The Ruined Peoples

by Pascal in Quebec

A very young Harry gets help from age 6 to fight against the cruel imprisonment he suffers at the Dursley's house. He sets out to earn his freedom by any means, at any costs, while trying to not lose too much of himself to the various beings, magicks and situations he will encounter. His ultimate goal is revenge against Dumbledore and making a new country of free magicals.

5. Chapter 5

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read this story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the Torchlight games, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators, broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

THE RUINED PEOPLES

FIFth chapter: repairing broken stained glass

Winter 1992 – Vanilla Sunday, all ice and plenty of screams...

(Two Steps From Hell– Star Sky)

Sunday, November 22nd of 1992

Roving viewpoint

Planet Earth

The Earth was burning.

For all of three days, or about so.

Now it was cooling down at an alarming pace.

The 89 nuclear strikes perpetrated by Britain upon the countries taken over by the Denarian angelic sect's remote mind control scheme had left massive clouds of radioactive ash floating around the atmosphere. The particulates were so densely grouped and opaque that it looked like great oceans of burned-gray sludge slowly oozing through the air instead of the gaseous clouds of inorganic poison they truly were.

The resulting effect was a reduction of sunlight hitting the planetary surface, thusly causing a dramatic lowering of temperatures across the entire globe. The secondary consequences of such low heat were unforeseen rainfalls and flash-floods in regions that were supposed to be in their driest months, and there weren't enough men or machines to help save the millions that were affected, so the losses of life were incalculable. Meanwhile, those zones undergoing regular winter experienced unnatural colds, winds and blizzards that lowered ambient heat beneath seasonal norms by more than 17 degrees Celsius on average, causing massive demands on power grids and gas pipes to supply home heating which caused black-outs and supply shortages in every settlement. People froze to death by the millions, and animals disappeared entirely in some zones, the overall death tolls as bad as in the flooded areas.

All around the planet, damages were being felt on a secondary level that few ever thought about when they discussed atomic weapons; out-of-area counter-shocks. What that meant was that everybody who was taught about nukes in school or job only ever heard about what to do in the blast area and immediate surroundings, but never about what happened further afield.

Well, it wasn't pretty, is what.

Firstly, the nuclear blast caused a continental temblor for several hundred kilometers around, followed by a massive wave of compressed air that blew out windows and shoved away vast bodies of water, snow, or loose dirt and debris, thus causing damages & injuries from the high speed flying flotsam. Then the things most people never thought about happened; pneumatic pressure interacted with the ground movements to shake & break the utilities in the aerial poles and underground tunnels at the same time. Electrical and comms wires fell to the ground, sometimes electrifying water or snow that zapped people and animals without warning, while the gas pipes ruptured into massive jets of fire that ignited houses and industries alike. Stockpiles of oil, coal, wood and trash heaps then lit-up as they were reached by a primary spark, creating towering infernos that then spread to the neighboring buildings, making entire cities burn inside of a few hours. As all this happened, both aqueducts and sewers cracked and fell apart in thousands of places, making huge messes of liquid fetor all over the towns and villages, while also depriving the populace of the most vital necessity in times of crisis – potable water. Then, on top of all that, was the ionizing wave let out with each atomic explosion, that burned-out electronics and scrambled the nervous systems of organics when they were too close to the blast-point.

So, the national infrastructure grids and commercial supply chains were collapsing and burning at the same time as the climate was either flooding or freezing people to death, with almost no time to see what was happening, nor understand events. The results were several tens of millions of humans dead, and probably as many non-human higher sentients as well, plus incalculable amounts of animals and plants. All over the world, the large cities composed of tall concrete towers and elevated roadways became inhumane jungles of twisted steel, jagged glass, cracked cement and crumbling wooden piles where the cheaper houses once stood. Lost in these hopeless labyrinths of once splendid human creations would lair the magical beasts and ordinary animals of the Earth, displacing the original builders for centuries until massive clearing chore groups could be assembled to come-in, tear down, and then rebuild brand new everything that was lost. It would take centuries before living inside a city with more than 20,000 inhabitants became technically feasible, let alone reliable due to iffy utilities and deficient security measures.

Unseen by anybody, the oceanic depths were greatly affected as well when the repeated sonic booms of the explosions passed through the fluidic domain, destroying the ears and scrambling the internal compass of peoples and animals alike. In some cases, the physical shock of the blast-waves was harsh enough to cause naturally aquatic species to drown in their native waters because their heart rhythm and lung flexion mechanisms had been disrupted beyond their capacity to recover. Then the radioactive ash clouds began to circulate around the planet and precipitate all over, thusly slowly sinking towards the bottom of the water bodies they landed on, which turned these waters into undrinkable, and unbreathable, morass that clogged the gills and lungs fatally.

x-x

On October 7th of 1992 when the missiles were launched, humanity had claimed 7,000,000,000 members on the planet, but as of November 22nd of 1992 that number had been reduced to nearer the 5,000,000,000 mark.

Nobody knew the real toll on the magical species and space-faring aliens, but they must surely have suffered casualties in the same order, nearly 20% of their population if not more when some groups were concentrated in small areas.

x-x

The situation across the entire planet was so dire that all the governments that managed to survive the initial blasts decided unilaterally to stop all hostilities with their neighbors to put all their efforts into staying alive. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Given the massive ground temblors, tsunamis, flash-floods, wild-fires and vasts zones of blizzard & ice, most nations had trouble assembling their armed forces and rescue services to create an organized help system to stay alive.

On top of this, untold thousands of people chose to abandon their postings to stay with their family & kin in the deluded hopes that one person alone could keep the disaster away from their dwelling. All it really did was create S&R or army squads that were short on critical personnel and therefore not able to deploy on those missions they would normally have done. This resulted in thousands of people dying needlessly due to the fear, selfishness, and lack of self-control of a few thousand hard-headed fools who put personal gain ahead of duty.

x-x

In the end of everything, there were two groups of people who would manage to survive better, and less injured or sick, than the rest of the world.

First; The people who live/work aboard boats & RV's were less subject to earthquakes, wild-fires and climate changes because they were living in a mobile, enclosed vehicle from the start. If these people had a wood burning stove and some pots to boil water, they could endure long enough to find solid food and survive for the long run. Also, a vehicle meant these people could determine where the blasts and dangerous climate zones were, then move away towards safe havens and the new communities that would emerge post-cataclysm.

Second were the homesteaders, ranchers and farmers, most of whom were already living on a piece of reliable, fertile land with a mix of clean water, crops and livestock. Now, instead of producing for sale at markets that no longer existed, these families and industrial groups would manage their resources for the survival of their local community, thus becoming anchors from which new villages and communes would emerge. These homesteads and ranches would apply anew the lessons of the feudal era's 'fortified farms' and quickly turn themselves into small walled enclaves, protected from animals, thieves and most of the harshest climate events.

Across Europa, Slavia, Russia and the Middle East, old abandoned fortresses built in Antiquity or the Middle Ages were quickly resettled by desperate surviving police, military and paramedics to shelter their families so they could then move outside of the walls and offer help to the people they found. In similar fashion, the governments of multiple nations realized they had some pretty serviceable fortresses on their own lands already, they just needed to be cleaned out before being converted into villages for the citizenry. Old prison or reformatory complexes built in the 1800's were made of solid stone blocks and heavy oak beams, while those built in the 1900's had kiln-fired bricks over steel structures, and they were all designed to look like the ancient castles of the Old Countries. Many hundred old sites were abandoned and needed a lot of work to become livable again, while more recent complexes just needed to be cleared of the criminals inside, which was no longer a moral dilemma for most national leaders still alive.

In other areas, groups of people who knew about old mining complexes that had been abandoned for several decades or longer chose to regroup inside the hard rock tunnels to pool their resources to eke out a subsistence for their kindred. In many occasions, the humans had the surprise to find the mines already occupied by magical or alien species that preferred underground climates, but the common despair and need for survival pushed the newly acquainted groups into establishing tentative alliances and collective efforts to build utilities and food for all, while repelling thieves, madmen, wild animals and toughing out the bloody crazy climate.

x-x

Unfortunately, like in any disaster or war, there were those who only thought of themselves and the satisfaction of their mental illnesses. Whilst the Mafia, Triad, Yakuza, Bratja, and countless other criminalized organizations would soon rival local governments because they were armed to the teeth and had fleets of vehicles to move resources, the real trouble came from the loose cannons that composed the layer of crud under the regular outlaws.

Most countries had thousands (up to millions) of citizens who were mentally ill and out of control to the point of being kept in medical custody, or else jailed when the nation had too few resources to care for its citizens. These sickly persons would mostly die-off inside the hospitals or jails as the explosions, counter-shocks, and tertiary cataclysms hit their medical complexes. Where the population got hit hard was that when the war hit, many buildings were damaged so badly that it permitted the escape of some of the most deranged people alive, while in other areas some hospital staffers got so desperate to see -ANY- humans survive the catastrophes that they opened the cells to let out the prisoners into the general population completely unfettered. These wackos would cause the deaths of untold thousands as all law enforcement and military systems strained to stay functional but couldn't keep up with all the messes out there.

On top of the newly released madmen, you had to account for the thousands more of unidentified sociopaths and psychopaths who had managed to commit their crimes without being captured by police because nobody knew about their depredations. These monsters now had free rein to steal, rape, burn and murder to their heart's content without worrying about any sort of consequences beyond their victim's capacity for self-defense, but that was part of the fun anyways...

And that meant that all these criminals would split into two very different categories; the loners who were driven by the disjunction from humanity in their head, and those who accepted no laws but that which they could inflict on others with guns, knives and tortures. This lead to the rebirth of types of crimes that had disappeared a century ago but now had a chance to happen again as police systems collapsed and all electronic surveillance shorted-out. The highwaymen looking for loot, the barbarian raiders looking for slaves, and the primitive tribesmen who worshiped foul deities of their own inventions and needed sacrifices to feed said gods.

The emergence of these innumerable hordes of criminals and insane in the environment caused the acceleration of the movements that had survivors grouping and fortifying the homesteads and industrial complexes they occupied. This put a big pressure on the need to acquire weapons and weaponsmithing tools, making armed men & women more valuable than farmers and engineers for the first few years after the atomic explosions occurred.

In the most depraved of realities, and direct reaction to the sudden outpouring of madness and insanity in all the lands, several compounds built by organized crime syndicates like the traditional Mafia and Yakuza became genuine safe harbors of civility. They allowed safe trades and reliable medical services that would become pivotal in the rebuilding of the societies where they established. These bastions of sentient life were built so rapidly and so hardened because the upper-crust crime lords and their vassals hated the insane and chaotic as much as anybody else did. Plus, the wackos were bad for business as they killed the clientele and burned down the production sites that kept the leaders fed and rich, so building walls & utilities, policing trades, and quelling the crazies was seen as a job for everybody, regardless of social status, training or moral affiliation.

x-x

In this morass of societal upheaval appeared yet another group of people who were seen as both a boon, and yet also a bane, by anybody they encountered: the Trappers' Guild. Initially created as a group of professional pest control experts a few years before the explosions of 1992, the TG rapidly converted into something far worse and nasty – mercenaries. These men who had once been experts at removing nutria rats, wild pigs, pythons, crocodiles, feral dogs and wild cats from near human properties and villages suddenly became roving bands of amoral triggermen, taking any contract to bring in any plant, animal, monster or person that a client would pay for in food, medicine, bullets, fuel, or solid resources of the same sort. They didn't care if the entity was a hostage being recovered from criminals or a victim heading for torture & death, as long as they got paid, the Trappers' Guild would bring them in.

Initially assembled in the southern states of the USA in Louisiana, Alabama and Florida, the TG would slowly spread their baleful claws across all of the upper American landmass they could drive their trucks to. Unfortunately, this idea was far from exclusive, and similar large mercenary bands began to emerge everywhere. In the central & southern Americas appeared the Cartel Cadenas et Latigo (The Chains & Whips Group). In Europa the mercenary guild Manua Armatens was formalized from uniting isolated police, paramedic, S&R, soldiers and desperate survivors who had a bit of training before the war. In Slavia & Russia rose the Sharp-Steel Kazahks from a mix of army, Bratja and racial/religious fanatics. Asia saw emerge the Sons of Khan, a Mongol mercenary tribe whose ultimate goal was to dethrone China and conquer it, so they took paying contracts until they had enough men and weapons to attack their old enemy. In the vast empty deserts of Africa were assembled the fanatical Shaka-yahlah's who wanted to rebirth the Zulu tribe's hunter/warrior glory, so they took contracts from anybody as transparent excuse to go running after bloodshed. And finally, the Arabic lands saw the rise of the amoral and unethical Hashashim Guild who killed anything for payment without any care.

x-x

On top of these organized land-based groups, the Earth saw an almost immediate restart of the Pirate Age on the high seas, greater lakes and large rivers. These criminals knew well that all remotely operated electronic surveillance was dead from the nuclear ionic waves so they were unseen, and most military force had difficulties going beyond the walls of their enclaves anyways, so the criminals would be able to escape unchallenged even if they were unlucky enough to have witnesses. The worse zones of piracy were the large portuary cities from which fishing boats were sent out to harvest large catches to feed the innumerable hordes of desperate survivors, and those historically important trade routes between the continents that brought vital supplies from far-away zones to those critically impacted by the blasts.

In a worse turn of things, just like with the highwaymen and crazies on land, thousands of small boats were commandeered by gun-nuts, fanatics and psychos who then parked themselves near a small river outlet, haunted the shores of smaller lakes or isolated oceanic estuaries, looking for easy loot and rapable prey to enslave from the safety of their mobile fort. Untold numbers of poor survivors would be shot dead from a distance because they were traveling near the shores of a water body without paying attention to what was floating far out of normal sight. Their bodies would be scavenged for supplies, clothes, and even rendered as food by the most insane or desperate of these new age waterway desperados.

Again, like on the ground, several corporate or criminal groups who operated large ships quickly turned them into floating fortresses bristling with guns, crossbows, flame throwers and high-pressure water cannons to repel pirates and surviving law enforcement alike. As in the more primitive eras of humanity, these boat operators instantly became new lords of sovereign domains, plus all the waters and shorelines they could reach with their weapons or crewmen, if they sent out dinghies to put boots into a situation. While rapidly becoming mobile havens of safety, trade and medicine, almost all of these huge ships also did some piracy and bounty hunting to supplement the needs they could not harvest or build themselves. Approaching such a large vessel was always a tricky gamble for the desperate inhabitants of small skiffs, and port towns never really knew what to expect when one such armored hulk tried to approach them.

x-x

The only good thing that came out of this epoch of limitless chaos was that survivors had no choices about going back to using resources more sparingly, and creating technologies that were better optimized for interacting with the environment where they were made. This led to people of all sorts using horses and mules for transport or powering farming machinery like in the old days, while more technically trained persons used wood, charcoal or pure alcohol to feed steam engines for mills and multitudes of vehicles. From the magical side of society came floating manatites and rotating spell-rod systems which would soon become commonplace, even for fully mundane humans if they could afford the high prices asked for such powerful devices.

Because of this renewal of the technical and industrial aspects of life, the survivors had far less pollution and smaller trash output than their previous lives, although that did depend on how lucky and skilled they were during the rebuilding phase, which would last for years. This lack of heavy toxic pollution permitted Gaia to heal and recover several zones that had been badly damaged for centuries, while many other areas would need the concerted intervention of both terraforming technicians and laandcrafting conclaves to enact any sorts of durable repairs.

Winter 1992 – In judgment most solemn do we now sit

(Two Steps From Hell– Emerald Princess)

Monday, November 23nd of 1992

Aontú Comhairle Sidhe

The Neverland Plane

The existential plane of The Neverland was quite similar to the Prime Material Plane, except for a few minor details, like the sunlight being about 20% stronger and much purer, or the moonlight being inversely 20% weaker in the visible spectrum, yet both 2,5 times stronger in magicks. The air, waters and laands were much cleaner than elsewhere as the Fae had learned to clean their activities and environment many aeons ago, so no traces of pollution or trash dumps remained.

The seasons were very equally split around the year, but followed the Multiversal Calendar as set down by Yggdrasil, at the very beginning of All Things; days of 36 hours, ten days per week, five weeks per month, seventeen months per year, for a total of 850 days or 30,600 hours. The seconds, minutes and hours were standard measures across the Realities and never changed, no matter where you went, even if the local circadian cycles (orbital patterns) were a bit wonky for some reason.

This meant that the Fae peoples and all others who lived in Neverland had seven days of work and three days of rest, plus a festival at the change of each season. Normally, Fae governments and religions followed a system based on the Wheel of Days, from the shamanic tradition that humans called 'Pict' or 'Celt' or 'Germanic'. In reality, this manner of understanding the world, time and seasons was given to the living beings by Yggdrasil, Dagda and Gaia through the dreams they rewarded their faithful with, hence why it was such a common way of marking the passing of days and years.

{ HP } - { Pixium isotope } - { HP }

The plane got its weird, highly specific magicks from a natural radiation that permeated everything and living being. It originated from a heavy metal isotope called 'Pixium' that was present in almost the entire landmass, in the sedimentary deposit layers. This meant that as the environment passed through its normal cycles of rain or snow, topsoil was eroded to reveal this isotope which was then drunk by plants, animals or higher sentient beings.

This in turn made them mutate slightly over dozens of generations, if the first drinker survived, giving this lineage of individuals better psionics, magicks and superior brain functions. Unless the isotope & radiation were combined with something else that affected the DNA and messenger RNA, the mutations incurred rarely, if ever, affected the physical abilities of the entities.

It normally took several decades for a mundane human to get used to this radiation, let alone the toxic properties of the Pixium dissolved in the water, air and food. Normally, visitors to Neverland got sick inside a few hours, one day at most, unless they had radiation shielding and potions against heavy metal poisoning. Note however that anybody who took generic medications would not have even a small chance of adapting and evolving; only a few very rare recipes of alchemical elixirs could protect the person from the isotope while permitting the beneficial mutations to occur safely. Such recipes are almost all in the hands of Fae who viciously defend them from thieves and interlopers.

{ HP } - { Cloudia isotope } - { HP }

Another heavy metal, the blue glowing rocks of Cloudia ore are relatively harmless given how weak their natural radiation field is. The base property of Cloudia is flotation, or rather inert levitation at neutral height, meaning that Cloudia will float in the air at whichever elevation another, external event has placed it. In order for it to move, a mass of Cloudia must be given impetus by the environment like running water or wind, a living creature's movements, or a device of some sort like an engine or spell.

This isotope is used in weak potions to grant limited levitation or flight for a short duration to the being who drinks it. However the recipes with Cloudia as active ingredient tend to be toxic if you imbibe more than once per week, and fatal if taken more than five times in less than four days.

For the Fae, the best use of Cloudia is to refine it into a very precious alloy that is both strong yet flexible, and has almost no weight of its own. This technique allows the Fae to create weapons and armors that flow with the warrior's body like natural appendages or an extra layer of skin that they were born with. In other common uses, the alloy is mixed with carbon and other metals to make a non-ferrous equivalent to steel to serve as structural beams and girders to build houses and commercial buildings. It the legendary flying ships of the Fae armies, Cloudia is slowly injected into the living crystal to lend it buoyancy so that the motors strain less and burn less fuel compared to mundane vehicles of similar size and shape.

Of course, all the aeons of R&D in the use and development of Cloudia also yielded a plethora of specialized tools, alchemical techniques and esoteric spells along with diverse pharmaceutical formulae and cooking recipes. Still, the most visible and awesome presence of Cloudia in Fae lives and culture is in the diaphanous clothing that is worn in several layers according to climate or circumstances. These clothes use the filaments of refined Cloudia embroidered through the thin silks like scriptworkes, covering the wearer in spell-effects that are more akin in strength and complexity to building wards than regular protective spells. These flimsy looking clothes were the reason why Fae, from the basest civilians to the highest of noble sorcerers, were so damned hard to kill, or even harm seriously, with either spells or energy weapons, as the Cloudia's aura by itself changed the direction of the beams and repelled the blast-waves of explosions.

Cloudia was an omnipresent item in Fae culture, and it truly achieved its apotheosis only in the Neverland or other planes rich in raw, free-flowing, elemental energies that enabled its capacities. In the Prime Material Plane, it was a common occurrence to find Fae items that had a dull grey metal in them, similar to lead, because the Cloudia isotope didn't have enough energy to be active.

{ HP } - { Abridged view of Fae life } - { HP }

In their own villages and large towns, the Fae were somewhat ordinary peoples, despite some pretty odd or varied body shapes and abilities. They preferred to purchase goods that were made by living hands as the object still emanated the aura of the artisan that crafted it, proving the kindness and honesty of the person who sold it. This meant that even the most modern towns were based around three central principles: the waterways & canals that brought life and magicks into each corner of the city; the cromlech parks that connected the peoples with the divines and Nature; and the market plazas where hundreds of small boutiques lined a flowing stream bordered by pedestrian streets, benches, tables and small foot bridges.

