photography.

1999, "Spring" - Thomas meets Raymond, Nugget's older brother, through Alex.

2001, "Winter" - Thomas parents, Margarette and Daniel, die in a head-on car wreck.

2001, "Spring" - Julian moves his business from New Orleans to the newly thriving city of 'Metro'.

2001, "Summer" - Thomas starts to work for Julian as an 'agent' to identify, appraise, buy and sell rare books.

2002 - 2003 - Thomas travels throughout the US and into Europe on "buying trips".

2003, "Spring" - Julian dies of a "heart attack" while Thomas is in London. Julian actually dies of an infernal curse. No body is found - only remains.

2003, "Summer" - Thomas takes over Julian's business and inherits the fire house (with bookstore below).

2003, "Fall" - Thomas discovers Julian's secret and starts to learn magic from Julian's journals and the House spirit, Sir William.

2006, "Spring" - Thomas meets Natalya Poriskaya on a case of demonic possession.

2006, "Summer" - Thomas meets Natalya again and they begin to date.

2007, "Winter" - Thomas asks Natalya to marry him, but this starts a huge problem between the Gypsy families and Thomas. Wizards and Gypsies are in the middle of a supernatural cold war and so the engagement is called off (at least publically).

2007, "Spring" - Natalya is killed in the cross-fire between Thomas and a man using Infernal magic.

2008, Spring - Mouse, Natalya's younger brother, jumps off a four-story building and dies.

(story begins)

Vampire Eyes

The eyes of a vampire are unique, rather than being a single point of black at the center like a human or the slits of a cat, there are actually three 'slits'. These slits allow them to see more in lower levels of light.

Vampires in the world of Thomas Book fall into two categories: ruthless killing machines and cunning predators. Their nature all depends on how they were converted. If a newly born vampire is forced to seek his own first kill after conversion, they will tend to rely upon their instincts and become little more than a beast. If a vampire is able to 'ease in' to their first kill (captured prey) then they tend to retain some of their humanity.

The difference in transformation is thought to be due to the early reliance upon the instinctual drive to hunt and feed. The longer the person has to rely upon those urges, the less of their humanity is retained.

Thomas Blackthorn - Index

Note:

Originally, these posts were under the name "Thomas Blackthorn". I have decided to change the name of the main character to "Thomas Book" and use the name 'Blackthorn' for the pulp fiction stories set in the 1920's.

The world of Thomas Book is influenced by the writings of Jim Butcher's Dresden Files, the Hellboy series and Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere.

Magic is real but dangerous. There are still things that go bump in the night and it's a dangerous place.

Full Story: Thomas Book and the Curse of the Key (working title)

Part 1: A Funeral for Mouse
Part 2: Delivery for the Dead
Part 3: Blood-Stained Journal

Thomas Blackthorn, Part 2

Thomas Book is an Urban Mage; that is he sells his magic to the highest bidder.

Click Here for Part 1: A Gypsy Funeral

Edited from 4/14/08

The guy stood there, caught. Well, he was almost more of a kid than a guy. He had somehow gotten upstairs and was standing in my office. That was a mistake.

My apartment was on the second floor of the fire house that I had inherited from my uncle Julian and my office was in the back, right corner. It was where Julian kept his journals and all of the rare books he had collected over the years. It was a combination study and library with bookshelves lining three of the four walls and a display of artifacts on the fourth. It was my study; my space.

How did he get in?

This kid had to have crawled up the fire escape or something. I don't have much for anyone to steal; nothing worth much to anyone outside the Trade. You don't really see many people trying to steal rare books - there are a lot of things that are easier to steal and easier to sell. I was expecting Marco to send me a message, but sending a kid was something unexpected. He was too clean to be a street-rat and didn't have the look of a junkie. This threw me; enough that my mind blanked. Maybe he was here for a book? Well, he found one; Me.

"Who sent you?"

It was all that I could ask. As stupid as it sounds it was still a legitimate question. If he was one of Marco's boys then I figured that he was here with some kind of message. He started to move rather than answer my question and I chose to make my intentions clear. Cocking the hammer on a pistol is the universal gesture for Don't Move.

