Chapter One: A Faithful Dilemma
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Anacrothe was a natural born coward, a man cursed with the inborn knowledge of practicalities. He could smell dangers decrepit touch, a mere hour before the sordid event. However this sense abandoned the Alchemist when it came to lesser duties, such as housekeeping, as Moebius was soon to discover.
The Time Streamers visit, concerned Anacrothes recent obsession with certain dangerous elements. The local peasants were slightly miffed with the forever constant rebuilding of their villages, after each major experiment. This annoyed Moebius, as these individuals were quite the source of cheap labor, rebellions were always taxing.
Anacrothe: Ah Moebius, you scheming little man, what brings thee to my domain?
As craven went, the Alchemist was quite the arrogant dim witted individual. On many an occasion, Mortanius pointed this fact out. Especially during certain events that transpired after each circle meeting. The man failed to realize the complex interconnections of adult relationships. Especially the one involving Aerial and her beloved Nupraptor. The phrase 'third wheel' escaped the twerps mind, despite the Mentalists constant glares. The after effects of hoisting The Balance Guardian over one shoulder and legging his cargo to the nearest exist, whilst asking 'care for a ride home?', seemed to aggravate all those concerned. Often this led to a certain Alchemist forgetting his place in society, for a brief moment, whilst assuming the chicken stance and clucking absent mindedly down the streets of Coorhagen.
Moebius: Spare me your insolence, child. You know very well, why, I am here. Those little experiments, are causing more problems than is needed, right now.
Anacrothe: Let me guess, I happen to be interfering in another of those sordid, twisted schemes, you have decided to enact? Do tell, I assure you, I am quite trustworthy.
Moebius, managed to conceal his blatant disgust towards the Guardian of States, expertly. Anacrothe was many things, however, 'the vault of humanities secrets' fell quite short of this expansive list. The man thrived on snippets of information, taking mere seconds to destroy brittle alliances between foes, with a slight wag of the tongue. The Streamer, found this an inept tactic, at least he himself threw such vital information in his enemies faces, when they were appropriately handcuffed, chained and bolted to the floor. If the mans centuries of experience had taught the fellow anything, it was to avoid people quite willing to throw puppies, on mass, down a ravine.
Moebius: As assuredly as that fact remains, Anacrothe, nothing is in the works. For the time being, I have one simple request.
Anacrothe: Request? Since when has the Time Streamer, ever, requested anything?
The rightful Gods agent sighed, as per usual the Alchemist was being difficult. This fact remained an expectancy when dealing with such a loathsome fiend.
Moebius: Very well, think of it as a demand. I must stress the importance of this matter, after all, Mortanius is in full agreement.
This of course was a lie, The Necromancer considered the settlement as slightly less than useless. However their unique talents were ready to set the tone of future events. The statement also seemed to capture Anacrothes full attention.
Anacrothe: Very well then.
Moebius: Till we next meet, dear friend.
The Streamer turned and quickly headed towards the nearest exist, with a degree of hast. A desire for escapism from the Alchemists pit, sadly led to a certain old mans downfall. The level in which the pair occupied was situated over a large vat containing a strange liquid waste, currently under modification. Well in truth, that's what Anacrothe enjoyed telling various awed guests to create an atmosphere of admiration. The pool held remnants from remaining socks, garments and other chemicals involved in the washing process. Moebius being the gifted lucky sort, fell into this mixture, instead of hitting the ground, after slipping on a large three sided disc. Apparently somebody had been in this region earlier looking for a Guardian or the strange object (which is clearly capable of traveling through the vastness of time by itself). Whatever the reason, this led to one sticky Streamer covered in a compelling green ooze. Anacrothe peered over the edge, just in time to catch a glimpse of a lone hand floating above a mass of black socklings.
Anacrothe: Well, wasn't that unfortunate? Pity, looks like a new Guardian will grace our circle, ha!
With that little outburst, our lover of the color yellow, gracefully left the room.
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The Elder God moved a tentacle silently into the world. Something seemed wrong, he felt it deep within the earths crust. A single thought burst into his mind, Jimmy.
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Vorador was in many ways, a simple individual, he was quite easily satisfied with the delicate touch of three buxom beauties. Yet, the vampire seemed deeply troubled this evening, despite Mary's constant desire to butter the man up in exotic outfits. This particular bride was his fifth favorite wench, she sported wonderful talents that could only be justified with the cruel manhandling of a mop. Sick perversions aside, this green count, was concerned. Moebius's band of hunters had stopped patrolling the south side of the swamp, for the past ten days. This could only equate to one logical possibility, a large scale attack would soon occur. Though, this was not the mans millenia for the obvious concurrences to transpire. Suddenly, a strange unfamiliar sight burst into Voradors personal chamber.
Tom: My liege, oh... beg my pardon madame, this is urgent! The north wall has been breached.
The vampire lord couldn't quite place his finger on it, something seemed off about this creature. It didn't fit into the rooms surroundings, as the other leggy tarts aspired to. In fact, this person, lovingly cradled a rake, whilst its outfit sported this years dirt. The chest seemed flat, missing a pair of preservers, that he oh so enjoyed. There were no well defined curves and a pair of large black boots covered the tootsies. Then Vorador, realized the unthinkable, a man was within his abode.
Vorador: What in the abyss, foul imbecile, is one such as yourself, doing within these humble walls?
Tom took a brief moment to look around, humble definitely failed to define the mansions decadent materialistic atmosphere.
Tom: Master, we have guests, of the loathsome variety...they destroyed the petunias, round back!
Vorador: Good lord, the petunias, you say? Well, my dear (repulsive shiver) man, whatever shall we do?
Tom: Sire, I cant help but wonder, was that tone, sarcastic?
Vorador rolled his eyes and contemplated if this display of moronic aptitude was an inherent trait in all his fledglings. Then again, his current level of knowledge on the 'children of the nights' intelligence came from the female offspring. Often these delightful harpies were slightly more occupied with kissing their masters backside. Often a swift tongue was not required in such an interesting endeavor.
Vorador: Pray tell, what precisely did you see?
Tom: I-
There was a faint thud in the background as the main bedrooms large wooden doors gracefully fell to the floor. Two muscle laden lads brandishing steal pikes entered through the opening, as a figure lurched behind them. He was gaunt, silent and vaguely familiar.
Mysterious stranger: Gentlemen, welcome to the future.
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