Fae architecture valued the five basal elements of Nature, thusly even a modest dwelling would have structural elements that brought in earth, water, air, fire and life/soul. Normally, a Fae house would have in each room two doors (one to outside and one towards inside), one hearth or stove capable of burning multiple fuel types, one votive fountain (bathroom/kitchen plumbing doesn't count), one large window placed on the outside wall centered exactly between the doors, and several pots or boxes with fertile dirt to hold living plants.

Normally, Fae preferred to build with natural field-stones or cut & dressed stone blocks to get the best connection to Gaia throughout the entire structure. However, there were those who preferred to build in living wood like the ancient druids and witches, or grow living crystals that could be shaped into the pieces necessary to built whatever they desire. In modern epochs, some Fae who were more inclined towards mechanics and transmutation began to build with baked bricks that had alchemical potions in the clay to keep a strong connection with the Laand. Except for ships that sail on water or the depths of Wildspace, Fae did not normally employ forged metals in the crafting of homes, shops or office buildings, except for the Cloudia simili-steel alloy to make the support structure in multi-floor edifices.

Given the preponderance of magicks and highly developed psionic abilities across all species and social classes of the Fae, the cities and villages of Neverland did not have many street optimized for motorized vehicles. As most residents could teleport (psychoport) at will very long distances, the town managers wisely made most streets into wide, dedicated pedestrian paths with enough space so that each ground-level shop or commerce could have a terrace for its customers. Only the Processional Cross & Coursive Boulevards, the named main boulevards and medical plazas were designed specifically with a heavy, sustained flow of mechanical vehicles on the ground and in the canals.

As a result of this, the public transit system was composed of bus-boats on the canals, buses on the boulevards, and hover-shuttles along certain residential routes. Likewise, hover-vans were the standard for both taxis, commercial delivery or familial vehicles. The best and most used public transit was the 'Living-Water-Nerves', a vast system of unshielded water-gates that linked every building inside the official limits of a municipality. The government could use a similar system based on heavily warded fire-gates that was reserved exclusively for paramedics or police interventions.

{ HP } - { Opening the session } - { HP }

The Fae were split into four basic species, with many hundreds of races, sub-races, ethnic groups and cultural tribes. Each of the lesser groupings were attached by racial lineage, culture, politics and military alliance with the Sidhe Court of the plane where they dwelt. The Fae could live absolutely anywhere, but they preferred to live in four specific planes, and thus there were only four permanent 'Comhairle' or 'Court Assembly of the Plane', all of which came together into the almighty 'Aontú Comhairle Sidhe' or 'Unification Court of the Fae Nobility'.

The Unification Court was, by common accord, based in the Neverland as it was the first Plane in which the Fae species began to exist, before groups managed to be populous enough to warrant having permanent Courts located in the three other planes. The 'Aontú Comhairle Sidhe' was a huge, heavily defended building complex, set outside the city that was the governing center of Neverland. The Plane's own Royal Palace was built separately, outside the town but on the other side, exactly opposed to the Unification Court. The other two cardinal points of the urban plan were occupied by a pair of huge military bases; the Fae Gladiatorial Academy and the Collegiates Armatens Occultio (School of Warfare Magicks) which had been made so big due to the constant flow of students from all four Fae species every year.

The entire capital city of Neverland, the hallowed 'Cathair de biotáillí' or "Town of Spirits", was an expansive site, worked upon by billions of Fae and servants over aeons. The city had been split into many wildly different boroughs against the will of its people because of the ancient wars caused by invaders from the Outer Planes, in times immemorial. Nowadays, there were a few truly space-age areas around the large governing centers, military schools and portuary installations, where the enemies had concentrated their attacks, while the majority of the residential and commercial districts had been largely untouched, thus staying almost medieval. This dichotomy was rather glaring to those who visited the sprawling ancient metropolis, especially if they had to visit several boroughs in the same day.

That was the unavoidable visual effect that the venerable Lord D'Ahaxae Inifiel, Arbiter for the Unseelie Sidhe, had to live with every time he set foot in this miserably luminous plane. The Dark Fae was not in the best of moods, to say the least, and the weird clash of architectures, magicks and technologies did not help stabilize him at all. As a social traditionalist and magical purist, he always had to force himself to endure the hodge-podge of clashing cultures long enough to carry out his errands when all he wanted was to jump back into a gate away from here. And today he most certainly could not run away to hide in his luxurious ancestral manor, lost in the Family's library of eldritch lores, far away from all the depravities of the plebes, especially the lesser mortal sorts. No, today he was on a schedule, bringing to the Court the final version of his alarming report on the happenings of Earth, in the Prime Material Plane, and had precious little good news to share with the seated Fae monarchs.

Not only did the useless humans let themselves be puppetized by Celestials to the point of waging nuclear war on their own homeworld, they had actually tolerated the unholy presence of those foul abominations, the Grell, and thusly probably had Illithids scurrying around too. Lord Inifiel had absolutely no pity left for the soft-skinned ape descendants, and he very much hoped that the Court would agree to initiate a purge cycle against their worthless solar system, to cleanse out this horrifying plague that was slowly growing among the senseless fools.

x-x

Emerging from a permanent dimensional gateway in an ancient transport hub located in the lake-shore fisheries district, the Unseelie nobleman quickly walked away from the offending smells of raw blood and entrails. Minutes later once he had cleared all the foot traffic, he took a shrunken device out of his vest pocket and let it enlarge back to full size, immediately grabbing hold of the handlebars as the spell-rod engine roared to life. In seconds, the sky-sled was airborne with D'Ahaxae lying on his belly atop the wooden sled, going over 200 miles per hour some 500 feet above the pedestrians. The trip across town towards the Court Complex was easy and fast enough that the Unseelie noble didn't have to witness too much of the unsettling 'otherness' that had slowly pervaded all of the metropolis over the span of his long life.

Arriving at the Aontú Comhairle, the Dark Fae snobbishly ignored the soldiers who kept the doorways and wardens who patrolled inside the various buildings that composed the complex, landing directly at the patio that served his reserved office. Thankful for his high rank and position in the monarchy, Lord Inifiel shrunk the sled back to pocket size as he tartly saluted his secretary and clerks then used a spell to change clothes for his ceremonial vestments. Taking a few minutes to leaf through his most pressing mail, he put it all back in the pan before silently walking out of the office for his appointment in the Court chamber. As his ill luck would have it, he was intercepted by his least liked colleague, Lady D'Ulfia Xal-R'rikha of the Light Fae, Anointed Emissary of the Seelie Sidhe.

Smiling the politely fake smile of well practiced politicians in all species, Lady Xal-R'rikha gazed at the rival lord with undisguised loathing and predatory desire. She was born in a lower caste but had a much higher magical ability than him, both innately and through studies, which were then boosted further by philosophical rituals and prayers to the Divines. She was almost thrice more magical than he, and never let pass a chance to shove it in his face when they met for their common work necessities. D'Ahaxae scorned the female with all his might, knowing that all her white & gold clothing and holy glyphs of goodness hid a fiend equal to any Baatezu that dwelt in the pits of Hell Everburning, and far more evil at that. How a devotee of the Church of Universal Goodness could have such character and her God still answered her prayers was truly the proof that the Divines didn't pay much attention to the mortal realms anymore.

Smirking toothily like a hungry vampire, Lady D'Ulfia greeted Lord D'Ahaxae with platitudes and fake wishes for his good health, regardless of the fact she would gladly disembowel him on the public place, if she could legally get away with it. Thankfully, he had diplomatic immunity due to his position in the monarchy or else they'd be locked in combat since their first meeting, nearly four centuries back. Wearing a bland face of urbane politeness, the Unseelie male replied with the expected greetings, just as fake as hers. Sighing silently inside his mind, D'Ahaxae knew that the arrogant lamprey would stick to his flank until they entered the Court Hall and had to sit in their permanent pulpits for the session. Thank the Spirits they each had seats assigned in accordance to their stations, functions and which planar court they represented, or else there would be fights to rival the gladiatorial pits at each scheduled assembly!

Entering the vast hall, the two rivals quickly split, aiming towards their respective species factions so they could make last second preparations before the quartet of Fae rulers called the séance to order.

x-x

Standing tall upon the imperial dais, Ludras Rahagrad, king of the Light Fae and Neverland, held aloft the Contrarian Siege-Staff of Devolution, using it to send a small pulse of magick at the large heavy wooden bell that hung from the apex of the ceiling, calling the session to order. The three other monarchs were already seated, unhappy and foreboding faces well in place as they gazed upon the murmuring fae nobles and scribes. The Seelie king stayed on his feet, occasionally flittering his long translucent wings as the only sign of his mounting impatience at the slowly responding members. Once the last nobles were placed, he gestured at the Chancellor to open proceedings so they could get the bloody problem dealt with at long last.

Dressed in mist-gray flowing robes with discrete black details, the akr-Seelie noblewoman that served as chancellor tapped a short brass rod upon a mushroom shaped brass lamp to activate the hundreds of similar devices around the parliament hall. These beautiful pieces of magical artistry were actually the traditional method of communicating between members and the Chancellor, to demand attention, pass messages or cast votes. In a similar vein, the lamps also served as localized ward focus to bolster the building's protections upon the members in case of attacks, managed the climate some 50 feet around, and caused a small zone of privacy to keep the members from interrupting each other during grave debates.

Once the session was formally at order and the roll had been tallied by the magical devices, the Chancellor sat at her pulpit, consulting the floating orb of mercury that displayed the day's list of debates, votes and reports due for audition. Making a face of disgust, the Stygian Fae realized that the first subject for consideration was the report from the Arbiter sent to Earth to evaluate the risks posed by the humans against the remaining magical or alien species. Keeping tight reigns over her emotions so as to not display them, the Chancellor tapped her brass lamp to signal Lord D'Ahaxae that he should move to the main lectern for his presentation.

Showing the beautifully sculptural features and fixated poise that had made the cold, calculative reputation of his kindred through the ages, the Unseelie nobleman walked at a slow, measured pace to stand at the presenter's dais, a few shallow steps above the main floor of the cavernous hall. He tapped the brass lamp with his rod of office, signaling his readiness to address the assembly, thus enacting the silence bubbles around all pulpits while magnifying his own voice. Putting a hand inside his robes of office, he retrieved the lore crystal that contained the text version of his report and the notarized copies of memories he had stored to prove his points.

To simplify things greatly, the assembly was first shown all the mnemonic recordings from the hours spent inside the Welsh Wiccan (human) Ministry of Magicks, while the allied national armies and mercenary brigades emptied and cloistered the building. The Unification Court was shown the multiple horrors the foolish human peons had been toying with, unaware of the dangers they were inflicting upon the entirety of their homeworld, and the solar system around it.

Of the four great calamities found, the simplest was the biology laboratory where poor creatures were vivisected, experimented upon, or cruelly altered with potions and rituals in wizardkind's search for the most docile races of slaves and warriors. Not something to really cry foul about, since each of the Fae species had similar programs in action for uncounted epochs. The problem was that the humans had been silently capturing Fae and other magical species to extract their essence in the hopes of boosting humanity's own weak shell above its station in Nature, trying to ascend to a higher evolutive plateau than where they were stuck since they appeared. Several Fae corpses had been recovered, as well as unicorns, phoenixes, gorgons, elementals, and the dregs of a Celestial entity so badly mutated they could not identify its base race anymore.

The second calamity was simple and easy to repair; the fool humans had built their Ministry edifice on top of an antique gateway to the Border Ethereal Plane, the realm of the foul Netherim Empire, ancestral enemies of anything that had ever encountered them. Closing the portal by destroying the stone arch then holding a purification ritual should be quick and final, if the dumb soft-skins hadn't let any Netherim through already. If a single larvae, worm or bulliae had entered the Prime Material Plane, then the Fae would have to engage in wide-area military maneuvers to cleanse and sterilize the whole planet before a full colony of the aberrant species rose to power.

The third calamity shown was the human's completely undisciplined, unscripted and mismanaged research into the most fundamental aspects of Time and temporal displacement. The strength of some devices under conception was such that it could tear a rift in the timeline and allow for cross-line or inter-realitive contagions to spread wildly. Plus, the capacity to send an item or person 'permanently' backwards in the deep past to create 'calculated' changes to the current timeline was both an aberration against Nature and a madness that defied understanding. The Fae had seized all R&D papers or lore crystals and impounded all physical tools and materials pertaining to these specific workes. Unfortunately, their Treaty with the Terran species meant they had to hand it all back to the British Crown upon the queen's request, or else face penalties enacted by Mother Magyck herself. This was not a situation that would be resolved to the satisfaction of any fae, or anybody else in fact.

The fourth and final calamity to show were the three Grell, floating indolently in their tubes, sipping tea and discussing the newscasts on the humans' -television- device for public messages. The poor Arbiter had nothing to show for himself in that moment, except to play the memories in raw, unedited form, and hope the Kings took mercy upon him. Besides, it wasn't like anyone seated in the great parliament could have taken on a single Grell by himself in combat and expected a victory, so Lord D'Ahaxae thought he had a credible defense about staying inert whence faced by three of the fully mature space horrors.

{ HP } - { Debates about Earth's future survival } - { HP }

After all the memories had been shown and validated by the Chancellor's notaries to be entered into the Court's Oath-Bound Archives, Ludras Rahagrad, king of the Light Fae, stood from his massive throne of living crystal to call the assembly to order. Glaring down at all the members whose pulpits were placed lower than the platform holding aloft the four royal thrones, the aged monarch gazed his underlings to submission without a single word or thought. Sitting back, the male Seelie gestured curtly at the chancellor, making the woman tap her brass lamp to open the floor to hear the delegates' reactions to the report.

First to stand at her pulpit was Lady Sam'Haxia Duliviel, Arbiter of the akr-Seelie. Dressed in the resplendently diaphanous robes of office her kindred preferred, her lithe form glittered from the hundreds of small rune-gems sewn into the multiple layers of fae-spun silk, giving her the appearance of a humanoid constellation. Given that the Exalted Lady was a certified Hadeosophe and spiritualist of the highest order, nobody in the hall doubted the lethality of the disco-ball clad diplomat of the Nexfae.

After tapping her brass lamp with the rod of office, the female begun her short declaration; "My dear colleagues under Yggdrasil's boughs, I would address thee upon the subject of the temporal devices and lores accumulated by the humans. We, in this chamber, all knew that such a moment would come. I do believe that plans had been drafted for the event, and therefore make motion to open the Oath-Bound Archives to contemplate our own wisdom, thusly guiding our next actions in regards to attenuating the danger posed by the Earthling's temporal experiments."

Bowing to the four thrones upon the elevated dais, the noblewoman sat in her pulpit, well aware that the assembly's archives would yield them no peace of mind, as the parliament had never been able to reach a majority opinion about temporal sciences and arts in the hands of menials.

The chancellor had the notaries call up the lengthy list of entries that indicated all the debates on the subject of time and its subjunct themes, like chronitons, tachyons, muons, gluons, timeline mapping, realitive arbrissures, and the few reliable devices that allowed temporal travel. The list held millions of entries, going back hundreds of millenia, and that was just the 'current' logs, not the full extension of the 'elder' or 'ancestral' records stored in the Oath-Bound Archives.

Passing a weary hand over the short antennae atop her head, the chancellor mumbled imprecations against humanity's parent species and their many descendants as she tried to scroll through the more up-to-date debate logs to see what could be germane to today's assembly. One of the notaries, bless his heart, had taken the task of selecting all the times the parliament had to debate about deploying the Fae Fleet against a society that was conducting dangerous or deleterious temporal workes. Another was searching for the pitifully few occurrences whence the parliament had decided to give a species just enough help with their time R&D to avoid causing a cataclysm in a strategically vital area of the Prime Material Plane. With a great sigh, the chancellor submitted the preliminary results to the audience, knowing full well that they would be running around in circles, chasing phantoms that did not exist.

The Grand Lady Titania, queen of the nug-Seelie, the Wyldfae of the Mirrorscape, stood from her throne of living reflective gems, tapping her long fingernail on the brass lamp next to her lectern to call attention to her voice. Gazing slowly and pensively at the assembly from beneath the massive silver crown of her office, the female monarch elocuted firmly "I know full well that this subject will not be resolved in my lifetime. Too many of our kindred have been sacrificed by lesser mortals in their drive to reach the same exaltation and status in Nature that we hold, for any of us to be comfortable about sharing such temporal abilities with any we have not willingly chosen. As such, I make motion immediately that we forward to the British queen an offer to purchase all of their temporal research and materials, at a much higher price than would normally be available on Earth. If they have a few of the more paltry items they wish to hold on to, then our negotiator could offer them some help from our certified chronomancers, for a price. Given how high a payment we will be asking for such services, that should discourage the humans and others on Earth from dallying in the eddies of time for one or two epochs yet."

The Grand Lady sat in her throne as the assembly were released form the privacy bubbles, and thusly allowed to have small localized discussions amongst close racial and political kindred. It took a miraculously short hour for the members to arrive at an agreement, giving in to the wisdom of the Queen of Reflections.

x-x

Ready to move to the next argument now that the chancellery had tabulated the votes and results, Ludras Rahagrad, king of the Light Fae, stood from his throne to guide the assembly's attention to the problem of a possible Netherim infestation on Earth. To this, he called upon the report of the Arbiter positioned in that sector of space to insure the safety of the dimensional borders from encroachment by hostile species and natural accidents.

Standing from the guest seat where he waited, the petty noble akr-Seelie Lord D'Hynyxia Froll walked to the main lectern and plugged in a lore crystal to display his maps. Lord Froll may be from a small, low-in-the-ranks clan that few knew about outside of his hometown, but he himself had achieved quite the reputation in his specialty. He was an expert ecomancer that had studied until he became a certified metamage, thus reaching the highest orders of the Harkys classes known to the Fae species and the space-faring cultures. He was a professional at environmental analytics and the processes necessary to heal and repair a damaged environment, including the three basal Energy Weaves and the dimensional curtains. He had taken a 'slow job' on the outer borders of the Fae empire so as to have time available to ponder his true work; cleaning up the messes made by the younger mortal nations all around them. The man may be a dreadful bore, but nobody in the hall would contest his competency, nor the fact that Dagda himself had blessed him with lores and exaltations far beyond the ken of the crowned elites of their People.

On the crystal screens of each pulpit appeared a series of very detailed charts that showed the solar system concerned in Wildspace, the surrounding connective demi-planes, and a temporigram that indicated no notable timeline displacement or injury. Several thousand higher-sentient species were tagged on the maps, showing that there were colonies or countries on each and every major celestial body of the solar system, including the Sun, plus several ancient starbases that floated in a random drifting pattern since their creators had abandoned them ages ago.

The Seelie king asked of the Arbiter "What can you tell us of the Netherim in the area?"

The akr-Seelie noble touched the crystal panel on the lectern with his fingertips, moving the images and highlighting items for inspection before answering. The young man spoke in a soft, ethereal voice that was nonetheless monotone and just as boring as his character, threatening to put to sleep the entire hall. "My venerable lieges, exalted delegates and noble aristocrats of the Aontú Comhairle Sidhe, I thank you for this opportunity to share my work with your august persons. In regards to the environment and safety of the planet Earth and its solar system, I would direct your gaze to the following registers compiled by our border guards over several tens of millenia that this small sector of galactic Wildspace has held interest for our forces."

Pointing at a long list of dates spread over nearly a hundred thousand years, the Nexfae metamage explained their significance for the assembly. "Here we have the sensor and divination reports for both the Illithid Galactic Congregation and Netherim Imperium, along several smaller hostile powers that we must keep a watch upon, such as the Neogi and Githyanki. As you can see, over the last 20-odd millenia, both of our greatest foes have sporadically sent scouting ships and settlement forces to attempt the emplacement of an advanced military posting to extract resources and slaves from the area. Still, after all this time, neither great nation has managed to accomplish anything worth noting in our logs, let alone bothering parliament with. This begets the question of why such repeated failures at what is normally a banal operation for these military organizations."

The Grand Lady Jes'Perdachs Lutufiel, queen of the Unseelie fae of the Border Ethereal Plane, queried the Arbiter at the lectern most demandingly; "Have the investigations of your department come up with any sort of answers for this pressing question, Lord Froll? Have we Netherim or Illithid in that sector to task our armies against?"

Pursing his lips in disaccord with the simplicity of the question, the analyst replied firmly "Forgive my blunt response, majesty, but there are Illithid present across the entire vastness of the Multiverse, as they are not allergically sensitive to certain planar environments the way that Netherim and most elemental creatures are. To estimate the threat level of Mind-Flayers is to calculate how many are present, what kind of organization they adhere to, and do they subscribe to the galactic expansionism of the Congregation. We know of several thousand small clusters of Illithid that are peaceful merchant enclaves where even fae are welcome for trade, and a similar number of isolated individuals who seek only loneliness to complete their life's workes in quietude. In those terms, the Earth's home system does have Illithids, but not of the menacing sort."