He raised his hands in the counter gesture of Don't Shoot. That's when I saw the mark. On the inside of his left wrist was a tattoo. Not just any tattoo, but an alchemical symbol; sulfur. The symbol was easy to identify for anyone of the Walden Witches who had picked up a book on alchemy, let alone anyone in the Trade. It was a combination of symbols; a cross with not one line but two across the center bar - the bottom line wider than the top. At the bottom of the center bar was a figure-eight set where the two orbs meet at their intersection. The presence of the symbol could mean anything - he could be marked by a cult, a gothy, high-school click, or worse.

As much as he was shocked at being caught, he was twice as confused by my question. He looked from my eyes to the muzzle of the pistol, back to my eyes and then to a window nearest the fire escape. I didn't want to shoot him, but I didn't want to let him leave until I found out if he had stolen something.

The end of the hall was the access door for circular fire escape. He glanced around nervously for a way out and I stepped into the room from the doorway as I cupped the butt of the pistol with my left hand like I had seen on all of the cop shows. I wasn't the best shot in the world but I was hoping that he wouldn't figure that out. Just then, as the edge of his vest hung up on the strap of his satchel I could see the edge of a red, leather journal tucked into his belt.

That was reason enough for me to blow a hole in someone. I know people have their reasons to steal, but grabbing a journal is about the most serious sin I could imagine. The only reason I didn't shoot first and ask some questions of his ghost was that he was standing between me and a parchment fragment framed on the wall. I was such a bad shot that I might accidentally shoot through the kid.

He looked like he might try and run so I cocked the pistol's hammer; universal language for 'don't move'.

"I got something from Mouse," he said with a lilt of fear and trembling in his voice.

"Mouse is dead. Keep talking." I responded; the mask of confidence and authority becoming tainted with the fresh memory of the funeral.

"You're Book, right? Mouse said to bring this to you if anything happened to him." The kid explained and tried to reach for the edge of the journal.

I didn't know if was on the level or not so I barked out a warning that I would shoot him if he tried anything.

Just then, as carefully pulled the journal from his belt, the tinkle of silver bells filled the room. As though a dozen wind chimes had suddenly been hit by the same gust of wind at the same time, the room was filled with a silvery cacophony. One of my protective wards had been tripped.

Something was trying to push its way into the fire house.

Then it hit me, if the boy had meant me harm there would already be the sound of the tiny silver bells ringing as soon as I got inside. Even half-soaked as I was, I wouldn't have missed such a warning. What was going on?

"Thomas," the voice of my tutor beckoned from a mirror on the wall behind me. "We are under attack.

"Who is that?" the boy asked pointing to the form of a man who appeared only in the reflection of the mirror on the wall of antiques behind me.

"Who is this?" Sir William, my tutor, asked with the same, imperious tone he once used for his students back at Oxford; Oxford in 1732.

"I don't know. What's coming?" I asked as I twitched the barrel of the pistol in my hand to signal the boy to have a seat.

"You, what's your name?" I asked as I eased the pistol's hammer down.

"Wyck," he answered and watched the reflection in the mirror - wondering how he was shown there yet there was no person in the room.

"Can't you people have normal names for a change?" Sir William groaned.

"Sir William?" I asked as I reached for the wooden staff that rested against the window behind my desk.

A storm was coming yet there were no clouds. Just as rain had appeared to mark Mouse's funeral, the darkness of a coming storm had blotted out the sun over my house. The windows grew dark and the wind began to whistle outside. The breathy whistle twisted in its pitch to become a whirr and then into a wooshy howl.

"Tornado?" Wyck asked as he stuffed the burnt-red, leather journal into his satchel but remained seated and finally drew his eyes off of the mirror.

"By the air. This is no spell Thomas. Something is in the wind." The tutor explained.

"Lilitu," Wyck muttered as though he were figuring out a cross-words puzzle.

"Be silent boy!" Sir William commanded.

"Don't be saying the names of things you don't know nothing about kid." I grumbled as I held the staff defensively across my chest.