Continuing his answer, the expert detailed "The Grell that Lord Inifiel encountered in the human Welsh Wiccan sect's ministry installations are actually known to us. They have been under watch for the three millenia of their presence on Earth, and have never deviated from their established patterns. As you can see here, this is the ship that carried them at the moment of arrival, an Illithid hive-ship of the modest Archetheutis class, shaped like a giant squid with a village emerging from its dorsal plane and flanks. These vessels are a thousand yards long and some three hundred yards wide, with about one hundred and fifty yards between the keel and topmost roof gable in the conn tower. Able of atmospheric entry directly, by portal or planar shifting, these hulls are designed to land on water to serve as floating colonization hubs until the first village is built on solid ground, and autonomous for food and defense. From our records, this hive was already badly damaged by a category 11 ion storm, then subsequently pillaged by a small swarm of Neogi pirates before it arrived to Earth. Once in orbit, they gated the ship to the surface and landed in the Isle of Albion, in the southern region where they remain since."

One of the lesser delegates tapped his brass lamp to request the right of speech as he had an important question. Being granted parley by the chancellor, the fae lord rose in his pulpit, asking "Are these ion engines and FTL drives that we see on that ship's images? Are you telling me that a blasted space-age battleship crashed amongst the humans three thousand years ago and nobody did anything about it? What if the primitives get their hands on those engines? Or the weapons? Did the hull have a quantum cannon, like most of them have nowadays? What about bio-weapons and vectors? Do they have launchers for inter-system missiles?"

Nodding slightly towards the nobleman in acknowledgment, Lord Froll replied drably "The hives of this class are all equipped with what the Illithid Congregation terms 'colony clearing' tools and weapons, therefore they have the same load as a battleship, but replace the inter-system missile launchers by a portable environmental recycler to create the first permanent climatic bubble, to help install a village in a place devoid of life-sustaining elements. As such, they are a formidable adversary in direct ship-to-ship conflict, or in a planetary bombardment, but not worse than any cruiser or destroyer of similar size and technical level. As for their cultural referent, yes they are from a small sect of Illithids that were deemed 'space-age', but without being associated with the Congregation, nor were they contractors for them. Hence why no action was taken at the time."

King Rahagrad asked loudly "Do we have any contact with these Illithids or not? And what are their intentions on Earth?"

Shrugging, Lord Froll countered blithely "I am afraid, Majesty, that one of the major reasons for never bothering with the situation was that our sensors of the time had detected that all Illithids aboard were dead, with most of the hull exposed to hard vacuum. Our military analysts back then had surmised that the Neogi who invaded the hive after it was knocked-out by the ion storm had killed-off the Mind-Flayers and stolen all the valuables they could, before setting the derelict adrift to meet its end at Yggdrasil's wishes. It's not like anybody would want to be seen dragging such a ship into a starbase's docks to sell it or chop off pieces to trade. Nobody would buy the parts, and the chance of an Illithid vengeance attack when they hear of it are too great to risk."

King Rahagrad stroked his chin with a long index, wondering aloud "How then did these damned Grell come to this mud ball, if the ship was adrift and defunct?"

Shrugging again, Lord Froll replied "While the Neogi are formidable mages and psionicists, their best occultists are paltry in comparison to the most middling Grell. If the surviving Grell aboard the hive had decided to shield themselves in illusions or harbor inside a pocket-dimension until the pirates were gone, no one alive or dead could have penetrated these defenses. I believe that the Grell were in fact the very last survivors of the hive, and they managed to bring the ship into atmosphere for a controlled emergency landing rather than an actual crash, thus preserving whatever was left in the hull for their own uses. From that point on, they have existed in solitary, only rarely communicating with anything on the planet or the solar system around it. They have never attempted to contact anything outside, that we know of to date."

Queen Titania grumbled lowly before asking of the metamage "We asked you about the Netherim and you shunted us over to the Illithids! Can you answer the bloody question or not?"

Nodding respectfully at the Grand Lady, the akr-Seelie nobleman explained "That is the crux of my answer to your Majesties; the Grell have spent the last 3,000 years clearing off the Earth any species and artifacts that could be construed as a threat, by us or most of the countries we have trade agreements with. Furthermore, our official Arbiters and secret spies amongst the inhabitants of the Solar system have never seen nor heard of the Grell asking for payment in exchange of doing this service. To this day, they seem content to exist in hermitage, deep in the underground layers beneath the Isle of Albion, never venturing further than the planet's outer atmospheric zone when they repel enemies. And that is the situation with the gate that Arbiter Inifiel discovered; the Grell had placed one-way wards and defenses upon it, only allowing for untainted entities to pass through, and only going out towards the Border Ethereal, never coming back towards the Prime Material Plane. The arch was secure, and had been for three millenia, when our curse-breakers and EOD techs arrived to destroy it in a controlled manner."

Queen Lutufiel queried tartly "Have those stupid British humans told you anything about the Grell and what their relationship with them is? They had them in tubes inside their Ministry since it was founded! Surely that moronic primitive queen of theirs knew something!"

Lord Froll joined his hands before his abdomen, taking a few seconds to order his thoughts, as social and political events were decidedly not his strongest skillset. "My lieges, from what I was told by the follow-up team sent to neutralize the Netherim gateway, the Grell have an ancestral magically sealed bond with the human monarch of the country called 'England' or 'United Kingdom', and are therefore at somewhat of a subservient status towards them."

King Rahagrad growled menacingly "Are you telling us that the bloody humans have managed to get themselves some pet Grell for three millenia, and this is the first that the Court hears of it? Where the bloody Hells were the ministers of defense and divinations at the time? Why was nothing done the very moment these loathsome floating beasts were detected in the area?"

Spreading his hands in a display of powerlessness, Lord Froll replied "I have been in post in that sector for slightly less than two millenia, my lieges. I do not know why my predecessors did not bring this to the attention of the Court, nor why the ministers haven't reacted to the reports. As you can see in the registers of the epoch, the maps were annotated with the correct emergency runes and icons, and a priority request for Royal decision was appended to the missives as they were sent here, at our ministry of defense. In the three millenia since, not a single answer was given until your summons reached me, in the surveillance station where I have my posting."

Glaring malevolently at the chancellor, the Queen of Reflections ordered "Get all the Archives for that sector from the last three thousand years and process a full investigation! At the least little bit of uncertainty, extract another ten thousand years backwards. And get some warlocks into this mess! I want to know who screwed-up their job, and those of their neighbors!"

{ HP } - { Closing the session } - { HP }

Now in a fine strop about the mess dropped in their collective lap, the King of the Seelie ordered Lord Froll to return to his posting and perform a series of in-depth scans and divinations to guarantee that the Earth had not been infiltrated by the dreaded Netherim. That pestilent species from the Deep Ethereal Plane was worse than mold, and far more difficult to remove when they were fully established. While his preliminary report stated the Grell had cleaned-up in the past three millenia, they would be fools to trust in the good will of entities they had never contacted, and usually had very bad relations with in other circumstances. The Court needed clarity, and proven facts, before they decided if a purging cycle of the solar system was indeed required.

With an imperious gesture, King Rahagrad commanded Arbiter Lord Inifiel to assume the lectern anew to receive his orders from the Court. "My Lord Inifiel, as you have already contact with the British humans and their partner species, you will be tasked with overall command of our Fleet division for the solar system concerned. Your primary mission will be to determine just how big a threat the invasive nations/species pose to the area, and postulate solutions, preferably not involving large tracts of the Fae Empire. We have almost no resources or commerce coming from this zone, therefore we do not see any reason to sacrifice the lives, or sanity, of our men to defend barren rocks and clutches of primitives too uneducated to even be grateful for the protection we grant them. In fact, if you can manage to establish a few mining colonies and trade outposts to make this entire venture less of a black hole, the Four Crowns would be pleased."

Without further fanfare, King Rahagrad used his staff to send a pulse of magic at the large wooden bell hung from the ceiling, calling the end of the session and the opening of the doors so that people could move around again. The four monarchs retreated to the conference room located just behind their shared dais, letting the chancellor handle the proceedings and spread around the written account of the session so that members could study events in peace, at their own rhythm.

Lord Inifiel trotted in a determined pace as he made a straight line for the younger Lord Froll, getting abreast of him just before he passed the massive doors out of the chamber. Speaking in firm tones, D'Ahaxae ordered the other man "Get yourself supplied and ready for departure in four days at worse, and call my office to get the name of the ship we'll take. I want to have some time discussing things with you before we get there, so we'll go by the slow road through the Styx demi-plane instead of gating directly. Here is my card of office. Now, if you'll excuse me, I happen to have several soldiers to go meet to be appraised of the state of the Fleet division that is now under my supervision."

Wincing in sympathy for his erstwhile superior, D'Hynyxia Froll commented softly "I would not get my hopes up, if I were you. The starbase where I am posted has existed for close to one million years and been renovated only twice in that time. We still operate a power grid based on rotating spell-rod engines supplemented by cold fusion reactors mounted in wheeled cargo pods just to keep up with basic necessities. The base's local monarchs haven't been able to do anything worth speaking of with their domain over time because both the General Imperial Intendancy and the Fleet Budget Office have systematically denied funds for the last 600,000 years. I manage to do my job mostly because I am a metamage, so I can cast manually most of the spells I need to create the maps, charts and reports, but my range is only a pitiful fraction of what a good astrometrical array in orbit would give. A vital tool that the sector has done without for close to 500,000 years, since the original one built with the base has gone off-line, beyond the capacity of local crafters to manufacture parts for the repairs that would reactivate the sensing elements."

"Fucks!" Griped Lord Inifiel, coming to understand just what kinds of a backwater he had been assigned to set straight. And without any added budget or resources, too!

Winter 1992 – Hogsmeade taken in hand at long last

(Harry Potter – main theme)

Monday, November 23nd of 1992

Hogsmeade village

Black Lake, Scotland, Britannic Realms

Goblin king Ragnok Backsnapper stood tall at the top floor of a wooden watchtower that overlooked the mist shrouded ruins of what had once been the (human) Welsh Wiccan hamlet of Hogsmeade, near the Black Loch of Scotland. He watched with great interest as a massive flying ship made of metal bearing the colored crest of the British Royal Marines came down from the cloudy morning skies. While the king had known about these things for a few years, they were quite recent in comparison to his five centuries of life, and he had never seen one in person from this close before.

The airship had a long but thin body painted black with two whirling sets of blades placed one ahead of the other on the roof. It also had a winch set in its belly from which was suspended a small 4-wheel vehicle to move people and cargo locally. These were the military versions of the "Chinook" cargo helicopter and "Land Rover" jeep-style car, his advisers had explained, when the diviners had seen the things coming an hour ago. There were actually three such teams arriving, with the heavier machines and parts coming by train in the next days, if the track lines were safe enough to journey.

Activating the remote viewing function in his eyeglasses, Ragnok was happy with what he saw disembarking from the vehicles; Britain's first officially declared inter-modal troops in their nation's existence: the British Military Hybrid Crafters. An autonomous corps of all-services engineers & demolitions experts that had been trained equally in mundane technologies and magicals arts like alchemy, transmutation, elemental manipulations and, of course, healing to handle the inevitable little worksite mishaps. This meant they could serve as back-up forensics team for investigations, or supplemental medics in a heavily damaged zone that had problems bringing the real doctors in to establish a permanent field hospital during combat operations.

When the trucks were down on the ground, the helicopters automatically unlocked the hoisting hooks and withdrew them into their bellies, the hatches closing shut to effect maximal armor over their vulnerable undersides. Then, all three helos went to park on the large red circular patterns that had been cleared out just for them and their respective crews to occupy while the Black Loch regional maneuvers were underway. Now that the machines were so close, Ragnok could see the dark yellow lines of brass that had been inlaid into the machines' outer panels, wheel hubs and windows, to form scriptworkes armoring against a multitude of threats. The designs looked basic and easy to copy with an enchanted press, but serviceable nonetheless. Besides, most magical cultures developed script-stamping devices early in their evolution, so the goblin monarch wasn't all that surprised the humans had finally gotten wise to this manner of mass-producing magical artifacts. It also did show they had a good eye for practical warding, as the large war-machines had been kitted in a way that was truly optimized for each sort, instead of just thumping on a set without care for the vehicle's specific needs or weaknesses.

It was a truly grand idea Elizabeth II had in assembling these units, and all of her partner nations that didn't have an equivalent would be copying the scheme right quick. Good ideas were made to be stolen, if they weren't under a patent or contract, after all.

Using a quick wizard door spell, the king and his honorary escort of four Orogs dressed in finely chiseled black adamantite full-plate armor walked over to meet the humans' leader for the scheduled transfer of Hogsmeade. The goblins were merely acting as paid contractors for the clean-out and expurgation phases of the takeover, nothing else, as stipulated in their remit with queen Elizabeth II and her parliament. It was high time to hand over this craterized patch of open-air trash dumping grounds. "Not the people," Ragnok thought to himself, although there had been some of the sorriest examples of wizarding humanity residing in the burgh when the goblin warriors had cleared out the old, decrepit buildings. Rather, it was the ten centuries of pollution, homestead offal, and never neutralized magical radiations that sullied the laand unchecked, making the whole village akin to the midden pits beneath his kingdom's warrens.

Standing at attention near the large Chinook helicopter amusingly named 'Toothy Chicken' by her flight crew, the female human colonel who would be in nominal charge of the rebuilding phase saluted the arriving monarch as if he were her own sovereign. Ragnok had to admit, silently and only to himself, that he was far more happy than expected to finally receive the respect due for his person and situation from the soft-skinned up-worlders. Colonel Judy Spitburn was an amusing human to speak with, and not just for her almost goblin name or equally enviable profession as a specialist engineer of underground structures & utilities. It was a rare day indeed whence Ragnok could interact with a human and call it a good investment of his time.

"My lord king! We are pleased to accept the post-action reports of your finest warriors, and relieve your kinsmen of their burden in concerns of the Hogsmeade jurisdiction of Scotland, under the British banner. If you could sign here, here, and you need to bleed on that rectangle there so we can hijack your youngest, supernumerary son, and you can leave at your convenience..." the human soldier told him with a bland face and fully toothed grin as she handed a sheaf of papers to finalize.

Grunting in amused faux disappointment, Ragnok leafed through the documents just to be sure as he quipped in reply "My youngest son? Blast! I was expecting to offload at least two or three of my daughters that are still unmarried. Huff! I guess I'll have to ask the wives to do their jobs a bit faster to marry them off, then."

The colonel shrugged carelessly as she replied in matching amusement "It's the son coming with us because Her Majesty Britannia wanted the girls to stay behind, to insure some brains in your kingdom, in case you got killed-off in some lark or other, during the cleaning of the hamlet. Also, it seems that the internal politics of the warrens got a mite hectic, of late, so Dame Windsor decided to be a bit more prudent in what she asked in the contract."

Glaring mildly at the woman over the bundled papers, Ragnok snorted in good humor at her cheek at his family's expense. Especially since, truths be told, none of his sons had yet achieved what could be called 'royal temperament' in most polite societies, so he was forced to agree with the human queen. Not publicly, of course, but self-honesty was a must when ruling a nation, or else hubris and foolhardiness lay in wait to destroy you. Still, his last son was not even ten years old yet, and far more manageable than his sisters, all past age 60 and acting like it every day of his poor, misbegotten life. Why had the bloody human ruler been so wise as to know this and leave him the damned harpies? Even if this caveat was not a real clause of the written contract, it was the principle of the thing that irked him, getting taken by an elderly human crone on his own land as a professional lawyer & notary. It would be the shame of his profession if word got out!

Smirking most satisfiedly, the colonel accepted the signed & sealed papers while taking out a short wooden wand topped by a metal ornament with the other hand. A quick spell had the pile glow to signify that everything was properly enacted, and it also triggered the enchantments that automatically copied and spread the duplicates to all their archiving stations across England.

Wearing a more serious visage, the woman bowed at the waist, intoning formally "We have accounted of your activities in these here premises in the name of Britannia, and found them to be satisfying. You stand relieved, sir."

Nodding amiably, Ragnok completed the small formality "We are indeed relieved, colonel. We wish you clear waters and solid stone shelters for your troops, in the coming years. May your assignment yield profits and peace to all you survey."

Judy Spitburn offered the goblin king and his escorts a military salute as they saluted in their own ways before opening a gate to the front steps of Gringotts, in the ruins of Diagon Alley. The king wanted to go see the reclamation & repair job in progress with his own eyes, not that he doubted the abilities of coronal Nulithiel's mages in that domain. The elves were master craftsmen of equal caliber to the goblins, dwarves, gnomes, minotaurs, and many others with similarly venerable cultures, so nothing should have kept them from rebuilding the old Welsh Wiccan mercantile district to a much better standard that what was tolerated in centuries past.

{ HP } - { Improved military methodology } - { HP }

Colonel Spitburn briskly walked over to her six squad leaders who were assembled in the shadow of the helo's tail, using the lowered cargo ramp as makeshift mustering zone. Given it was the back-end of November in northern Scotland, and they had already three feet of snow on the ground, she would not blame them for staying as dry and warm as feasible. Instead, she joined them in the hold and ordered the ramp closed-up for the duration of the meeting.

In a fit of intellect that was not the norm for army planners, the brass in London had ordered that all the helicopters for the Hybrid Crafters be fitted with space-expansion charms to double the length and triple the width of the cargo hold to make a passable all-purpose room. Once the charms were engaged, the plain rectangular room with two 7-seat banquettes became a much more welcoming hall with four small toilet cabinets and a full wet service bar to have hot drinks and food for anybody using the conference setup. The middle of the room now had a massive table with sixteen wooden, padded, swivel chairs that held an inter-modal crystal reader / pensieve / holographic projector that interfaced with the technomagical server and comms.

Attached to the service bar was a massive stacked-stone chimney with a cast iron wood burning stove facing towards the central passage, and a walk-in hearth aimed along the side of the helo, to serve as floo for accessing the military's new, secured firegate network. This hearth also served to access the biggest advantage the three flying machines had inside: a tree of trunks. This system was invented by the Gnomish bankers of Switzerland centuries ago and was exactly as stated. It was an inlaid figure of power shaped like a tree that was engraved into a wall, or large solid object, with cavities to clip-in the dimensional trunks of the persons allowed to participate to the work group.

Normally, this meant that these trunks were crafted according to a preset pattern, with utilities that allowed to connect with the private group floo, see through the common sensors, and share external comms to send reports or maintain familial & church contacts to avoid panicking other people. In this case, each pilot, 12 regular Hybrid Crafters squaddies and extra specialist or high officer had the same model, made by the Artificer division. Each trunk was conceived on the floor plan for a barracks-type building able to hold safely two full combat squads of 16 people for three months or more, if they could leave to procure food or medicines. This design gave an extra large single bubble with a single, flat-roofed, one-story edifice and a thirty foot wide band of landscaped greenified land all around to give the inhabitants a small bit of fresh air, plants and exercise instead of being cooped-up all day.

These dimensional barracks had 32 identical small bedrooms split in two groups of 16 including 4 wet bath stalls and a large, well furnished living room per cluster. The common areas were a large galley kitchen serving two fully kitted 16-seat dining rooms and two plushly appointed dens, with an enclosed powder room in each of the five zones. There was an infirmary comprised of a combined apothecary & alchemy workshop to craft potions and tools, two 1-bed surgeries and a large 12 bed convalescence hall. There were no doctors' offices as all records or files would be on the trunk's crystalline server core and follow the soldiers when they switched trunks or squads. Added to these were a general workshop for mechanics, fuels & weapons, two dry warehouses 20' x 20', one cold room 20' x 20', and a huge mud room that also served as mustering area and pre-mission briefing hall.

It is to be noted that the designers followed their orders to separate the regular soldiers from the officers in how the bedrooms, dining rooms and dens were split, with wards preventing subordinates or strangers from entering unless invited by an officer already present.

Inside the mud room was a huge walk-in hearth that was the secured private floo access, and a door to the side gave passage into the armored room where all the technomagical utilities and services were generated or controlled. This included a traditional floating-point manatite stone, three small rotating spell-rod engines, dozens of portable crystal Power batteries, water treatment, ventilation, hybrid boiler-coils & pistons electricity generators, breaker panels, telecom & media hubs, and a pair of hybrid crystal server stacks plus a back-up electronic-only military wheeled field server.

The flat roof was accessed by stairs inside and outside the barracks, used for the gym equipment, fighting mats, and a pair of diving boards hanging over the large in-ground swimming pool that was dug into the band of green lawn outside the building. One zone of the roof along the length had been cordoned-off with cement slabs and heavy wards to serve as hybrid shooting/casting gallery to practice combat weapons & spells inside the trunk without setting off alarms or causing disaster.

Yep, the British military had spent the last hundred years or so preparing for what many had seen as the inevitable collapse of both the Welsh Wiccan sect and their only true competitor, the White Council of the Denarian angels. Everybody inside the queen's admiralty had known for the last five generations that the planetary reveal of magic was coming, the only variable being whether it would coincide with Magical Britain's civil war or not. It did, and it was a bloody good thing the admiralty had taken the time since Grindelwald's first rise in WW-I to develop new tools and tactics to fight these suicidal fools on equal terms.

Also, in a pretty bleak and crass reality, Judy knew that the generals were thinking about their own comforts, for when they would be obliged to visit the construction sites of new cities or army bases, at diverse steps of the reclamation & building. Nothing was ever too good for the 'elites' of the British military, especially those with inherited titles from long-dead ancestors. None of these sneering, high-nosed snobs wanted to be caught dead eating with the ordinary soldiers, let alone bedding in an open barracks, so the only way to pass the expenditures by the queen had been to give the same standard of care to everybody across the ranks & divisions.

{ HP } - { The new Hogsmeade plans } - { HP }

Snort! Even with the planet burning and freezing at the same time, the dumb flops had to have their privileges and apanages of rank or they threw a tantrum like a baby with a full diaper.

Concentrating back on the job at hand, Judy shouted "Alright, ye mangy dogs, quit yar yappin'! We have work to do!" as she grabbed a mug of hot tea and scone from the wet service counter.

"Good. Now that you're all tea'd up, we can focus on the jobs." the colonel quipped at her troops as she gulped a mouthful of life-saving warmth. "Our good neighbors the goblins were kind enough to empty, expurge and then level down each and every building or structure inside the jurisdictional territory of Hogsmeade, be they legally permitted or unlawfully crafted. That leaves us yokels with a patch of raw simile-moonscape to work with, as you could all witness during our aerial approach. Then again, when you look at the original village map, pretty much anything we do will improve the place a hundred-fold, not to mention bring it to the current era."

Activating the holo-projector, Judy pointed at items in the tactical map; the current grounds appeared in normal film coloration while the new plans were glowing yellow or blue lines imposed over the dismal reality.

"Basically men, we have barren beaten dirt pocked with holes a dozen or more feet deep to excavate fully, then build the under-works for the new town, then back-fill all the empty space with freshly neutralized & fertilized soil. After that, we have a series of blueprints for the perimeter walls, guard towers, roadway & railway gate-keeps, lakeside docks, moats & canals with water locks to permit access to the new wet market in the center of town. That means we will be moving the rails well away from the lake shores towards the new center of the hamlet, with a 'U' shaped canal passing beneath here and here, and connecting to the docks at these points. And yes, that is an internal separation wall that keeps beasts or people from invading the town by the lake, the admiralty insisted on that feature. No reason to build a citadel if any bunch of thugs with row boats can bypass the walls to hijack the townsfolk."

The colonel continued "Now then, the newly emplaced train/tram station goes here next to the new sunken wet market plaza, with the town hall, post office and medical clinic next to them. The tram rails will be on this side, and go this way, through this gate-keep and up to Hogwarts, all the way inside the main courtyard, and then out the rear to go into the Forbidden Forest until it reaches the terminal inside this hill, atop which we will build the Laessach Hill Bastion. There will be a small underground commune of dwarves, goblins, gnomes and halflings that will live in that new enclave full time in about a year, and an emergency helo pad so we have a secondary landing zone, in case of more troubles in Hogwarts."

"Our last work will be to build the entirety of the brand-new joint services RAF airfield and barracks just outside the Hogsmeade walls, but with a system of walls that connects physically with the village to merge firing zones and warding layers. That is gonna be overall the largest and most complex part of the entire building phase."

Gesturing idly at the floating map, colonel Spitburn finished "All the civilian-owned houses, farms, boutiques and workshops will be built by our good services, when the plots of land have been attributed and the new owners have chosen a set of plans from the catalog offered by our counterparts. Any modifications or completely different drawings will be paid for and built completely by their owners, but only after our approval of conformity and everything else in town has been done and surveyed for the post-action reports for the admiralty. Questions?"

Firstly, nobody was dumb enough to ask why they were ordered to do this particular job in the middle of Scottish winter and its killer snow storms. One; it was nuclear winter all over the planet, so get with the program of get dead quick. Secondly; the queen ordered it, 'nuff said.

One squad leader raised a hand to ask "What about Hogwarts?"

Shrugging, colonel Spitburn replied honestly "Right now the dwarves are in charge of the castle and estate encompassed by Hogwarts, in a joint effort with the surviving Centaurs, Mermen and others who dwell in the forests, hills and Black Lake. They're all happy enough with the job, as some of them are being paid the full worth of their talents for the first time in all their interactions with the humans. So, we're not to rock that boat unless absolutely necessary for our survival, or the proper and timely completion of our mission objectives. Other question, laddies?"

A second hand raised, to query "Are we doing only the solids or also the electronic programming and ward layers?"

Giving a huge sigh, Judy emptied her mug then dumped it in the sink to be cleaned by one of the now idle pilots who were reduced to busboy duties until next liftoff. "Aye, about that bit of our plans. London was supposed to be sending us several more teams by the rails, to do some heavy lifting with proper construction machinery and premade parts. I got the update just a few minutes before landing, and that's no longer in the plans."

Running a weary hand through her buzzcut brown hair, the woman detailed "The worsened winter climate is picking up speed and strength all over the planet, so the bosses need to reactivate as many of the large cities' water & fuel utilities as possible, then establish massive greenhouses inside the town limits to feed the survivors. And they have no choice about building brand-new inside the walls & moats that are being planned by the admiralty because they need the wind-breaking as much as the defensive abilities. Bands of roving armed thugs have been spotted in some rural areas, and there are still witch burnings happening in the suburbs that lie farther afield of police power."

The head of the second engineering squad wondered "Will we have to change our work methods or did the brass extend the schedule towards completion? Because we won't be ale to give the same output if we're all the workforce available, and no premade parts come in to speed up things. Plus, the blasted winds and snows aren't doing us any favors anymore."

The colonel shrugged powerlessly as she replied "The upper ranks in London are aware of this, and have told me to implement the alternative methods as planned. We will replace all the cranes, forklifts and hoists with floating disks or telekinetics per piece necessary. All the work to landscape or excavate edifice foundations, canals, the wet market, and all roadway or tarmac beds will be done by summoning elementals. All technically demanding assembly jobs like bridges or signal poles and sensors will be done with 'image of self' or 'unseen servant' dweomers to multiply the existing workforce. Also, we will temporarily use the dry warehouses and mud rooms in our trunks as pre-assembly shops to minimize how long we spend in the cold weather, and to optimize those sessions so they happen only for a good reason, like landscaping or raising the actual structures."

The leader of the first security squad asked "My guys are also tasked as quartermasters for the duration, so what do we do about food? Given the dramatically changing climate, I don't rightly think the lake or forest will be of much help for a long time to come. So, what now?"

Nodding in sympathy, Judy replied "I have asked the centaur representative in London to help us with supplies, before we left the capital. He sent a message to his herd, and they are relocating near Hogsmeade's external safety clear-out zone, just outside where the moat will be dug. They will need our help to dig a set of underground warrens adapted to their equine bodies, and bring in some clean water sources, but after that, their own magic will be enough to make it all inhabitable for the predictable future. Once set-up, the centaurs will start hydroponic beds and small livestock pens that they will happily share with us, in trade for medical assistance and extending out temporary worksite utilities to their tunnels. Now that the humans are finally listening to their opinions, they see an actual use in listening to our medias to figure out what our people are about, for once in a thousand years."

The leader for the alchemy and paramedic squad grunted, commenting tartly "Is it me or were these magical noobs all a millenia or two backwards, compared to the rest of reality?"

Ignoring the responding snorts and huffs of gallows humor, the colonel gave the squad bosses one last important instruction; "About the Land Rovers, guys. We only have those three, and none more coming up the tracks, so be very sparing in their use, and immediately report any bit of damages or anomalous wearing-out your men spot. As an added bonus to this whole mess, we will clearly not be getting any of the powered attachments we were scheduled to receive when the train convoy got here, next week. So, it will be up to our engineers and artificers to design and build the forklift, front-loader, plow and snow-blower attachments we need to establish clean, walkable patrol paths for humanoids and centaurs alike. It is extremely important to keep the parking areas for the helos cleared and accessible at ALL times in case of evacuation due to any bloody reason Nature could send our way."

Seeing no more questions or comments, colonel Spitburn sighed forlornly, waving the men and women out to inform their respective squads of the updated plans. For her part, she had to go meet the centaurs and speak with their leader Magorian on the emplacement of the warren entrances, chimneys and waterworks, since she had a weird feeling those tunnels would be permanent for longer than it would take this nuclear winter to right itself out.

Winter 1992 – The Bleak Swarm consumes Ruthgal

(Adrian Von Ziegler – Twisted)

Tuesday, November 24nd of 1992

Ruthgal village

The Styx River demi-plane

It had been almost four full days since the accursed creature Rex Mycotaur Locus had been birthed upon the realities of the Multiverse. Nothing had gotten any better since.

Making the crustacean slave lounge on its belly atop the raised earthen bed that was warmed by small fires all around, the Rex Mycotaur Locus was busy using the mouth of the giant shrimp-kin to consume the pieces of vermin, livestock or humanoid brought before him by the purple drones. Like any mushroom, he ate by his roots, all of which were meshed with his mount's vital organs so he had to remember to make the beast feed in order to have nutrients himself.

Already on November 21st the smallest minions of the giant fungal entity had murdered and brought back the dismembered corpses of 27 victims, to serve as food for their master and basic resource to craft further improvements to his monstrous lair. The dumb purple shrimp-kin were a damned disappointment. On top of needing constant supervision so they didn't go wild, their jobs had to be limited to gathering resources, patrol and an occasional low-risk raid. Though working well as a team, these cat-sized mutants were not in any ways a credible fighting force. While none of the poor, under-skilled humanoids that dwelt in Ruthgal Village could put up a decent defense, the insects had lost 4 of their 29 initial group due to Stygian predators that were not at all impressed, let alone threatened by these small critters. The drones were fast and tough, but their capacity to deal hard injuries or escape from much larger foes were obviously deficient in many ways.

Still, the basal shrimp-kin drones were all the RML had to work with, for the moment. Ruthgal Village was almost empty of any large lifeforms, leaving only the lowest vermins and vegetals, slimes and molds, which now forced the sentient mushroom to move his person closer to the Styx River, to actively supervise fishing and foraging along the extremely dangerous magical waters. Not only would his drones become listless lumps of flesh if they got wet by that fetid liquid, there lived plenty of much nastier things in the shallow tidal pools and shoreline marshes. Stygian vultures, Stygian gators (dragon-kin), diverse hydras, drake snakes, dwarf krachen, hundreds of giant fishes or eels, lampreys and leeches the size of a human arm, transphasic worms, and so many others, plus the lot of animated plants who fed on fresh meat or rancid carrion that moved around to find new victims. Then you added the small insects that burrowed into victims, sucked blood, laid eggs in people or animals alike, and innumerable diseases and radiations that floated around in the water or air as weirdly fluorescent clouds.

Yeah, letting the drones go fishing unsupervised would see them all dead in the first day, so the boss fungus had to shake himself fully awake and move. He put out the fires around his den, aware on some instinctive level that unattended flames were a bad thing that could burn down the entire forest, even in winter. Then, he had the drones assemble to transport all the dry unburned vegetal fuel along their master to establish a new, bigger and better lair where the humanoids used to live and work.

Devoid of any real sense of fashion, beauty, aesthetics or self-image in a way that would have made the original Albus Dumbledore cringe in psychic misery, the Rex Mycotaur Locus trotted at a leisurely 30 mph through the forest, without a care for the scores of parasitic hook-flies, transphasic worms, and fungal filaments from his mount's armor that were shed along the way as he rubbed against vegetation and rocks. The spectacle of the giant beast dropping creepy-crawlies or staining the environment at every scrape on things would have been a gut-churning experience, if any sentient entity had been present to bear witness. As it were, even most animals and beasts were already hiding deep in their lairs, something that the slave-rider did not perceive or understand due to lack of experience in the environment.

{ HP } - { The Styx River is not for beginners, even if monstrous } - { HP }

As it neared noon, the Rex Mycotaur Locus arrived in the outskirts of Ruthgal, passing by the charred ruins of the barn where it had been gestated and birthed. Stopping some twenty feet outside the heap of blackened debris, the evil fungus surveyed the mess from which emerged a few jagged dragon bones still intact enough to be identified. Telepathically guiding his drones, the parasite had them excavate all the bones they could find because he realized that these could make incredibly solid and resilient building blocks for a new lair, especially the hearths.

Leaving the shrimp-kin to their base job, the self-imagined king trotted slowly around the empty wooden husks of what had been a miserable, diseased fishing community. Too far from any permanent gate hub to benefit from tourism, and their wares too menial or unhealthy to warrant a merchant caravan's effort to come procure, the poor villagers had been doomed from day one. It was miraculous they had held on for centuries, in morbid semi-agony as they did. And the damned climate had never been welcoming in this zone, whichever season was current.

Speaking of which, the Rex Mycotaur Locus suddenly felt a shiver in its deeply gilled cap as the winds changed direction, carrying an unforeseen gust of light powdery white snow right into his bearded face. Blinking its large round nyctalope eyes in annoyance, the chief-mushroom could only glare in anger as he beheld the threat: far away across the river, hanging over the wild forest was a blizzard that was sweeping into his region. Using a small psionic skill on his eyes, the Rex was able to perceive just how harsh the advancing storm was, flailing the trees and ground with an unholy mix of gale winds, hail the size quail eggs, and dense wet snow that clung and accumulated on everything it touched until the weight made it break and fall apart in a slushy frozen mess. As the disbelieving entity tried to create a strategy in his mind to survive this calamity, the storm roared with an unearthly blue flash as 'thundersnow' detonated near the clouds, the sonic reverberations shaking the entire village so bad that some loose wooden planks fell off the derelict edifices in noisome clatter.

Raging powerlessly at the damnable Nature and its fickle whims, the Rex enacted a climatic shield around itself and mount to deflect the storm's effects then ordered the shrimp-kin to lug their cargo into the dingy, stinking fieldstone root cellar that had served as foundation for the first building in Ruthgal, the communal longhouse. Galloping towards the abandoned structure, the Rex yanked open the external doors that accessed the antique cellar and lost no time squeezing his massive girth down the cramped ramp, all the way to the very back of the dark, dank chamber. Screeching in despondency, the slave-rider used a few quick and dirty spells to manipulate the stones and earth to create a pair of crude open hearths to stoke fires and keep his already diminished swarm alive against the incoming waves of cold.

The first fireplace was barely finished shaping and the chimney pipe in progress that the drones arrived with freshly ripped pine branches. In a few minutes more, the evil parasite had completed the first hearth all the way to the top of the surface building's damaged roof line and lit ablaze the packed vegetation. Finally recovered from the bad shock of the surprise now that he was sheltered and warm, the Rex crafted the second hearth, sending mental orders to his drones to start dismantling the wooden wreckage right above the cellar, since even the basement's ceiling was built of mortared fieldstone.

As he lit the second fire, the Mycotaur sensed the drones' pains as they began getting pelted by hails and marrow-freezing winds. Judging the risks of losing units too high without seeing benefits in exchange, he resigned himself to call them all into the cellar for the duration of the storm. To compensate the loss of work time, the Rex opened a short-range wizard door then used telekinesis to rip off parts of the wooden edifice which he dragged through to stockpile, to feed the fires later on. The last shrimp-kin rushed down the ramp, making their chief use a secondary mind-track to yank the doors shut and bar them with a wizard-lock spell to avoid the winds ripping them open while they slept away the dead time.

x-x

It was well past sundown when the freak storm had finished passing out of the region, leaving behind it more than four feet of accumulated snow, and thousands of damaged trees or wrecked buildings that had failed under the weight of all that cold white shyte. As he emerged from the cozy warm cellar, the Rex Mycotaur Locus could only gaze impotently at the remains of Ruthgal, angry that Nature had done the destruction rather than his own will and troops. Pushed by need and rage equally, the parasite ordered his slaves to focus on ripping apart the edifice above the cellar to feed the fires as soon as he had banished the snow crust out of the way.

Deciding that the climate was far too dangerous, the Rex imagined that it would be simpler to enlarge the root cellar with earthworkes dweomers to make stockpiling chambers for resources and more minions. They would also need to start tending vegetation beds to feed the swarm, since he could feel that the smells and magical emanations of his troops were making the normal animals flee the area in fear. Unfortunately, the remaining beasts and monsters were just too big or powerful to be hunted and harvested without losing more drones than would be survivable in the long term. The only solution was to imitate ants and make mushroom beds or troughs, and maybe eventually capture small fowl to hold in cages for the eggs and meat.

The Rex howled in blind rage as he felt a drone get speared to death and another crippled when the piece of edifice they were tearing apart fell on top of them too fast to dodge. The idiot insects had been shredding the ground level of the longhouse, a structure that rose three full storeys high! Imbecilic fishing line baits! Why was he cursed with these mutated errors?

Had he not ordered them to...?

Why did he have them, again?

No matter how much he tried, the Rex Mycotaur Locus could not remember anything before he had burst out of the dead poison drake's belly to run out of the burning barn. Which meant he also had no inkling as to why he was using the shrimp-kin, except that they had been present at his birthing, and they were somehow biologically unable to resist his mind commands.

Giving the line of thought up as a bad job done, the evil fungus passed a misshapen hand through the stringy fungal growth that served as his beard as he contemplated the current mess. He was down to 22 drones from the original 29, and that was not a loss rate that he could endure any longer, not with all the dangers of the main Styx River channel a mere hundred yards away.

Turning to the derelict, half-collapsed longhouse, the Mycotaur used a massive force-ball spell to explode the entire structure apart, blasting all the remaining edifice to smithereens in a 50 foot radius pattern of wooden chunks, shards, splinters and various trash. Now small enough to be safely handled, the dumb drones could clean-up the mess and pile it neatly for use in fires or new constructions. The leading entity realized he had accidentally destroyed the two chimneys he had crafted earlier, but didn't care as he would have needed to shorten them down to be less fragile and visible anyways.

Now in a marginally better mood, the slave-rider put his mind to landscaping a first extension on the cellar, by going to the rear side and excavating an access ramp so that he wouldn't be caught in the hole if a worse storm or major predator happened upon him while he was inside. He decided to take the occasion to actually double the length, width and depth of the existing chamber too, because it was a primitive, cramped, dismal affair to begin with. Having better planning than the original human settlers, plus the spell-shaping of stone support beams directly into the walls and ceiling allowed the expanded room to stand solidly without risks of the roof cracking and falling down inside. This then permitted to enlarge the access ramps so the RML didn't have to scrunch down and crawl like a worm when passing through. After finishing the new central chamber, the large creature began to dig and form a second chamber using the same dimensions and techniques, running parallel to the first but twenty feet to the left side. Once three walls of the room were solidly packed with stones and tree-sap mortar, the fungus created a single 30' wide opening in the wall separating the two rooms. He finished the masonry job by lowering himself into the new space to correctly move the stones overhead to shape the barrel ceiling to dry-close the new storage structure.

It had taken eight long hours because the Rex had precious little expertise in either landscaping, masonry or construction at all, but he was learning at a terrifyingly quick pace, especially with a few durable examples still around from the ruins of what had been Ruthgal. Now physically, magically and emotionally drained, the fungus ordered his drones to begin packing all the wood debris into the new room, which had no hearth as it was a dedicated fuel bunker so he didn't want to accidentally ignite his reserve. The central room with its four monumental hearths would be the all-seasons communal den for now.

Making his crustacean mount lounge on the newly crafted raised dais to avoid the chill of the bare earthen floor, the parasite was disturbed by his drones which brought before him the dead and permanently handicapped members of their swarm. Sighing in despondency, the Rex realized that he had used so much magicks that he needed the meat of at least the dead critter to replenish his batteries, and the others needed a minuscule amount of meat in their diet each day to acquire what vegetation, molds or slimes could not produce the way animals did. However, if the Rex allowed his troops to feast on their injured colleague, he would lose another worker out of a pitifully little swarm.

As the Rex Mycotaur Locus wondered what to do in order to move forward and thrive through this mess, an unearthly and despicably unholy cacophony of a voice sounded inside his mind, depositing information and gifting him with twisted ideas from across the Void and Planes. In his unfocused rage, drowning in melancholy and unfettered envies of the basest sorts, the parasitic slave-rider had opened the door to his soul to one of the fouler gods to exist in the Multiverse.