Once I had calmed my mind a bit, I focused my thoughts on the energies of my staff and the protective wards around the fire house. Once I had the right image caught in my mind I slammed the butt of the staff into the wooden floor of my office as though I were driving a nail. Well, that's almost what I was doing. I needed to drive the energy around me through my staff straight through the floors of the building until it reached the bedrock below. Once it hit real earth it could fan out to each of the four hearth stones that uncle Julian had buried at the four corners that marked north, south, east and west. They were my own, personal, magical claymores.

The wind's howl began to drown out almost every other sound though I could still hear Wyck's voice cursing his luck over and over again. The boy left the chair he was sitting in and curled up in a ball away from any of the windows. I couldn't stop what I was doing to stop him but he wasn't going any where. I needed to focus on the defenses.

It wasn't something that I could call up all the time, but Julian's journals described the stones as a 'rainy day weapon'; something to only be used one in a great while since it took so long for them to recharge. As soon as the energy reached the stones they erupted in a torrent of arcane energy. Whatever supernatural darkness that had surrounded my home ate the magical equivalent of a dozen lightning bolts. With the shriek of pain and defeat, the darkness faded with the suddenness of a summer shower.

"Fuck..." Wyck commented as he slowly opened his eyes and relaxed his muscles.

I had to force my fingers to let go of the staff I was holding on so tight. I hadn't used the stones before and I severely underestimated how much juice they needed to work. I was all but exhausted as I turned to look at the boy. I noticed that steam was rising off of my forearms and chest; the result of channeling so much energy through my staff. I didn't have the energy to fight with Wyck and thankfully I could see he was more afraid of what was outside than what was inside.

"Start talking kid..." I put the staff back against the corner of the window next to the bookcase and eased myself into my chair. Just to make sure that I wasn't finished with him, I clapped the pistol on my desk and rested my chin on my fist.

This was going to be an interesting story.

**END**

Chapter 3 to come.

Space Colony: Ships

Possibly used as cargo-transport ships.

Thomas Blackthorn

Thomas Book is an Urban Mage; that is he sells his magic to the highest bidder. About a year ago, he was expelled from the Council, the "Power Players" of Metro's Magical community, after he killed one of them. Though it was eventually proven that the killing was justified, he was no longer welcomed amongst them.

With the eyes of the Sheriff and his Wardens on him constantly, he walks a narrow line in the dark allies of Metro. Without the connections of the Council to keep him financially afloat, he has had to dip his toes into some murky waters; Vampires, Vengeful Spirits, and Vagabond alike. Unlike the Council members, Thomas does not live in luxury with a gaggle of servants to maintain him. Most of his wealth was stripped from him by the vulturous harpies in the Council as soon as he lost his standing. Their curses were flung as freely as their insults and within a few weeks he was thought to be broken. He managed to escape with a few bucks, a broken-down, old building and a few books of magic.

EDIT (Ignore anything in red. It's old or just notes to me)
ORIGINAL
NEW (this should be read as part of the story)

Part 1

A Funeral

Funerals. I hate funerals. They always remind me of her.

Some funerals are full of alcohol, others are full of wives and mothers throwing themselves at the coffin screaming and pleading with their God. Some people say that funerals are times of reflection and when families come together, but what do you do when you have no family? The only real family that a Wizard has are the few friends he makes on his journey. Even still, being a Wizard is like being in a Fraternity; you're only Brothers when there's drinking and parties. As soon as it gets rough, you find out who's got your back. Funerals reminded me exactly how few people had mine.

I was surprised that I got the invitation. I knew that Mouse had died, but I didn't expect this. Mouse was Nat's cousin so I guess it was a invitation based on tradition and formality than familiarity. Natalya's grandmother, a woman whose influence could be felt in almost every corner of the family, made the invitation in her own name. She was one of the few people in the family that didn't blame me for Nat's death. She knew what I did and why I did it without ever being told.

As soon as they pulled the casket from the back of the car, I felt the first drops of rain on my face. The storm clouds didn't appear on any forecast and I'm sure that all of the local news stations would be baffled why it rained over only one part of the city. If there was every any doubt, the rain had proclaimed the nature of the boy's death. Mouse had been murdered.

The motley bunch of mourners were gathered around the pit dug in the corner of the cemetery. Fifty people gathered around as the rain began to swell in the clouds. The old women with their floral scarves and carpet bags could have stepped out of a village in Eastern Europe. The old men, what few there were, stood beside them like scarecrows with big black umbrellas. I could see that almost everyone there had a small bag to be placed as a gift to Mouse for his journey to the Other Side. I saw bags with clothes, some food and I think one even was going to give him new pair of shoes. The Gypsy were always such practical people.

Since I was here as a guest of Baba's invitation, I didn't know quite where to stand for the funeral. I've always been more of a fringe-watcher than someone who jumps into the middle of things. I was content to stay at the edge and pay my respects - and then Baba appeared beside me. I'm not going to tell you that I jumped. That would be a lie.

I squeaked

My well-rehearsed icy exterior was disrupted by a five-foot nothing old woman who has never spoken more than two words in English. That tough old broad fought the Nazis. I swear it. She was as quiet as a fart in church. She just smiled and extended her old, grandmotherly hand for me to take and with the force of a team of oxen, dragged me over to stand beside the grave. She made it a point to involve me and the others wouldn't question it - not directly. So I found a spot beside a guy that had the smile of an insurance salesman and a woman who was incredibly too tanned for April and reeked of cheap perfume; it's that new fragrance - Bad Taste.

By the time they had the small, white casket arranged for their final fair-the-well, I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. The rain was already soaking through my overcoat, but it wasn't the cold water that I felt. It was a presence. Someone or something had gotten close enough for me to pick up the ripples. Granny Baba felt it too. Before I could really get a sense for what was pinging on my magical radar, she had pulled a small, draw-string bag from her purse and sprinkled something over the grave. I don't know if the family knew what she was doing, but it was Baba - she was from the Old Country and no one questioned her mojo.

Gypsy magic was NEVER to be ignored. The Rom had been fighting spirits and demons centuries before the inqusition and had managed to survive even the cleansing fires of the Church. Whatever it was that Grandmother Baba had sprinkled on the grave was probably some kind of protective blessing - the same ones that all grandmothers have I'm sure; the gypsy simply do it with more flair. I smelled lavender and something that reminded me of week-old laundry, but whatever it was made the 'blip' go away. After the first few shovels of dirt were tossed into the grave, I took my cue and turned to leave. Marco, one of Natalya's brother, gave me a dirty look and muttered some Romani insult under his breath. He couldn't publicly say anything to me while at the funeral - especially while under Baba's watchful eyes, but I knew that he'd love to break something over my head if he were to ever catch me out and alone.

Just as I was getting into the Jeep, I saw something shiny on the steering wheel and paused. Someone in my line of work doesn't do anything without some degree of paranoia. Sticking into my steering wheel was a square nail; like the old ones used to shoe horses. This one was silver; an old Gypsy ward against witches and Magi. Though not all of the wards from the Old Country still worked, nailing a witch's footprint with a silver nail was one of those that still packed quite a sting.

I glanced over towards Marco and the other brothers that were watching like a pack of dogs, snickeringly eager to see if their message was received. I would have liked nothing more than to fling a little of my own mojo at them, but the family didn't deserve it. Marco would step over the line sometime and Granny Baba wouldn't mind if I put him back in his place. I took the nail and stuffed it into my pocket and drove away from the graveyard and within a minute or two I was out of the rain. Handy thing, too. My jeep liked to leak.

UPDATE: 4-09-08

You would think that a Mage would be able to repair a leaky jeep-top with a flap of a finger, but not all magic works that way. Besides, magic can get addictive. If I start using it to repair every little thing that has gone wrong in my life - I'd be worse than a crack-addict. Duct tape is just as good as any spell, sometimes better. I had taped the tear in the cover a week ago and I thought that it was going to hold until I could get paid by Mr. Tweed. I love antique dealers - they're so twitchy about hauntings and they pay well. Payday was in two days - according to his secretary, so I just had to coast along until then. By the third stop-light, I had gotten past the mourning clouds around the grave yard and back to clear skies. The jeep would dry out eventually.