{ HP } - { Old Grandfather Nurgle } - { HP }

Normally, entities were assigned several 'values' or qualificatives to establish a basic profile of their personality and attitudes. These were the following, in gross terms:

Laws & governance: lawful / neutral / anarchic (chaos)

Morality & intentions: good / neutral / evil (insanity)

Philosophy: progressive / conservative / regressive (degenerative)

Authority: theocrat / totalitarian / democrat / autocrat / fascist / absolutist (nihilist)

The very best people were considered in generic terms "lawful good, progressive democratic" while the very worse got called "anarchic, evil regressive (anything not democratic)" and yet those two extremes only got about 10% of the comportment spectrum each. The vast majority, raking in more than 77% were deemed "neutral, neutral, conservative democrat (or autocrat)" thus explaining why innumerable societies advanced their mindset so slowly compared to the speed of technological and magical evolution.

This, of course, left the slightly less than 3% of the spectrum to those called "insanely chaotic, degenerative nihilists", also known as doomsday preachers, psychopaths, sociopaths, the mentally ill beyond all recovery (including Divine Intervention), and the innately evil such as demon-kin and Divinities that represent Enthropy and raw basal Evil in the Multiverse. It was one such fundamentally corrupted elder deity of rot, decay, disease, perversion and unnaturality that the Rex Mycotaur Locus had subconsciously permitted to enter his soul.

x-x

The primeval god Old Grand-Father Nurgle, originator of all Errors of Nature, the Debaser of Souls, the Great Lord of Pestilences, and, in a paradoxic twist, the *Herald of Rebirth* and one of the few deities that were as old as Yggdrasil himself, despite being less powerful than Chronos, Cosme, Dagda, Gaia, Bios or Hades and a few other Primordials.

One of the more delicate points of dogma and philosophy for Nurgle was that "everything must end, decay, fertilize the environment and let new, more evolved life emerge at last for the entire Multiverse to improve to its final stage of maturity." As such, Nurgle may be one of the most lethal mass-killers of all Creation dwelling amongst Yggdrasil's boughs, he did not consider himself nihilistic nor a genuine 'doomsday apostle' since he genuinely KNEW that rebirth would occur, and the resulting highly evolved lifeforms would all be better and happier. It was simply that in order to evolve, or master change within Reality, beings need to be tested and proofed against challenges that are harsh enough to stimulate body, mind, magicks and soul together, so that the useless and weak are eliminated but the well adapted can endure and progress.

And all this Multiverse-wide procedure of forcible change is pushed along by the happily grinning Nurgle, as he mixes plagues and parasites in his great stone cauldron, all the while doting paternally on mutated procreates. All his best and most detrimental workes occurred in his laboratory, hidden at the bottom of his Vile Garden, which was itself located in the Warp. This foul dimension is a section of damaged Multiverse where the three Energy Weaves, multiple dimensions, timelines and realities have converged and commingled chaotically to create a diseased, defectively wild demi-plane where only monstrous beings can dwell, though at the cost of their sanity and health. Hence why it was the realm of the Ruinous Powers, lesser Chaos Gods and scores of similar elementals, spirits or daemon-kindred, and legions of worshipers, both mortal and celestial.

x-x

in the case of the Rex Mycotaur Locus, the foul god Nurgle saw an entity of great natural potential for more decay, and thus more rebirthing with increased mutations and improvements that would benefit the entire Multiverse, at some point later on. The chaotic god had absolutely no care for Albus Dumbledore's life or death, and ignored all about the implication of Hades in his ignominious demise since it was the fungoid that had attracted his attention. As a human, he was far too ordinary and orderly to warrant his gaze, let alone any 'gifts' or answers to prayers.

No, what Nurgle saw and wanted in his cult was the biological capacity and mutagenic potential hidden inside the newly created hybrid. That he had a blank personality and no memories was par for the course for the *Herald of Rebirth* since most of his creations had to die and rot, thusly surrendering their soul to the Grand Gates of Reality, before progressing to better life without the physical burdens and psychological limitations of their previous existence. Also, as a matter of principle, Nurgle was busy with announcing and hurrying evolution, so he had no time to spare for the vagaries of other divines or celestials, and even less for poor, deluded mortals who feared Death, change and rebirth into new beings. As such, Nurgle would not be bothered with how Albus became the RML, and would not offer him to regain his past life, memories, or any sort of ability for vengeance versus Hades and the Church of Death, as those pursuits were wastes of time better spent at fostering acceptance of Reality and evolution amongst mortals.

Consequently to all this, the Rex Mycotaur Locus was shown only images of a distant future where large pulsating, oozing edifices of living substance dotted the landscape, with various aberrations and eldritch horrors moving about, just as mortals did in their cities. The parasitic fungoid was so desperate for help and guidance that he accepted the concepts, ideas and visions without much resistance or questioning. A fact that would have shamed Dumbledore to no ends as he had been paranoid, and quite overly proud of his ability to find-out the lies and frauds in anybody, which of course was a known falsehood, as Sybill Trelawney proved.

{ HP } - { A new nest of offal and pests } - { HP }

Following the unclean visions and diseased fever dreams granted by his new patron deity, the slave-rider ordered his crustacean mount to ingest the dead shrimp-kin, then use its feeding arms to hold aloft the crippled one so it may be put to use. Carrying the injured drone, the RML exited the underground chamber to go place it exactly on the spot that was the middle of the cellar's newly expanded emplacement, that way all further expansions would happen geometrically around the new living structure.

In an act of debasement of Nature and life that stained the Laand, the Rex used an unholy cantrip to expel some of the putrid ichor that served as his blood, then using a syringe-of-force dweomer to inject the liquid into the dying purple lobster. Then, following the dread phrases whispered by the ethereal voice of his god directly into his soul, the accidental hybrid began to forcibly enact a lethal mutation on its former slave. Over the course of nearly three laborious hours of prayers and giving blood and magicks, the drone's shell shredded from the inside, as the flesh and fluids generated bones with cartilage to build a structure that would be solidly anchored to the ground, with veins and nerves, flesh, and a leathery skin protected by chitinous carapace segments, all of which was covered by a thick layer of putrid oily green slime.

This was a Corruption Mound; one of the most basic sentient edifices that the Bleak Swarm would conceive and position around its domain, or those places it had explored but never occupied fully. The structure was composed of a central onion-shaped bulb roughly fifteen feet radius by twelve feet high, with a pair of winglets five feet wide and ten feet long by eight feet high on the left & right sides. An odd pair of two foot wide flesh pipes rose a dozen feet high out of the main dome's roof, one each on the front and back. The tops of the dome, tubes and winglets were crowned with tufts of three foot long, one inch thick tentacles that contained various sensing organs for sight, audition, and mystical perceptions.

The Mound's important organs were all in the middle, the side wings serving only to store resources, or house small dependent units during storms or healing. The Mound had limited short-range weapons in the form of small tentacles that spit wads of digestive acid or 3" long chitin barbs at a hundred yards, but it was mostly the layer of poisonous slime that served as anti-shock & weather defense that repelled most enemies. For truly hard punches, the Mound could whelm its psionics to inflict mental attacks up to five hundred yards away, and elemental effects within 25 yards. The Mound usually fed like plants by its hundreds of roots, or much faster when materials were deposited directly into the digestion pit, located in its central chamber.

The Corruption Mound was the smallest building with enclosed chambers the Bleak Swarm would deploy, and rather limited when all was told, but it did serve three basic, critical functions.

Firstly, the Mound was itself a cerebrate entity, sentient and aware with a potent intelligence even though it was an alien, non-sapient mindset. As such, the first job of the Mound was to perceive everything in the environment, to see or hear in multiple frequencies, and feel vibrations of the air, water, ground, Primal Essaence, and it also had a strong 'receptive empathy' psionic skill that allowed it to sense living entities, even under cloaking devices or spells. The effective perceptual range was ten kilometers, but it could send the information via telepathy back to the Swarm's local Control edifice, or a chosen leadership entity, up to a hundred kilometers away. The Mound was the lowest level fully sentient / intelligent hub & relay booster in a bio-neural network that would also incorporate higher sentients, animals, plants, crystals, liquids, and even machinery and electronics as time went by.

Secondly, the Mound spawned small floating 'poison spores' that were shaped like jellyfish with four vertical butterfly wings, soccer ball size, but yellow-green and bloated with volatile toxins. Actually as intelligent as a trained police dog, these creatures were able to fly up to 300' above ground or water, or dive under water down 300'. The spores served as recon spies or territorial sentries, sending their perceptions back to the Mound via telepathic link. In case of combat, the spores could poison enemies to sleep by touching them with their barbed tentacles, or cause an intentional explosion of their body to disperse extremely caustic reduction acids, just like a chemical air-burst bomb. Unfortunately, these critters were -extremely- fragile and weak, unable to exert physical force more than necessary to eat a small scarab, so they would detonate if the weather got too bad, an animal clawed them, or they were hit by debris like grenade shrapnel.

Thirdly, the Mound spawned the ever repulsive, stinking and slimy 'white larvae' who were in fact just giant, 6' long x 2' wide slugs, topped by a small lunatic face and a pair of uselessly dragging vestigial arms that could do absolutely nothing. The white larvae were linked telepathically to the Mound to report what they perceived, but barely had the intelligence of a chicken, so they served as meat-wall and shock-troops upon first contact with anything that presented itself in the vicinity. In combat, the larvae's slime excretions proved to be toxic to anything not vegetal, and it could belch a small 3' wide cloud of neurotoxic gas, or spit at 25' away a small gobbet of highly caustic digestive acid. The larvae's most offensive, repulsive and debilitating weapon would always be its 25' long, vivid red prehensile tongue, that had small venomous barbs on the first foot near the forked tip. The larvae used their tongue to whip, clobber, grab, ensnare or drag back into gassing & sliming range any animal or sentient they wanted to consume. The larvae looked like pudgy, obscenely rolled fat stuffed into a lye-white sausage casing that was far too tight to hold it all inside, but that was a fake as the beasts were made of thickly corded muscles and strong sinews, with a thick leathery hide that was slick with oily excretions. These beasts were dangerous close quarters combatant able to bite, spit and gas directly, or constrict with their retractable limb, making one larvae more fearsome than most species of snakes and insects, but a small group was a right terror to fight off since they could communicate telepathically or by voice, to coordinate or call in other units.

x-x

With the first truly evolved building of its army erected now sending him both raw perceptions and thoughts, the Rex Mycotaur Locus was finally happy. He was no longer alone to direct and manage the crappy, limited minions he had to work with, so he could sleep at peace since the Mound never did. The small edifice was intelligent enough to connect with the existing shrimp-kin to give them simple enough orders to gather food or other resources, and pile-up humanoid tools or magical devices it could perceive into separate stacks so that the RML could examine them at his leisure. This meant that the parasitic monarch could now concentrate on enlarging the underground masonry portion of his lair without all gathering jobs stopping, just because he wasn't present to manage the innately stupid fire-addicted shellfish.

Sighing in deep contentment, the fungoid guided his mount back into the improved cellar so he could sleep-off the stress and drain from his first prolonged, unholy biomantic ritual of Nurgle, thus leaving the basal drones to their chores. As he gazed one last time at the mound, he saw that one of the long pipes on top had opened its vent to let out the first floating spore, and he also felt his own mind expand as the small spying critter linked with its control ganglion inside the putrid pile of slimy offal. Now fully appeased for the first time since his emergence, the Rex went to sleep, dreaming most baleful dreams of blood, bones, pus, diseases and mutations in the greater glory of his newly initiated cult, that would see him invigorated at awakening.

Winter 1992 – Peverell Alliance preparatory meeting at Balmoral

(Harry Potter – main theme)

Thursday, November 26nd of 1992

Balmoral Castle

Royal Deeside, Aberdeenshire, Scotland, The Britannic Realms

Standing on the raised porch in front of the manorly estate's main building, was his Excellency, General of the Royal Wanded Services, Sir Nathaniel Mardenhold de Coppervale, right honorable Lord Royal Archmage of Britain, Scotland, Ireland, the colonies and Commonwealth, Grand Master Knight of Albion (GMKA). The nobleman was surrounded by several mundane soldiers from the Royal Marines, two full squads of the Royal Wanded Services (RWS) security & combat division, and six of the queen's own Mechanized Rodders.

Standing well behind the Lord Archmage of the Realm, deep in the shadows of the building's vestibule, were a pair of heavy support units, minotaurs from the Military Mysteries section 13 (MM-13), the magical equivalent of the mundane MI-7. It was a recent event that, under command of the queen, all military and police intelligence, counter-espionage and genuine spying organizations be folded and fused into a single agency, with sections per specialty. MM-13 dealt with the most exalted, venerable, or out-of-this-world events, items, beings and messes. Plus a few other things, cuz you know... minotaurs were the majority of the team in that section and nobody knew what they all did... or when... or why...

Studiously ignoring the self-satisfied smirks of the 10 foot tall bull-headed humanoids behind him, the Lord Archmage kept his attention on the rectangular pattern that had been engraved in the pavement to create a containment ward for the incoming teleportations, gates and portals that visitors may use to reach Balmoral. Given the dangers on the roads plus the much worsened climate, it was a much better alternative to use magic to travel around the Isles. However, this was the queen's safe bastion, and thus it behooved Her Majesty's soldiers to hold the fort and repel both the desperate and criminals equally. The estate could lodge only that many residents, consequently food storage was presently limited but being worked on. Although, Prince Philip's idea of just shaking the minotaurs to see what falls out of their fur had gotten a laugh out of everyone who heard it, including the beings concerned who promptly took bets as to which individual would get frisked by royalty or commoners.

One of the combat sorcerers put his hand to the hybrid earwig hidden by his helmet then gave a thumbs up to his boss, signaling that the expected 10:00am gate was now happening. In his own earwig, the Lord Archmage heard the chief of sensors & diviners call out "Inbound dimensional gateway, origin unknown, back-trace blocked, in-passage scans blocked. Hold the ward-line and keep them penned inside until they're identified!"

At the same moment, a momentous wind swept the Balmoral Estate courtyard, shaking the snow off trees, buildings and parked vehicles alike, followed by a hurtful breeze of preternatural chill that seemed to seep into the waiting soldiers' bone marrow, clawing at their souls. Then, a small circle of azure-blue energy with a dot of unimaginable blackness in the middle manifested into existence in the far side of the warded pen, expending until it formed a night-black panel twenty feet wide by fifty feet high, its surface covered in macabre statuary depicting Hallowed Nepenthe and the Beyond. The blue nimbus of energy surrounding the massive object had enlarged until it was a dozen feet thick and the soldiers could see with their naked eyes the milky white spirits that were flying randomly, moaning in torment as they drifted through the cerulean buffer. Then, the dark stone-like slab split vertically down the middle, the two panels opening outwards into the Prime Material Plane, thusly revealing the thing to be a magical doorway of some sorts.

"I can't believe my eyes!" called the chief of S&D in the comms, "It's a bloody Gate of Nepenthe right in our patch! Somebody summoned the Church of Death in Balmoral!"

Nodding once to himself as he watched the ponderously slow gate move itself open, the Lord Archmage spoke into the small microphone hidden in the knot of his necktie; "Good! We have only two persons on official records to date who can do that in the entire kingdom, so we know who's coming through. Prepare for the Clan Peverell and Alliance!"

Taking almost three nerve wracking minutes to fully open, the blessed gateway reeked of negative and spiritual energies, so much so that the soldiers who had experienced the worse lives were tempted real hard to drop their weapons and kit just to walk into that Light, to accept the one Final Judgment, and be given Passage into the Beyond for a chance at a new, better life. The British troops were lucky that all members had managed to resist the pull of Ultimate Peace that was offered by Death's Door (minor version), but it would not always be so. Plus, the soldiers were now emotionally unbalanced, some even seeing flashbacks of war horrors or memories from the harsh childhood that led them to the armed services in search of a real family. The military therapists would have a lot of work that day, and more in the evening, when the pull of the Dark would be even more strong, after the Peverell left the estate via a similar gate.

x-x

Slowly, gently, a low hum began to be heard all over the estate. It was so gentle and slow that several soldiers, clerks and household staff caught themselves humming along before they could recognize what it was.

( Requiem de Profundis )

A funeral dirge, with a pipe organ, orchestra and choir in the background.

Walking at the slow, pompous pace of funerals and high rituals, emerged from the gate a small figure, all draped in a black monastic robe so opaque that it seemed to swallow what bleak sunlight had been visible in the compound's yard. The two foot tall humanoid held aloft in his left hand an old square-sided oil lantern glowing with spirit flames, while the right hand held an eight foot tall scythe. All the being's accouterments were the same oppressive black, with barely a few silver-toned details to be divined, like the curved blade of the pole-weapon.

Immediately after the Tenebrous Pioneer walked through Harry Potter with Rehz Ib Fettach perched on his shoulder, and the rest of the Peverell Alliance in order of proximity to Harry's bloodline by birth, marriage or adoption. Then arrived Terrence Goyle, Hermione Dagworth-Granger, Severus Snape, Garrick Ollivander and Camden Greengrass as external Allies.

Once the last members of the funeste cortege (no other way to call it, was there?) had stepped foot on the soil of Balmoral, the Tenebrous Pioneer waved his baleful scythe at the gate, making it close shut with a resounding clap that vibrated through the entire domain. Ululating a few words in Thanatos at Harry Potter who bowed in return, the Pioneer simply dissipated like morning dew under the rays of the rising sun, the gate and nimbus following suit.

Shaking himself out of the chilled torpor that had seized him for a few moments, Sir Mardenhold walked down to the pavement to go stand before the ward-line, to address the visitors. "I am the queen's Lord Archmage, protector of the royal household, Master Knight of the Realm, as well as Peer of the Crown. Do all of you have the oath-token required, as explained when you submitted your Lordly Writ of attendance, last week? You cannot pass the wards without it."

Nodding at the elderly, austere wizard, all members of the cortege showed the small silver token, twice the size of a regular 1 Pound coin, bearing their personal brand embossed in the metal. Having seen and scanned each token with his own wand, the Lord Archmage ordered loudly "They have passed the tests. Let them inside the grounds proper. The queen awaits."

Without further fanfares, the wards were loosened enough to let the guests enter the actual land unharmed, but each felt a soft buzzing noise as they walked over the threshold of the penned area. Rehz Ib Fettach actually glowed for a second as he absorbed some energy, his purple wings an ethereal display of beauty few ever saw in this world.

Marching more briskly now, the Peverell Alliance was ushered into the main building, passing under the amused, and intrigued, gazes of the MM-13 minotaur agents who were, as usual, keeping their thoughts to themselves unless somebody asked directly. Guided by the Lord Archmage himself as he would be part of the discussion, the group took less than ten minutes to reach the large reception hall located on the ground floor, and be seated in their appointed chairs, each with a small round drinks table on the right side. The moment the guests were positioned, House of Windsor house-elves quickly applied cushioning and warmth charms to the furniture, then served the tea, coffee, hot chocolate and small finger food needed as it was in fact morning tea, or Low Tea as British Tradition called this hour.

{ HP } - { Hail Britannia, Regina Albion } - { HP }

( Thomas Arne, 1740 - Rule Britannia )

As the guests were about to take a first sip or bite, the old song 'Rule Britannia' was heard to play from the speakers hidden behind draperies and the curtains around the bay windows. This made all the guests rise from their seats, only to kneel in obedience to the Sovereign Monarch of the Isles, as protocol and their oaths demanded.

Marching in at a slow steady pace arrived Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip with an assortment of their older family members, plus some of the highest ranked regents and military officers still alive in England. Each of the persons were dressed in full wartime clothes, with magical armor on top, and a bevvy of medals and honorifics that sparkled with Blood-Law enchantments or divine Blessings. Each member of the Royal retinue carried weapons openly, but then again so did the Peverell Alliance people, as only fools would accept to be disarmed when away from home in this epoch of madness.

Taking place on their thrones and chairs, the queen ordered neutrally "Rise, and be seated. While this was slated to be a simple preparation meeting, to plan for the mid-December Assembly at Westminster, we in fact have much to work on today, and precious little time to stand on ceremony. We have no insurances of what comes on the morrow, as presently even the best diviners in the military's Wanded Divisions cannot predict if the Realms will still exist next Monday. Therefore, we shall endeavor to accomplish as much as possible, and not fret for the rest. My Lord Archmage, if you could make the opening statements for Us."

Making a shallow bow of the neck towards the royals, the Lord Archmage turned to the noble guests, declaring "As I have scanned your oath-tokens, we will not have a formal taking of oaths of fealty for this meeting, but be aware that the sigil coins bind you just as truly. Elves will now pass the working drafts of the meeting's schedule, as our parties have agreed upon via telephone and internet exchanges, with Gringotts offering mirror & mailbox services when needed."

Addressing Harry directly, the Lord Archmage declared "In order to keep things relatively quick for today, the members of your Alliance are allowed to use the shortened versions of their titles or positions when speaking with the royal retinue. This permission is given for today only, and to be used exclusively for the stated premises of this collective discussion. None of you are to infer increased intimacy with the royal family, nor assume station in life and society above that which was granted you by Britannia in her Royal Writs, or those of her ancestors."