My jacket and shirt were soaked, and all I could think of was grabbing a shower. The smell of the graveyard was still on me as I pulled into the old firehouse that I called home. Natalya has been gone for almost a year now and I remember it all; the smell of the fresh dirt around the grave, and the thud of the rain on all of the umbrellas. It was the same sound today. Why do sounds like that always stick with us?

I was half out of my shirt when I heard something break in the back of the apartment.

"Six?"

My cat had a tough life. When Nat got him, she said that it was the number on his cage. I said that it was the number of lives that he had burnt through. According to the vet, he had been poisoned with antifreeze, electrocuted, and shot at least once. I'm fairly certain that if there was a nuclear holocaust, the few things left alive would include cockroaches, twinkies, New York rats and Six. He was great for naps. He was so mellow, orange and so round that he could pass for a buddha statue.

I heard it again and I knew that it was a lot bigger than a cat. With the appearance of a 'something' at the funeral and Marco's warning, it could have been anything. I wasn't going to take any chances. Crossing from the top of the stairs to a hall table, I found my insurance and tried to sneak closer.

Magi are practical folk. Traditionalists get burned at the stake. Living through two Witch Wars had taught me that if you rely on magic to save your life, you're not long for this world. My insurance was in the form of an antique Colt revolver. It only had six shots but it had never missed what it was pointed at; at least that's what the ghost said when I got it. My insurance was always kept loaded. I never understood the logic of having an unloaded gun in your home.

With each step, I found myself hoping that it was Marco. I -wanted- it to be him. Dropping a nail on me is one thing, breaking into my home was crossing the line. I couldn't think of what would be worse: having him arrested or taking him to Baba for punishment. When I got close enough to see what it was, I was disappointed. It wasn't Marco. It wasn't a wraith either.

It was a kid, barely older than the one that I just saw buried.

2. Investigation of the boy's death.
3. Discovery of a Thief.
4. Problems with the Church
5. Another Witch Hunt

Stone & Stream

In the hills above "the village" lies a stone circle. The circle of stones is situated on a small island in a crescent-shaped recess of three waterfalls.

Witch World

The Witch World is sort of a mix of the World of Darkness and Neverwhere.

I have nothing against the World of Darkness, but it's just too powerful. I like the subtle magics found in Neverwhere.

Brainstorming Elements:

Midnight Market
Crones Court
Council of Elders (Bickering about the color of the Moon and the best way to ensure the survival of their realm)
Sheriff (Keeping the Peace)
Warden (trying to keep the two worlds separate)
Cat / Bat / Rat-Speakers
Oracles (Freudian Prophecies)
Magi (Hedge Wizards - not alter the universe)
Vampires (More cursed than blessed - depends on how you look at it)
Shifters (No, not to Crinos)
Haunted Houses and Crossroads
Witches (Those born to it)
Silver Skeleton Keys opening doorways not just doors.
Fel Speakers (Demon whispers who are NOT trying to calm things down)
Black-eyed Demons (thank you Supernatural)
Street Shamen (Everything that is... is alive)
Motley Crews
Street Gypsies

Midnight Market

The Midnight Market is a meeting of the supernatural forces in a given area. Generally considered neutral territory, the Market is often held on either the night of the full moon or its opposite. The Market gets its name from when it exists; perpetually between the hours of 11:30 p.m. and 12:30 a.m. Suspended in the sliver of time at the end of one day and the beginning of the next, it exists separate from the mundane world; a pocket pushed into the space between the mundane and the mystical world.

Each community has its own midnight market though not every enclave can support a communal path to get there. Some Markets, such as those in New York and other larger cities, move the Market around so that no one area has undue influence over what happens there. In smaller areas, the market is held collectively and protected by the members of the community.