A low chorus of acquiescence responded the elderly wizard's pronouncements, all knowing full well the penalties the magical oaths would inflict to any who thought or desired otherwise.

x-x

Gazing deeply into the eyes of each titled Peer or Lady & Lord of a House, the Lord Archmage began to list the expected working points of the meeting;

* 10:00am – Arrival and formalities, with Low Tea

* 10:30am – Briefing on the situation of the British Realms and Commonwealth

* 11:30am – Briefing on the situations of English Allies; goblins, elves, dwarves, etc...

* 12:30pm – Briefing on the situation of the Peverell Alliance

* 13:00pm – Luncheon & private messages

* 14:00pm – Discussion about Hogsmeade renovations & resettlement

* 15:00pm – Discussion about London, renovations & resettlement

* 16:00pm – Discussion about varied fortresses & army bases for settlement

* 16:30pm – High tea

* 17:00pm – Continuation of discussion on fortresses & army bases

* 18:00pm – Dinner & private messages

* 19:00pm – End of discussion on fortresses & army bases

* 20:00pm – Discussion on several potential Peerages and Lordships to be granted

* 22:00pm – Evening Tea

* 22:30pm – Discussion of Peverell Alliance decisions & opinions in the current crisis

* 24:00pm – Late supper or night cap & private messages

* 01:00am – End of meeting & Departure via mystical gate.

Everybody had pursed lips and frowned eyes at the lengthy list, given that they would be at this for the coming fifteen hours straight, since nobody was beginner enough to believe that the pauses and meals written in the schedule would be spent resting. Each moment of the day would be used for exchanging information, ideas, suspicions, orders, political plotting and social maneuvering and, of course, bartering secrets with the Horned Ones, when feasible.

Speaking blithely through her clenched teeth, Dame Windsor ordered, "To it, then. My Lord Chancellor of the Exchequer; do begin to review the situation of our Realms as they stand, so that we may all see the picture of what is left to work with. I do not believe that any person in this room has the final truth of this, no matter what their divinities may preach about the subject." Here, the elderly queen gazed menacingly at Harry Potter, then shifting her unyielding gaze to the MM-13 minotaur agents who were partially hidden at the left side of the royal retinue, all three massive, furry soldiers attempting to look small and innocent as if such could be believable in this life or the next.

With professional calm and aplomb earned from eight decades of living amongst the Peerage families and politickings of all sorts, the elderly Lord Chancellor of the Exchequer ignored the snorts and other huffs or coughs at Her Majesty's unexpected quip, concentrating instead on the image of the Britannic Realms that now floated between the two groups. The hybrid holographic system was a recent invention, and similar to what the beholder in charge of Buckingham Palace used to survey his jurisdiction. Here, the device would help the royal retinue and their guests plot the destiny of British citizens for the years to come.

x-x

The situation reports about the British Realms and Commonwealth were as dry and long as expected when dealing with geopolitical or strategic maps and their statistics. The population numbers were dismal, only seventy percent of Britain's people having survived to date, but the nuclear winter was coming upon them all fast, so the death toll would only get worse. The same could be said for the report about their allies, except they had more than 89% survival rates on average because they had lived underground, or in enclaves that were historically fortified since the first build, or had good enough wards to deflect the worse of the pressure waves and climate changes. The fundamental alterations in yearly climate patterns would eventually affect these groups just as badly as humans on the surface, it would simply take longer but it would occur, so they were planning and sharing their schemes with the British Crown, for mutual assistance.

All in all, the situation on the mudball was abysmal and debilitating to behold; nearly two billion humans dead and no end to the carnage in sight. One of the elderly titled officers seated on the queen's right side even asked Harry if his god had sent him any foresight as to when this would all get back to normal, or any outlook on what the final tallies would be? The poor twelve year old boy could only shake his head in the negative, as he explained that his divinity did not grant visions or answers that covered so much territory and peoples. Even if he were Exalted or Celestial, the chances of having enough power to get such answer were almost nil, for Hades himself was rarely granted such insights by Yggdrasil or Dagda.

x-x

The antique mantel clock rang 12:30pm, marking the passage to the first subject of discussion that could prove contentious between the two groups. Queen Elizabeth II motioned for her Lord Archmage to stay seated as she herself announced the transition, immediately asking Harry to deliver the report on behalf of his Clan and allies.

Taking a deep breath to fortify his self-control, the young boy elected to remain seated as he was in the first row of his group and therefore easy enough to see by everyone across the floating image. Using a few cantrips, he manipulated the viewer to change maps and statistics tables to show the spread of the Peverell Alliance and what population, livestock and resources they could control at present.

In as sure a voice as he could muster, Harry spoke: "As your Majesties and lordships can see, this map of the Britannic Realms shows in three distinct colors the landholdings of my Alliance. In Gold are those lands held in direct name by each member Clan, House, Family or Titled individual. In silver are the lands held by corporations or trust funds under the control of our members in some fashion. And finally, in green are Gretna's Blessed Green Glens, the private and secret environmental enclaves built by the forebears of Clan Peverell, some 5,000 years ago whence they arrived on Earth, after a perilous journey upon the flows of the River Styx."

Prince Philip pointed an accusatory finger at the map showing all of the United Kingdom with several dozen green patches superimposed on it, demanding harshly "Are you telling us, boy, that your family has been hiding these lands from the Crown for millenia? What about population census? Or the taxes and permit fees due? What about conscription in war time? And you dare to call yourself a loyal British citizen, let alone an ally of the Realm? What foul knavery is this, boy?"

Now angered in his own right, Harry cut across the unjust tirade curtly "Majesty, your lack of common decency in this meeting is ill received by Us, the Lord of Clan Peverell. I would remind you that by the simple fact I hold this oath-token and still live with my sanity and magicks intact declares to all and sundry that I am indeed, as my ancestors were all, a loyal and honest citizen of this Britannic Realms, colonies and Commonwealth."

Entering a glaring contest against the Prince-Consort of the Crown, Harry snarled lowly at the elder gentleman "Be careful whom you offend, milord Duke of Edinburgh, because England may be in dire perils, but my Clan and Alliance will not be trod upon roughshod for such. There are very fixed limits to not cross with me, and prices you do not ask of my Families, especially not if the only benefit offered is just to stay inside a country or government that wants to enslave or shame us. If we need to do as our forebears and go find demesne in other lands, far across the Stygian flows, then so we shall trust in Hades and Gaia to guide us to Providence anew, and you are the ones that shall be left bereft of our help and mystical gifts, when you need them most."

Several of the titled officers grumbled against the child's daring response against his betters when the Lord Archmage spoke across them all; "The Lord Peverell is of course correct. That he yet lives with magic and sanity intact are proof that Lady Mystra, Mother of Magycks, has judged him worthy. To infer otherwise casts doubts upon the accuser and his motives, not the Lord Peverell, his Clan or Alliance members. Furthermore, it is a historically proven fact that the Clan Peverell originates from elsewhere than Earth. They had admitted this to the first Britannic monarchs to whom they swore fealty, and so, because they predate the legal founding of Britannia, they do have both Vestigial & Residual rights, on top of the usual grand-fathered rights, including upon territories they had explored, colonized and settled before England had a Crown or nationhood. This is neither illegal, nor disloyal, as the Britannic sovereigns have all known this for the three thousand years that the Realm has existed. In fact, several other 'Particulars of the Crown' exist to this day, under similar Treaties or Codiciles of Alliance. Now, if we all could pass beyond this ancient detail to work upon the actual problem...?"

Queen Elizabeth II commented tartly "We had not been made aware of these secretive parcels of territory, milord Peverell. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to why?"

Shrugging in affected negligence to hide his fear that he could have angered powerful people without a valid reason, Harry replied in careful words: "The information was revealed to your own forebears in written form, as part of 'secret codiciles' annexed to the fealty oaths. If you would care to remember, your Majesty, House Peverell has been in abeyance for 700 years now, and so neither of us is completely aware of what the other knows." Gesturing vaguely with his left hand, Harry postulated "When I went to Gringotts to have all the affairs sorted and activated, I was made to believe that copies of the updated records would be transmitted to the relevant authorities at each level of governance, including the Sovereign cabinet. I do apologize if that was not done properly, but as is evident by my young age, I am rather new at all this ruling other people thing. The planetary situation is not helping us with the 'proper management of the Realms' and such either."

The boy's sarcasm was plain enough that even the most close-minded people in the room could understand it, and the underlying messages. Harold Potter may be young and lacking experience, but he would not let anybody push him around, nor accuse him without solid proof. Also, his threat to move his clanhold and allies out of the planetary jurisdiction altogether was credible, as they had the means and willpower to do just that.

Queen Elizabeth II leaned backwards in her chair, gazing pensively at the child-lord who was the closest thing to a true Peer of Herself in the room, besides her husband and the Lord Archmage, wondering about how determined and willful he could be, if forced. The Britannic Realm needed strong, clearheaded leadership in the coming decades. The new Peerage she wanted to install in Westminster needs, must be of the sturdiest stuff and purest character, or they would repeat the Welsh Wiccan sect's errors that had led to this fatidic moment. It did seem, for now, that this child and his followers had what she was looking for, if in a raw, unrefined shape.

x-x

Speaking in firm but polite tones, the queen declared "Well, bureaucratic errors aside, we were until the present moment unawares of these lands. Please do inform us of what can be done with them, and under what circumstances would the Clanhold Peverell be willing to grant access."

Concentrating on the monarch's face and words, Harry dropped his right hand to slowly caress the horns and dorsal spines of Rehz Ib Fettach who was lounging on his ventral couch, atop the small drinks table near his chair. Sighing in relief that the conversation was again on proper track, the boy explained "The Glens can be accessed by water or land, as indicated on the map. However, each bubble is heavily warded against penetration by true evil, hostile intents, and most forms of dimensional travels & containers. That means that a small tonnage mundane fishing trawler has better chances of entering the protected havens than high-powered magical beings or items. This is good news for you, as it means that spreading any foodstuffs and merchandises to the rest of the realm will be that much easier than if occult transits were necessary. Essentially, it means that even ordinary civilians will be able to come into our enclaves to barter and go back home fully loaded, without having the obligation to use a British military convoy as intermediary. This ease of access will make things a lot faster for everybody who manages supplies and logistics for the national armed services or public works, or private companies like wholesalers."

Harry locked eyes with the important military officials as he insisted on the point: "However, the entry points in the climatic domes are not big by willful design, and -very- tightly encoded in the shield matrix. The programming is in fact so monolithic that the only way to change the sizes of the transit apertures would be to disenchant the entire glen then rebuild new. Please, do note that none of us yet know how that's done, and we don't have enough competent people at hand to effect such a ritual anyways. If we dismantle a glen we lose it, and since the spells to enact the Mythal Ward are most certainly based in Peverell Blood-Law and Hadean faith, then that loss is for ever since I am alone to represent both categories for the foreseeable future."

The Lord Chancellor of the Exchequer, normally in charge of all taxes, fees, permits, and licenses for companies or syndicates, made a discrete motion that he had a question. "Milord Peverell, what exactly are these vehicular dimensions? And is there a preferred method of connection, when visiting these enclaves?"

Making a face of deep thought, Harry replied slowly "If memory serves, anything the size of a sailing carrack will pass the maritime harbor but nothing larger. Inland, there are fresh water canals to facilitate both farmland irrigation and navigation. Movement is limited to 2-man canoes, since all ducts are designed with four lanes, two for parking and two for circulation, thus guaranteeing two-way traffic all over. In terms of roadways, the standard thoroughfares are rather narrow, being made only for two 4-wheel ox carts rolling side-by-side."

Giving a despondent shrug, the young lordling told his audience "Please remember that Gretna's Glens were built several thousand years ago, when even titled nobles moved on foot or astride an animal, so these roads were never designed for mechanical vehicles, especially not the traffic load that London's urban boulevards normally tolerate. Furthermore, to be truly clear, there is only one aerial method to enter, and that is through the same paths as the sea, canals and roadway apertures, with the same size limits. That means an easy ride on a broom or flying carpet, but airplanes or blimps will not pass just by their volume, or the type of movement they need to make to stay aloft. Now, as an aside, I have seen in my Family archives some hints that there could be underground tunnels leading to the Deep-Earth layer called Upperdark, where multiple civilizations have established villages and temples. However, I have seen no real drawings or descriptions of these specific transit paths. I am still searching for proofs."

The Lord Chancellor asked pointedly "If milord Peverell could state it clearly, would these roadway openings in the wards allow the passage of modern mechanized vehicles if they are small enough, or is there a ward preventing active electronic circuits from passing?"

Tilting his head to the side interrogatively, Harry countered "I thought I was pretty detailed in my first exposé, but let's hash this out, then. When we left the Mistgate Glen to make contact with our estates we were using a purpose-designed, modern sailing carrack that is powered by a steam engine burning alcohol, and electronics including a computer and mobile cellular phone. The entire boat passed the ward-line both ways, without slowing down or having conniptions in any systems, neither humans nor elves noticing anything amiss. As such, I posit that the only real barriers to entering the Glens are a truly evil nature, harmful intents, dimensional magicks, and the physical size of the entities or conveyances."

Giving a side-look at the queen, the Lord Chancellor asked in a slow, thoughtful tone "Then, milord Peverell, would it be possible to have a squad of the British Military Hybrid Crafters visit such a Glen to establish a railway to facilitate transport, and rationalize the procurement of supplies and services from your Allied Families? We can hardly build and manage a sizable fleet of merchant carracks, even motorized ones, in these circumstances, but a few new train stations and branch lines should not pose significant challenges for any of us. And you would have a direct benefit from the increased commerce, easier access to British assistance or inland markets, and even tourism. Given that your Glens are the few truly safe and reliable parcels of salubrity and civility in England at present, I would think that tourism would occur, and probably a wave or two of several thousand people who will want to move into these enclaves permanently."

Giving a loud sigh, Harry exchanged looks with Lucius Malfoy, Amelia Bones and Neville Longbottom, before focusing his gaze firmly upon the queen, despite that his answer was verbally addressed to the elder male politician. "I do believe, milord Chancellor, that it is in fact amongst the primary duties of the Sovereign to insure connection and vouchsafe passage between her lands and those of her sworn vassals, specifically so that tributes, resources and bannermen can move freely in times of unrest. In fact, is it not the basic duty of the British armed forces to be the executors of this obligation, if the departments of public works and Home Territory are technically unable to accomplish it?"

Making a seemingly magnanimous gesture of his left hand as it fidgeted with the oath-token visibly to push on the point, Harry elocuted airily "In that broader perspective of British law and history, I would surmise that there is already established jurisprudence as to when & how Her Majesty may command that diverse roads, rails, canals, seaports and airports, be constructed for the deployment of her national troops. The Peverell Alliance will, quite naturally in view of our bound oaths, be vigorously supporting the British government's efforts to repair and guarantee the utilities and infrastructures that under-pin our shared civilization."

With the child's sarcasm on full display, none missed the fact that the adults in the room could have been more polite, and less accusatory, in asking for the help of the Peverell Alliance. The planet may be freezing to death, but Lord Potter was quite correct in stating that such behaviors were beneath the people assembled in this hall. Still, one had to admire the gumption and spine the boy demonstrated when being challenged by much more experienced opponents.

Gazing hawkishly at the child-lord that was holding his own wiles against the repeated onslaught of her subordinates, Queen Elizabeth II noted that the small bout of doubts and anxiety from the beginning of the contentious argument had abated, leaving the young master of Clan Peverell at ease and satisfied with the way events were proceeding. So... He had always intended to offer help and support, just as long as he wasn't depossessed of his lands or titles, and his kindred were safe as well. Neither desire were dangerous, nor contrary to the needs of the Crown or Realms, so Dame Windsor saw no justifiable reason to refuse such basal demand. The fact the child seemed to be banking on the ancient Oath of Fealty his ancestors had sworn to the Crown as basis for all negotiations was also helpful to all sides of the debate. While it was true the oaths needed to be modernized due to technology and the revelation of magic, no fundamental changes would actually be done to the philosophy or mechanisms of the vows. Yes, Queen Elizabeth II was satisfied with what she was witnessing, and what it augured for the Realms.

x-x

"Milord Peverell," the monarch commanded, "If you could continue the report on your familial holdings, we should table the minutiae of transports and connections for a later date, at which moment fees, licenses, roadway tolls and others will be addressed. These discussions should be held with the bureaucrats of the Exchequer, not the Royal Privy Council, nor the military emergency planning commission as seated here. Do go on, young man, before the figures get any drier and drearier."

Studiously ignoring the snorts and huffs from the people around him, Harry took up the resume of his Alliance's total holdings, finishing by the number of personnel available. At that point, Her Majesty suggested that their group should contact Gringotts to see if more settlers could not be procured, to help shore-up their population and jump-start the production lines. Harry was not opposed to the idea, but expressed a desire to work at the pace his group could tolerate, which meant a slow crawl for now, given how they had almost nobody for any job. In order to integrate more residents, they first needed to understand what lands and resources they were in charge of, and how to be good stewards of the Glens, to avoid accidents or incompetent management.

The Lord Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Oswald, asked brusquely "If my Queen permits, I would need to know what the defensive capacities of these enclaves are. We have heard to date a rather short list of statistics, due to the size of the group, but almost nothing about their warfaring abilities."

Giving the assembled governors a bashful face in reply, Harry answered honestly "We have no more fighting capacity than what skills with wands, blades and hunting guns our people can whelm. Gretna's Blessed Green Glens were never meant to be bastions for an imperial push to conquest and domination, merely very well sheltered safe havens from which to raise families and trade with neighbors that could prove dishonest, or unduly aggressive. The defensive setup is limited to the wards around the outer glen perimeter, plus wards specific to each building, and a handful of smallish fortified edifices. You have to remember that even though the wards can repel evil or ill-intended sentients, they can't fully repel naturally occurring animals, beasts or monsters. Also, if a fight breaks out between the crews of two ships already harbored inside the dome, then the wards have almost no ability to alter the situation, except to sound alarms. In that case, these few diminutive castles serve as garrisons for the small militia of village prefects that enforce basic laws for civil behavior."

Sir Oswald probed Harry quickly, demanding harshly "And are you ready to fight these beasts or vagabonds, if they beset your glens? Have enough wands or guns to defend your lands if you are put under siege? Have any of them the wherewithal to spill blood, when the moment comes?"

Gazing directly at the elder male soldier, Harry replied dryly "My people have endured winter on the Styx River to get where they are, and often worse before joining me. Plus, several of our leadership, Neville, Hermione and myself included, have had to draw weapons in anger to defend our bodies and souls against armed aggressors. We had to fight on the very floor of the Welsh Wiccan Wizengamot to take it back from traitors whose heads adorn The White Tower's battlements since. We are not here by accident, nor simply because my ancestors worshiped the totem spirits of beavers and ants to boost their manic building spurts to make so many glens. We all bled and cried blood to arrive here, and we will keep on going."

Prince Philip remarked tartly at the entire Alliance "It takes more brains and backbone than mere stubbornness to lead any size of population. And when you start accepting voyagers, tourists, or just commercial representatives not bound to your Blood-Law, what will you do to keep the peace and make the violently recalcitrant submit to British rule inside these glens? Your potions and curses to enslave people have some pretty set limits, we've seen it when that madman Dumbledore's insanities were unveiled in broad daylight. So what will you do to enforce order?"

Steepling his fingers in front of his heart, Harry retorted more coldly than a glazier's winds "I am a seated Lord Peer of the Sovereign Monarch of Britannia, her colonies and Commonwealth. As oathed Standard Keeper of Her Majesty's governance, allies and retinue, I shall sit in state upon all matters brought before me under British Law, by my remit to administer Low, Middle and High Justice, as per the mandate sworn upon my Blood and Estate by ancestral oaths. 'Let him execute, he that arrogates the authority of the wand and sword.' I am a High Traditionalist of the Old Ways of Magyck, and I will neither shirk my morals, nor cede my duties unto others, until the day Hades calls me before the Mirrors of Truth. I will judge fairly any cause or being brought before me, then carry out proclaimed sentences with my own hands, as I don't fear bloodshed or death. In Hades nomine, id mote est."

Not a single person in the hall doubted the seriousness of the child-lord, not at that decree.

{ HP } - { To increase the Royal Peerage } - { HP }

( Thomas Arne, 1740 - Rule Britannia )

The pause for lunch at 13:00pm was most welcome by everyone, since the last half-hour had turned sour quite few times too many to remain a comfortable discussion. The period also allowed the attendees to activate devices to receive messages or be handed paper correspondence of a more private nature. Gringotts sent Harry yet another list of potential recruits for his Alliance as external employees, but that would take days to leaf through and investigate. The other Heads had received informations about their estates or employees they had not brought with them on the Stygian Exodus because they were not important enough, nor emotionally close enough to the Family, to warrant such effort in the rush to save their core members.

A small nasty surprise happened when Hermione got a letter from her parents. They had been drafted by the Royal Armed Services, Medical Division. They were now relocated in the heavily fortified naval base of Dover, working as conscript-officers in the British Army, tasked as supplemental medics for local civil emergency clinics until society at large stabilized itself. The young girl vowed to raise the subject with Harry and the Alliance leadership because she could feel that this was some sort of lesser political maneuver from some bureaucrat near the queen.

The hour of meal pause was cruelly short for all attendees, as the micro-expressions of stress, anger and distrust were starting to become perceivable even to the novices at such things. The queen was sitting stiffly in cold detachment for all the debate segments about the renovations & resettlement of Hogsmeade, London, and the multiple ancient fortresses, prisons, army bases, mining complexes and abandoned factories that could still be renovated, located around the Britannic Isles and colonies under Crown Authority. While most of the emplacements were not points of great emotional attachment for any in the room, the sheer volume of blueprints, statistics and decisions to cram into a few drab hours had quickly taken a toll on the participants' minds.

High Tea and dinner had come and passed, but left absolutely nobody feeling refreshed or rested, no matter how good the food had been. A few personal messages had been received, but nothing worth mentioning. The queen and her husband seemed even more peckish than at the start of the day, and several of the lords and officers were damned close to forgoing basic civility with their guests altogether. Which meant that the next part of the discussion would not be going well, no matter how much effort and good will got put into it.

x-x

It was now 20:00pm when the Lord Archmage announced blithely "We are now arrived at the period of the meeting dedicated to the evaluation of potential new Royal Peers, Titular & Ordinary Lordships, and High Officers of the Crown Government. In order to make things quicker, we have made two lists; one with the candidacies that should not pose problems, and the second with those persons that have current or ancient conditions associated that some of the Peverell Alliance may wish to contest."

The Lord Chancellor declared "Please understand that, given the events of the last year across England, having been publicly in favor of Albus Dumbledore or his causes will not be sufficient grievance to blockade a nomination. Since absolutely everyone with an inkling of Power in the country was subjected to his atrocious mind-rapes, we cannot in good conscience choose and pick some while laying aside others when this condition is preexisting in all candidates."

Receiving a soft murmur of assent from the Peverell Alliance members, the Royal cabinet officials began to list the few names that would somehow create objections.

Awakening of Royal or Majestic Lineages in Abeyance or dead

* House Peverell recognized as Majestic Clan of Britain (immediate effect by decree)

* Majestic Clan Gryffindor; House Finch-Fletchley takes Lordship by Blood-Law

* Majestic Clan Hufflepuff; House Smith takes Lordship by Blood-Law

* Majestic Clan Ravenclaw; House Lovegood takes Lordship by Blood-Law

* Majestic Clan Slytherin; House Gaunt takes Lordship by Blood-Law

* Royal Clan Azkaban; Line-continuance via Exalted Blood adoption

* Royal Clan De Militiverrius; Line-continuance via Exalted Blood adoption

* Royal Clan Windsor; enacting of newly Chartered Lineage & Blood-Law

* Royal Dynasty Saxe-Coburg-Gotha; enacting of newly Chartered Lineage & Blood-Law

For consideration to the Renewed Britannic Royal Peerage:

* Family Finch-Fletchley; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Mountbatten; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Bell; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Elderberry; active Peer, change for inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Marchbanks; active Peer, change to female primogeniture, including Blood adoption

* House Dannonvale; new elevation, male primogeniture

* House Finnegan; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Gaunt; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Glaxco; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Glaxenburgh; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Lovegood; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House MacInnack; new elevation, son or nephew at choice

* House Mizere; new elevation, male primogeniture

* House Prewett; new elevation, daughter or niece at choice

* House Prince; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Ogden; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Ollivander; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Smith; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Van Uttebatten; new elevation, Line-continuance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Clan Darkeveils; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Clan Ravencroft; new elevation, inheritance via ritual "Murdered by the Crows"

Ennoblement to Titular Lordship or Ordinary House standing:

* Family Carroll; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Davis; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Davos; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Diths; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Dutris; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Dornegett; new elevation, son or nephew at choice including Blood adoption

* Family Evans; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Flitwick; new elevation, son or nephew at choice including Blood adoption

* Family Gloutnay; new elevation, Line-continuance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Hagrid; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Hangleton; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Huth; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Ledgerian; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Lupin; appeal of Wizengamot Lycan Laws for restitution of ancient title & rights

* Family Riddle; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* Family Tonks; new elevation, inheritance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Dhennack; new elevation, Line-continuance via Blood-Law & heirlooms (modern)

* House Selwyn; Line-continuance via Blood adoption inscribed in testament at Gringotts

* House Weasley; appeal of Wizengamot judgment for restitution of ancient title & rights

High Officials of the Renewed Britannic Royal Regency:

* Lord Governor of Black Loch Region; Daniel Dannonvale, third son of House lord

* Lord Castellan of Hogsmeade; Sulluste Elderberry, second son of House lord

* Lord Castellan of Hogwarts; Prudent Mizere, House seated lord

* Lord Intendant of Black Loch; Murssmush, head-chieftess of the merpeople of Black Loch

* Lord Intendant of the Forbidden Forest: Pirode, third chieftain of the Centaur herd

* Lord Intendant of the Laessach Hill Bastion; General Eric T. Davos (ret.), RM

* Lord Governor of United Isle of Albion; Charles Windsor, Prince Royal, Heir of Britannia

* Lord Castellan of London; Alric MacInnack, heir primus of House lord

* Lord Castellan of Edinburgh; Griselda Marchbanks, House seated lady

* Lord Castellan of Glasgow; Tiberius Ogden, House seated lord

* Lord Castellan of the Shetland Islands; Hieronymus Dalth, second son of House lord

* Lord Castellan of the Isle of Lewis (new); Captain Adrienne Carroll (ret.), RN

* Lord Castellan of the Isle of North Ulst (new); Captain Lancelot Diths (ret.), RN

* Lord Castellan of the Isle of Arran (new); Colonel Hanford J. Dutris (ret.), RAF

* Lord Castellan of the Small Isles of Canna, Rum & Eigg (new); Captain Alan Huth (ret.), RN

* Lord Castellan of the Isle of Wight; Derexte Darkeveils, first daughter of Clan lord

* Lord Castellan of the Isle of Man; Irene Glaxco, second daughter of House lord

* Lord Castellan of the United Channel Islands; Admiral Lord Samuel D. Bell (ret.) RN

* Lord Governor of United Ireland; Carence Ravencroft, first son of Clan lord

* Lord Castellan of Belfast; Famina Ravencroft, first daughter of Clan lord

* Lord Castellan of Dublin; Sclerosia Ravencroft, second son of Clan Lord

By recent voluntary inclusion in the Realms of Britannia:

* Lord Governor to Faroe Islands; Edward Mountbatten, Prince Royal, third son of Britannia

* Lord Governor of Iceland; Anne Windsor, Princess Royal, first daughter of Britannia

As the members of the Peverell group read over the lengthy list of positions and names, they could see that the Royal cabinet had indeed parsed the tally down to something workable inside the time constraints they suffered, if nothing truly objectionable was said aloud. In the current emotional state, with fatigue and raw nerves all around, it would not take much to spark a fight for no valid reason, and thus waste more time than was left to this meeting.

x-x

The Lord Chancellor proposed aloud "We should begin by asking if your Alliance sees any items that could be removed from the list to shorten it? We really should debate only those things that require our united attentions."

Harry replied quickly "I see these items at the bottom of the list, like afterthoughts. The Faroe Islands and Iceland? I didn't flunk geography in school, so I'm pretty sure those don't actually belong to the British Realms or Commonwealth, and they aren't colonies. What happened since we last spoke to prepare this work list?"

Queen Elizabeth II answered primly "The superbness of our mighty riposte against the Denarian degenerates and their attempts to brainwash the planet has convinced certain groups that Our Realms are by far the superior model of society and governance. Therefore, a few of our immediate neighbors have, of their own volition in fact, petitioned to join Us within Britannia."

Frowning, Amelia Bones asked carefully "Given the state of the planet's deteriorating climate and badly damaged societies, several suffering internal wars, is it appropriate to endeavor such expansion? Especially given how far afield of England they lie? Not to mention the sheer size of Iceland's landmass, and the fact the Canadians, Americans or Europeans may want to say something on the matter. Even Russia may express some expansionist views, if they have not already moved ships to cut-off British attempts at integrating the larger island nation."

Smirking nastily, Prince Philip retorted "Funny coincidence, that you should mention that. The current government of Canada is actually contemplating an offer that We graciously submitted them to rejoin Our Empire as an internal part, with an autonomous standing similar to that granted the Faroe Islands and Iceland. Australia and New Zealand are in similar tractations. America is busy just staying alive, so the opinion of the newly elected president, Mr. Ross Perot, was not asked nor would it have any value, at this juncture of geopolitics and Reality. The Europeans are either mired in internal conflicts or collectively cowering before Russia, who is itself fragmenting due to societal tensions having reached the combustion point. In all honesty, nobody from the Old Continent has the people or machines to spare for any operations outside of their own borders, and they were the only credible opposition to our Union with these countries."

Giving a playful grin at the royals, Harry quipped "School's out for the day, so you're gathering your marbles to get back home with your winnings? How amusing! And here I thought adults were all boring and unable to play the games we kids enjoy."

Surprising her entourage, the queen snorted loudly, giving Harry a small nod of the head in admission that his jest had connected, and been appreciated in full. The elder lady conceded "Aye, lad. It is time for the British Realms and Commonwealth to unite against the onslaught of knaves and beasts once again. We, the residents of the Earth, can only survive the coming nuclear winter and societal collapse if we have a critical mass of citizenry, all working together on common goals. Otherwise, we will devolve into a multitude of small roving bands of savages, constantly depredating each other for the most basal necessities of life. Not to mention the fanatics and mentally deranged at large, already doing just that to our poor citizenry."

Giving a serious nod, Harry declared "Well then, as I have precious to no experience with either of the Faroe Islands or their motherland of Denmark, and even less with Iceland, so I suggest that we simply accept the Royal wisdom in these matters. Besides, I do believe that Prince Philip is an actual heir of Denmark's kings, so a child of his would have legal standing to take possession and rulership of the Faroe Islands anyways, if their population wants it. If feel similarly with Canada, Australia and New Zealand, for now. As with anything else, their situations will be revised as the years move along, anyways. I make similar suggestion for the castellans of these named island groups, where you want to create new administrative jurisdictions depending directly from the Crown. My advisers and I have discussed the matter, and agree that having some local authority on these territories would stabilize them much quicker, so as to then move military assets and refugees into the freshly secluded zones, away from dangers. The rest will need at least a few explanations, but I see only four or five points of true contention to debate in the entire list."

x-x

Prince Philip made a face of anger at being held to account by the political grip of a child, snarling in openly displayed distemper: "And what, pray tell, may these all-important items be, that we dispense with them already?"

The boy studiously ignored the Prince-Consort's ill-manner, replying politely "Well, there is the new Lord Azkaban that surprised me. I was told by Gringotts and Hogwarts' history classes that Caer Azkaban is only a small island with a secluded, drab and limited prison tower on it. How then, is there such a thing as a Clan of Azkaban seated on a 'Principality' of the same name, with an entire archipelago at their service? And why was no one ever told about it in any public venue, like aforementioned history classes or civics pamphlets from the ministry?"

The Lord Archmage answered simply "The Principality of Azkaban used to be a small kingdom composed of the Belphégor Islands cluster, in the north sea some 15 miles north-east of Aberdeen. They were created in the Year -666, but joined the British Magical Realms willingly by Treaty only in the Year +666, thusly retaining great autonomy and self-governance. It was because of the Treaty that the prison of Caer Azkaban was erected in the year of signing the new peace and union. The British Crown had needed a place out of usual jurisdictions to house the worse convicts of England, and the Princeps of the Belphégor archipelago agreed to render this service, in exchange for several considerations to his Lineages and faith. Thusly, the two ruling clans of the Belphégor island cluster have sat as Peers of Britannia since, with precious few people ever paying attention to their affairs. In fact, the prison island is one of the smallest rocky needles that emerge from the sea waters amongst nearly five hundred such geological outcroppings that surround the true islands. The habitable terrain is composed of three large islands, five medium islands and seven small ones, with the needles arrayed along the shoals of each body of land. Only thirteen of the five hundred needles are big enough to build anything of consequences, usually observation towers that served as beacons to guide sailing ships, or sound alarm of incoming beasts or pirates."

The Lord Chancellor detailed "Caer Azkaban is the usual popular name, with Belphégor Archipelago being indicated on most magical commercial maps. The rulers are legally titled Princeps Corona Azkaban, or Crown Prince of Azkaban, as per their ancient regal Blood, and the Treaty that unites Them with Our sovereign rule. They are styled 'Principality' in our legal documents and strategic Homeland defense plans. In fact, except for military and police matters, all taxation and administration of Azkaban Principality is separate from the rest of the Realms, like the Isle of Wight, Isle of Man, and Channel Islands used to be until today. To be honest, Azkaban was closer in management style to Free Ireland than Scotland, given how isolated and self-centered they always were."

Harry wondered "I gather that their second ruling clan is De Militiverrius? Will the archipelago also have a governor appointed, like the Faroe Archipelago and Iceland, or is that already an established position? I don't see it in the list."

The Lord Archmage replied "His Royal Highness, Sir Laudeth De Militiverrius, Alta Pater ad Vitae et Nexum, High Lord Armateur of the Slumbering Fleet, sits as Princeps of Belphégor Isles and channels, Lord Patriarch Emeritus of Clan Militiverrius, Regal Peer of Britannia. For the inheritance and continuity rituals used, nobody outside of the Azkaban Principality will ever have such privilege of access. That is why there is an inheritance ritual being done at Gringotts: the Blood-Lines are not set by birth or marriage, but rather by the Blood-adoption of a child from the islands that has been chosen by a complex ritual. Even We, the Royal British Court, are not privy to the miscellaneous details of the methodology employed, and the Treaty bars us from making such demands."

Shrugging it off, Harry declared "Well, that's a few weights off my shoulders. I would like just a few details about the multiple members of Clan Ravencroft getting put in the highest postings in Ireland. In fact, it looks like you are placing these people in utter dominance of the neighbor's country, but I guess there's an explanation similar to Iceland?"

Nodding pridefully, Elizabeth II declared "Yes. In regards to the British victory over the fanatic Denarian sect, both Scotland and Ireland have decided that full autonomy was no longer the most desirable political avenue. Scotland is now wholly part of the United Isle of Albion, and there will be a United Ireland from now on, as one of our Britannic Realms. This will create a better separation between the two Greater British Isles, permitting a much more streamlined strategic management of assets and emergency responses. Also, the political, economical, public transports, educational and cultural necessities will be better served by this new locally-centered administrative partition."

Lucius Malfoy confirmed "Therefore, all of Ireland becomes one jurisdiction under Your Crown, as will be Albion / England. Each being one of the 'Realms' inside the same Empire, like Azkaban, Isle of Man, Channel Isles, etc... Separate but equals under you, yes?"

Prince Philip replied blithely "Yes equals, BUT under us nonetheless. Due to the needs to play nice with some fools to make certain we all survive, a few pieces of land will be getting a status of autonomy quasi-similar to the Azkaban Principality, but under an appointed Royal Governor rather than a hereditary Prince. None of the new entities will ever be so pretentious as to claim they are on the exact same footing as Us or Our Heirs, and no laws will allow them to."

Amelia Bones quipped "That is a nice way to grab some land or stabilize the nation's weaker borders, all the while bringing the genuine authority to Westminster's House of Lords to keep a firm hand on things. I do believe that the members of our Alliance approve your cunning stratagem, Your Majesties."

"Yes, we do approve, and I have no true claims against Clan Ravencroft's rise in Ireland, for lack of contacts at any moment of my life." Harry stated in neutral tones. "They were not part of the Welsh Wiccan sect, like the Clans Darkeveils, De Militiverrius or Azkaban, so I never sought them because I was waiting to be more accustomed to my holdings and duties."

x-x

Harry read the list again, stating calmly "We have nothing to say about most of the Clanholds renewing their Blood-Lines or awakening their dormant seats, as Gringotts and Mystra, Mother of Magycks, will guarantee the honesty and validity of these. I am however curious as to the new Lord Slytherin? I was told quite firmly that his entire Lineage had been ended without issue."

Queen Elizabeth II rose a hand imperiously to forestall any answer, ordering "The Lord Slytherin has made a polite request of Us, when he was presented to Us after receiving the Royal Summons. He was badly victimized by Dumbledore during the Blood Purity War of 1981, and so has begged from Us the right to explain his life and heredity in open parliament, so that the wards of Sovereignty be guarantor of his honesty and loyalty. Once aware of the facts, We agreed that it would be the best course of action, for all involved amongst the old Welsh sect."

x-x

Harry pointed out glibly "I can't help but see that my mother's side has been recognized as a Chartered Family Lineage and been granted Noble House status, all in one move. Since I'm alive, I guess I should understand that someone envisioned eventual procreation. I would have to name or Blood-adopt to make the name spread out to some degree. But what of House Potter's lesser vassals; Van Uttebatten, Dhennack and Gloutnay? How can you put them in this list, and how did you get examplars of Living Blood to perform any sorts of rites? I don't have those, and I wasn't told that Gringotts did either."

The Lord Archmage replied gently "We petitioned the other magical communities of Britannia to know if these noble families had stored archives or Blood in other locales. It so averred that they had made Lineage Continuation contingencies with the gnomes of Switzerland, but their account managers at Gringotts never followed-up, and neither did their superior House, the Potters. We have no idea of why such oversight occurred in what is otherwise an exemplary House, till Dumbledore put his hands in the cauldron."

The Lord Chancellor detailed further "Passing by Gringotts, our Royal Peerage review committee was able to vet the genealogical trees of all who will be invited to sit in Westminster come mid-December. It was during this process that the oversight was discovered, and the goblins immediately contacted their gnomish counterparts to enact the rituals that should have happened. Thusly, you shall soon have a trio of new vassals beneath House Potter's banner. The goblins should be speaking with you of this, quite soon I believe."

Grumbling nastily under his breath, Harry whispered "They could have put it in one of the bloody monthly reports! I'll feed the Potter manager to Rehz, just watch me do! We'll see who feeds who to what dragons!"

Strangely enough, everybody studiously ignored the deep belly laugh from the Faery Drake.

x-x

Slumping in resignation in his plush wingback sofa, the juvenile Peer segued tartly, with obvious disgust on his handsome features "But the case of House Prewett is not something that we can support, or even tolerate from afar. Lord Nott, please expose our arguments in opposition."

Cantankerous Nott folded his hands over his abdomen in thought as he began to lay the case of the Peverell members against the neighboring House. "Your Majesties have to remember the vital and magically determinant importance of Lineage, Blood, and especially Blood-Law, in the life, crafts, practices and Faiths of a magical household. This is such a fundamental truth that there has always been a legal, political and societal difference made between a TRUE magical House versus a dwelling where a few have studied some magic tricks. The expression 'Chartered Family' comes from the fact that the members of a genuine magical House will sign in Blood, Magicks and Soul, the binding written Charter of their Lineage, thus becoming one in the Pasts, in the Presents, in the Futures, and in the alternate Realities as Mystra may grant them."

Taking a pause to breathe, Lord continued slowly "This is what constitutes the Great Sin of the House Prewett; they have repeatedly and with great forethought of Maleficium, raped and usurped Living Blood. By unholy rites, they procreate unlawful bastards through which they then steal magicks and psionics, and often Gifts or Talents, from the established Dynasties, Clans, Houses, Families and Unique entities, by unlocking the 'Blood Compact' that was encoded into the Lineage by their ancestors. In those cases when a 'Compact' or cellular memories could not be stolen, they will resort to spurious chantage towards the public reputation of the men involved, resorting to corrupted tribunals to hijack illegal rights and privileges for the unnaturally gotten child. A considerable percentage of the lands, monies and investment portfolio the Prewett had acquired had been the result of such criminal abuses of the court system. Then, a Wizengamot ruling in Year 1893 castigated the ruling matriarchy of the day, sending the six eldest women of Prewett Blood to Azkaban for the Dementor's Kiss, while 77% of the money assets and all lands not native to the House prior to Year 1200 were seized to redistribute amongst their proven victims. It was the event that broke the House apart, forcing the abdication of vassals and servants, but their foul plans still happened, as shown by what their living members have wrought in the time since Year 1893."