For those Enclaves who can't support a path to get to the Market, the normal means to gain entry involves a bridge, generally where one can get 'inside' a crossroads. This may be a tunnel under the road or an overpass. Opening the path varies from tradition to tradition, but generally it involves some natural portal like an archway. Through the inscription of symbols, or the tapping of stones or sometimes even the singing of a particular song, the Otherkin can walk through the arch and arrive at the Market.

Upon arrival to the market, the general flavor is colored by the magical 'bones' of the area.

Imagine walking through a stone arch in a park or under a bridge and in one step be in a medieval setting like the set of Robin Hood. The appearance of the Midnight Market is entirely dependent upon the 'essence' of mundane world where the Enclave is based. Places where the energies are old will tend to appear as though they are reflection of some medieval landscape. Other places where the energy may be mixed between the old and new, might have a patchwork of elements that vary from the medieval to the modern; London fog with a splash of Middle Eastern bazaar.

This is the Color of the Midnight Market.

People come to the Market to find whatever is needed. Small bits of dragon (thought to be extinct even within the Witch World), the odd fetish, and dried mandrake root is just scratching the surface. Where people get the most out of the Market is all of the networking that occurs within the rows of stalls. Needing a spell cast for you? Needing some help with a particularly pesky imp? Bodyguards, Servants, Seers and the like will often ply their talents for the highest bidder.

If its information that you need, the mystical coffee houses, along the same lines as a Turkish cafe, are where the news of the Otherworld are discussed and the pulse of the worlds are monitored. Several powerful Otherkin make themselves available to those who need to find out what is happening either above or below the magical radar.

Though the neutrality of the Midnight Market is observed by most, the need to occasionally enforce the peace requires that the grounds are patrolled. The leader of the peace-keepers is traditionally known as the 'Sheriff'; a definite connection to the ancestral European roots of the Market.

The Sheriff and those who serve him, the Wardens, are commonly identified by the wearing of a black cloak and a red hooded mantle. The authority of the Wardens or the Sheriff only stretches to the boundaries of the Market, but in some Enclaves their rank can extend to the mundane world as well. When walking in the mundane world these badges of office can manifest as a black trench coat and a red scarf or bandanna.

Prometheus - Chapter 1.1

Prometheus

Prometheus is a project that I've been working with for a while. It's only now that I have access to the new Window Movie Maker in Vista that I can more easily put the ideas and images together into a coherent form.

Ideally, I'll find the time and direction to create small, video serials that will help explain the story of along. I find and splice segments of video from various movies together and tie in some music to help convey the basic idea of the plot; very similar to a story board.

In this first chapter, I am using footage from the movies: Serenity and Pitch Black. I already have started work on Chapter 1.1 but even three minutes takes a while to compile.

I'm not sure where the story is going but it should be an interesting trip.

Chapter 1.0

The colonists and crew aboard the Prometheus sleep away the 14 month voyage to their new home on Syan; a remote and newly established colony world. A collision with a micro-meteor storm sends the ship off course and they crash land on an unknown planet.

Crones Court

Something for another project:

Crones Court

Fall 2007

1. Normally held at local / regional festivals
2. Often completed prior to the evening rituals
3. Crones of the Region sit in council to advise the populace regardless of tradition.
1. Any Crown in attendance can be invited by the host group (coven / cabal) to sit in council.
2. Proclamations for the Good of the People:

i. News of the local events coming up.

ii. Awards / gifts for the accomplishments of the People

1. New Third-Degree recipients may be noted by the Crowns with a small token or gift.

2. Creation or dissolution of Covens / Cabals within the Region.

3. Petitions for the good of the people:

i. Fostering to another to be tested for a 3^rd Degree / Master Rank.

ii. Calls for Trials of Competency

1. Prevents a HP / HPs / Leader from using their students / Apprenti in a manner against the Good of the People.

2. Can be used to remove a HP, HPS, Leader if the Council fo Crones and the other “Masters” fail to recognize that person’s authority.

4. Logistics:

i. Crones Tea

1. A meeting of the Crones who will sit in council, the hose HPS / Leader and any “Master” having business with the Court.

2. Generally an assistant to the HPS / Leader will keep a Record of the Court’s schedule to ensure it runs smoothly.