Taking a gulp of air, Cantankerous pursued with more animation, now that he had warmed up to his subject. "And let us not forget that their preferred methodology is for their girls to ensnare a boy still in secondary school, of minor age between 14 and 16 years in fact, with love potions and mind control curses to secure the sexual acts and seminal fluids necessary for their fell rites in the name of Habberrath. Once the bastard child is born, they will blackmail the boy's family into giving up 'orphan's tithe' or else risk the damages that official recognition of the procreate would incur on their Family's magicks. But, by the time of the formal demands, that mystical and Faith injury is already done, the ancestral secrets are already stolen or profaned."

The Princess Royal, Anne Windsor, asked curtly "I wonder if this objection isn't simply a disguised way of stopping a matriarchal House from accessing the Peerage. Do you have a true grievance to lay out? I hear much griping, but few solidly established facts."

Amelia Bones responded for her group "I assure you that if a Prewett boy existed, my niece Susan would have been raised outside of the British Realms to keep her safe from their depravities. The two last Prewett men, Gideon and Fabian, were identical twin-born buffoons who were ill-mannered cads, violent knaves, and proven serial rapists. They were never convicted for two major reasons, but the implication of Dumbledore in keeping them in the streets is beyond explanation. The other fact is that they had always targeted muggles, squibs, muggleborn and lower half-bloods from independent Pureblood families without a major name. In other words, weak persons with no standing before the Wizengamot to bring a suit against an ancient Noble House, even if they had lost the actual seat in chamber a few generations ago. The old privileges of being 'Pureblood' Welsh Wiccans from the Founding of Hogwarts trumped all other considerations, and these two men were but a pale and trite reflection of what their womenfolk were, and are still, committing."

Lord Malfoy snorted indelicately, adding "My own House was deprived of two full cadet branches due to the perfidious manipulations of these harridans. Two of my paternal great-uncles had to be cast out by magic of the House, otherwise the Prewett would have usurped their way into claiming the main line's title, then consumed all four cadet lines. As it stands, their vile acts have whittled our entire House down to just the central root, all branches dead or lost. My wife, son and self are all that is left of Malfoy in Britannia, due to constant Prewett Blood-thefts."

Neville Longbottom, who had been silent for most of the day, piped up "On my mother's side there was a scandal a few decades back. The Prewett tried to foment an illegal child with a second degree female cousin of the main line, to place the kid as potential heir. Instead, my great-grand-mother went public with their fell misdeed, going to the Wizengamot to have the child's birth examined, with Gringotts healers in support. Then, she went inside Gringotts, to the actual Goblin territory where it was still legal, to perform a 'distaff lineage exclusion ritual', to boot out the Prewett influence and clutches from her kin. Afterwards, she Blood-Adopted the child into her maternal House as if the boy had been an ordinary orphan without any ancestry. It made the entire Welsh Wiccan society abuzz for a whole decade back then, but it was legitimate by magic so the Gamot ate its bile and stayed out of it. The Prewett never forgave my ancestor, and swore a Blood Feud on her daughters' female descendants for five generations in reprisals."

Garrick Ollivander quipped softly "Let us not forget what happened to Arthur Weasley in Hogwarts, and how it cost him the Heir's title. His younger brother Antoine Weasley became the Heir of House when the poor man found out Molly Prewett had begotten him a son during their seventh year, when both were still minor-aged. Young William was born just a few weeks after the NEWT's were done, with the pair having married in a hurry to avoid a scandal for the two Houses. They already had ill-fate enough without adding this to their lot. But, every lord and lady in the Welsh Wiccan community knew what had truly happened, and that Molly was a budding potions mistress, despite that she never went for the apprenticeship or diploma."

Severus Snape, Lord-elect Prince, confirmed "Albus Dumbledore has declared to me, during my spying days in his secretive Order of the Phoenix, that he had proof of Molly's perfidies. He should, since he had Poppy Pomphrey do tests for paternity and proof of free will when the Prewett girl began to show she was pregnant. The mediwitch never destroyed any of the archives since her bond to the school forbade it, despite the bearded fool's attempts to do so."

Harry declared firmly "I believe you can see why we don't want Blood-thieves and oath-breakers in our government. I would have petitioned to have them removed from the Wizengamot if it still stood, and from the Board of Hogwarts if they had ever held a seat, but as both institutions are in abeyance, I will simply lodge the position of our Alliance on the matter. But admitting them to the Peerage would send a very dangerous signal to all of Britannia and Commonwealth, and outside the borders as well. It would be a sign that you are so desperate for internal political allies that you are willing to not only ignore, but actually reward, the worst kinds of heretics against Mother Mystra that exist. And I must warn you that such egregious, oath-breaking act would be sufficient for the Peverell Alliance to rescind support from the Britannic Realms, and stand alone anew."

Prince Charles queried incredulously "Are you really threatening secession from England over this matter? Would you risk a war with us over it?"

Harry shook his head negatively, countering "I have already made my position clear on the subject of violence and protracted warfare. Our group is small, and our glens are not armored bastions of imperial almight. If it comes to a fatal disagreement about the most basic tenets of Magyck, life and society, we would brave the Styx River to find new Providence elsewhere."

Prince Charles angrily exclaimed "We can't accept that answer! Especially not at each problem that simpleminded children don't like the adult solutions to!"

Harry countered in deathly calm "And yet, that is the only tool at my disposal. I will not be a traitor to the oaths I have sworn to your Crown, but only so long as the Crown upholds its own oaths and the morality that is the underpinning of their logic and laws. Abide by your own writs and philosophy, and we shall have no quarrels that result in our using Salazar's Exit. Go down the road of expediency at all costs to insure your political preeminence, and you shall travel that path without our company, and certainly not our support or assets."

Lord Malfoy agreed aloud "Do not believe that Lord Peverell stands alone in this. We all agree."

Angry at being stymied so harshly, several royals griped in the background while the queen signaled the Lord Chancellor to scratch the Prewett ascension from the list of New Peers.

x-x

The Lord Archmage declared carefully "Now we address the elevation of Lesser Families into Noble Houses under Britannia's domain. Are there true contentions in this part of the list?"

Harry stated "I see two. Firstly, the case of House Weasley is an old injury to several of my vassals and personal lineages. I do believe that the Wizengamot had the correct stance at the time, in concerns to the financial penalties and suspension from Gamot sessions initially decreed. Where I have a problem is that the government of the day willingly sentenced them to penalties that were in clear excess to their capacity to pay so as to abscond their ancestral seat, then selling it at an auction reserved only for select friends of the minister in place. This act was a clear, criminally inspired manipulation of both the judiciary & legislative powers granted the Gamot under the Magna Carta. As such, the forfeiture of the seat is obviously suspect."

Harry then made a vague gesture of the left hand, explaining clearly "I understand the Weasley feel aggrieved because their ancestor was a churlish cur who committed a crime that only he should have paid for. I accept that a neutral observer can plainly see the Gamot judgment as retaliation and self-dealing profiteering rather than simple punishment on the criminal. However, by the same token, the people who bought the Gamot seat had to incur loans and oathed vassalage for their elevation, which now they would lose the seat but still be on the hook to pay anyways. What I am saying is that the Peverell Alliance has no quarrel against House Weasley proper, and if the Crown can give them Noble House status anew, including a seat in Westminster, without ripping away the standing and assets of others, we would accept."

Sneering at the child in contempt, Prince Philip snarked "Given how the entirety of the Welsh Wiccan Wizengamot stands vacant because we shuttered the obsolete, treasonous thing to fold all operations into Westminster to avoid redundancies and bigotry, creating a bloody seat of whole cloth should be easy enough. If that can be enough to make you agree to move along."

x-x

Nodding at the Prince-Consort with implacable politeness, Harry silently agreed to his words, but then went on to say "That brings us to the second objection of this segment: the Family Lupin's request. At first glance, I can easily see the ancient bigotries of the Welsh Wiccan at work, plus the foul manipulations of Dumbledore in their losing the title, just thirty years back. To see any Family of any Blood or standing so debased because that retched beast Fenrir Greyback had bitten their only child, the heir primus of the Lord, makes me sick. That part of the Lycan Laws should never have been passed, and the texts of the Magna Carta about the heredity processes of Chartered Families specifically prohibit the Wizengamot from choosing or barring a Family's succession based on lycanthropy or vampirism, among many other conditions. This is nothing less than humanocentric paranoia, bigotry and hubris on full display, and we support the petition for appeal made by House Lupin."

Queen Elizabeth II asked tartly "What then, could be the matter of dissidence? If you are so opposed to their having been dispossessed and disbarred from the Gamot seat, then why do you have an objection?"

Harry steepled his fingers before his heart as he replied calmly "It is not the House Lupin that I have problems with as the current Lord would be a good addition to Westminster. Rather, it is the current heir primus, Mister Remus John Lupin, the man bitten as a four year old child, that I have an ax to grind with. He was traveling Europa with my oath-bound god-father, Sirius Black, the late Lord Black, when the ill-fated man broke his oaths to my Blood-Law and died. This occurred because Mister Lupin was busy enjoying the usufruit of being Lord Black's live-in companion instead of keeping my kinsman sober and sane."

The boy was snarling at the end of that last phrase, so he stopped speaking. Trying to keep his demeanor from showing his true rage, Harry swallowed through a lump in his throat, then continued at a slower pace. "He was reading delicate, private collection tomes and grimoires at all hours, all the while eating and drinking finer foods than most Diagon Alley full-service restaurants or hotels could provide. He even had a separate, non-adjoining, luxury suite that had an enclosed office to store all his research safely, for the many times he went out in town to purchase yet more exotic books, foreign maps and private journals, paid with an infinite allowance granted him from the House Black's main vault. He was living the high life while Sirius was drinking, drugging and whoring himself to death, as he tried to survive through a state of acquired mental illness worse than Azkaban could have done along the way. I have no doubts that Dumbledore's foul potions have made things worse, but Sirius was fragile from birth, just like his brother, and Lupin's job was to help him stay alive, healthy and sober. He did neither."

Amelia Bones declared "We have a written folio prepared to lay out graphically the lifestyle and expenditures of Mister Lupin, with the comparative timeline of Lord Black's lengthy demise on the same sheet. The accounting of allowances, gifts and fees, paid to Mister Lupin by Lord Black directly from the main vaults have been produced by Gringotts, by the Black account managerial team, under a formally requested judicial audit when the new Lord Black, milord Potter here, took over the debauched House. In the decade that Sirius Black held the title, he had destroyed slightly less than one quarter of the House's total value, and fully one eighth of that was paid to the personal, anonymously numbered, foreign tourist vault of Remus Lupin in the gnomes' bank. All the paperwork from Gringotts in both England and France match with the gnomes in Basel, as do the signatures on the transfer orders."

Harry snarled "House Lupin may not be rabid dark beasts, or traitors to Britannia, but Remus Lupin is a Blood-traitor to Houses Potter and Black by dearth of decency and compassion, and by criminal negligence in the carrying out of his duties as permanent House-guest and traveling companion of Sirius Black, my oath-bound god-father. I cannot fathom this man in my presence, let alone his having anything to do with my Houses or affairs. I will most definitely NEVER allow him to hold any authority, commandment or power over me and mine, not in this life or after, so Hades help me!"

Princess Anne asked carefully, as she could see that the child had a real grievance in this case, and both the legal and magical backing to push on it hard. "What remedy do you favor, if elevating the House is agreeable, but not the heir primus? I admit that I am at a loss to envision the path we could share to arrive at a common conclusion."

Amelia answered for her seething lord, explaining "The elevation of House Lupin back to its former standing is actually a mere formality, as the seated lord had never committed any crime for which he could have legally lost his seat or title. In this, the Gamot clearly overstepped. But, since Mister Remus J. Lupin is clearly guilty of, at the very least, severe morally defunct lack of judgment as -PAID- companion, he could be sued under Britannic Laws. Charges in a criminal venue would probably not go farther than a few light fines. Accusing him in civilian venue of having exploited the mental illness of the Late Lord Black for personal profit would also go no further than a few fines, albeit greater amounts due to the standing of the deceased and accuser. What we favor is more direct and simpler; a Royal Writ declared in Westminster that heir primus Lupin has committed grave offenses against a person to whom he had oathed support, succor and protection, thus allowing the death of this sworn friend. This is worsened by the fact that Mister Lupin was supposed to be secondary godfather to Lord Harry Potter, but never tried a single time to initiate any form of contact with him. The only times Harry heard about Lupin was through Gringotts reports of the dwindling Black assets, or from Sirius himself, in passing. This creates a clear picture of a person more preoccupied by the monies and gifts than by his duties and bonds to the 'extended family' that he supposedly created with James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black, while in Hogwarts. Even to this day, Mister Lupin has not reached out to Harry Potter, nor the Peverell Alliance, despite that the old Welsh laws against lycans have been repealed since before the atomic fires."

Harry pointed a finger at the Lord Chancellor, demanding most pressingly "I want to make certain that NOBODY tries to wedge Remus Lupin into my life by force, to try and usurp my freedom and autonomy. You will craft the damned Writ to clearly state that he cannot in any way, shape or form, be installed as Guardian, Tutor, Proxy, Intendant, representative, solicitor, barrister, notary, or usher for any of my Houses, Families, vassals, bannermen, corporations, employees or contractors, for the entirety of his life, death, in-between or thereafter. As I am a Hadean faithful, I certainly know about the ability of the dishonest to thwart a court order by foregoing flesh or birth species, and I won't have such minor technicalities render a Royal Writ void or inapplicable – just because someone wanted. Remus John Lupin is anathema to me in my own person, and to all of Houses Potter and Black, ad extensia et perpetuo. I will be given plainly phrased and magically binding Writ by the Crown's own hand of this reality, and I will be taking precautions against his EVER coming close to having ANY say at all in my life, training, management of affairs, or Blood Lineages. If I have to hire mercenaries to solve what the Crown is too skittish to finalize, then maybe this Prince Royal of Azkaban and I should indeed meet."

It was Prince Charles who asked with incredulous venom in his voice "You want us to deny a Noble House accession to their legally and loyally acquired seat in Westminster just on the upset feelings of a spoiled boy who didn't have his lost uncle come kiss his lordly ring like all others? What kind of idiocy is this? Do you people hear yourselves? Are you actually serious about this entire episode?"

A wave of deathly cold swept the conference hall, the flames in the two hearths and candles turning into blue spirit-flames for a few seconds before changing back to normal. Harry gazed at the impudent older man with nothing but raw contempt etched on his face, his green pupils now an eerie shade of luminescent sapphire surrounded by ethereal gray sclera. Speaking in slow words that let out white wisps of marrow-freezing air in cadence to his speech, the child-lord intoned: "I was taught young that if you cannot be a positive contribution to a dialogue, you should at least be polite. And that if you cannot be polite, then you should be thankful in silence that your are still allowed to sit at the meeting table, despite such lack of manners. It appears, Sir Prince Royal, that you were never given such enlightened education. Please allow me to reiterate: be polite or be silent, for I shall not tolerate this overt insult to my person and allies further."

Making a fully teethed smile of challenge, Harry expounded: "Just to be certain of the basic facts, in case one of you uncouth louts wants an Honor Duel. I have a goblin champion on retainer since a year ago. He was recommended by Ragnok himself, one of his second degree cousins, on his father's side. So if you think that because I'm a child you can offend me unpunished, you should remember that I am a Hadean devotee, thus Death and pain are not foreign to me, nor do I reject them. I would gleefully accept a duel, or even demand one as a preliminary to the devastation of your Family, House, Clan or Dynasty, in all political, societal, religious and economical arenas of the planet. Attack me again at your very true and imminent perils."

"Enough! Stand ye down before Britannia, all of ye!" commanded queen Elizabeth II, using a tone of voice few had ever heard from her. "I do believe we have reached a point of fatigue where we all need to refresh ourselves in the lavatories, before the unforgivable is spoken. We will reconvene after Evening Tea has concluded. Dismissed." Then, looking at her husband and adult children, she gestured for them to accompany her immediately, which they did. The rest of the assembly broke ranks to attend their necessities, breathing a sigh of relief as they did.

{ HP } - { The end of the Royal Conference } - { HP }

( Thomas Arne, 1740 - Rule Britannia )

Come 22:00pm and Evening Tea was had, allowing everyone to uncrisp and destress from what had proven to become a very tense, acrimonious meeting. The sudden, sustained aggressivity of Princes Philip and Charles towards Harry Potter had not gone unnoticed by either side, and the constant snide off-the-board asides by some military officials had been well memorized for analysis. There was a dark, worrisome movement underneath these events, and the Alliance would have to study it carefully.

At 22:30pm it was the dreaded time period allotted by the Crown for the Peverell group to elaborate what plans they were making, specifically in response to what had been discussed all day, and what would happen at Westminster during the scheduled mid-December session.

Harry began to slowly expound on their basic plan to accept new residents into the glens by batch once per season, and to open one new glen per year starting at the Samhain of 1994, as per the ancient traditions of the Clan. Each of their personal estates presently in stasis would probably be reactivated by February or March of next year, in 1993, if nothing went worse.

x-x

Again, Harry was assailed by Prince Charles who queried in a testy tone "Is that all? What will you do for your country, selfish boy? We have tens of thousands of refugees piled up in camps and derelict buildings because of your excessive power-mongering amongst the Welsh Wiccan! When will you take responsibility for your cupidity and do something to save these innocent people from the bloody mess that you made?"

Swearing crassly, Harry shouted back "And how the ever-loving fucks am I to blame for the damned nuclear war, or the Denarians that started everything with their White Council? Will you start saying that bloody Albus Dumbledore was my creation, or Gellert Grindelwald? That I killed my parents from the womb, to make all this happen just to obtain Power Penultimate?"

"ENOUGH!" Hermione Dagworth-Granger exclaimed, speaking for the first time of the day.

As she was new to this whole Lords & Kings thing, she had adopted an attitude of silently melting into the background to see how events unfolded, to learn about her new role in the world. But now it was enough.

"That is well enough, milord Prince Royal. Lord Peverell has no blame to bear on the matter, as you all well know of your own eyes, and reports from your subordinates and contractors. The entire depravity was started a long time ago by the Denarians, but several other entities and groups have put their hands in this cauldron along the epochs. Harry, Neville and myself are newcomers to this arena, but we are not guilty and not blind to what you are doing."

Taking a calming breath, Hermione declared tartly "I will speak for the Peverell Alliance on this, to upkeep the level of sociability and intelligence of the conversation we should maintain, otherwise Harry and Neville will tell you but add a few home truths along the way. Do note that while I would not in any shape disagree with their evaluations of things and peoples mentioned, it would not be the proper time and place for such -personal- debates to occur."

Locking gaze with the queen, the titled girl elocuted firmly "I am ashamed at what I have just seen from your son and heir, and the highest echelons of the British Regency. To think that so highly vaunted adults of status and renown need a child with barely a full year of magical education in him to hold their hands through a crisis is appalling, and a debauched scandal. How have these persons acquired their ranks, positions and functions in Britannia, if they are so truly inept as to depend on mere immature children to do the jobs for them? If it is so much Harry's job and duty to repair these many situations, does that mean that they publicly admit he should be wearing a higher crown, like Prince Azkaban? Or as new Rex Britannia, mayhaps?"

Ignoring the incredulous huffs and choleric growls from the cabinet members, Hermione focused on the queen to the exclusion of all else. "Tell me, Your Majesty, what has Britannia done in the past when a situation with an overloaded and unsafe refugee camp occurred in, let's say, the African countries? Or maybe India, to use a colony and some truly British experience."

Elizabeth II ordered blithely "If you have a salient point to depose before Our Person, do get on with it, milady Dagworth-Granger. We are not getting younger, and neither are you."

Snorting at the monarch, the young girl replied "As Your Majesty is well aware, the British Regency has been a government of laws and decrees for nearly two thousand years, plus another millenia of oral traditions before that. And that means that we have almost thirty centuries of written records to back our studies and analysis with. It means that England, the Britannic Realms, are a nation of texts and archives, requiring educated professionals to run the daily affairs of the nation, or else we all fall back into illiterate barbarity. Therefore, with such an elaborately detailed system of columns and stratum to position the bureaucrats and officials in just the right jobs, how is it that none of them know how to manage plots of land, or attribute contracts to private companies to build and maintain them?"

Prince Philip asked with great disbelief "Are you suggesting we hire contractors to solve this mess all over the Realms? Are ye daft, lass?"

Giving the older male a gimlet eye, Hermione countered "And why not, pray tell? All throughout British history, the government of the day used a plethora of contractors to resolve innumerable situations. In passed wars the monarchs hired both private English militant guilds and foreign mercenaries to fight alongside the Royal vassals and bannermen. In fact, one of the most ancient military traditions of our nation is the right for any person who has the ancestry, title or riches to 'purchase a commission' in the Royal Troops in order to serve straight at the Officer level. And, of course, have the 'privilege' of bringing 'tribute of conquest' back home to their Family, after paying their 25% share of the plundered goods to the Crown's coffers."

Emitting a derisive little snort of disdain, the girl snarked "And the attribution of public works contracts to private guilds and companies has always been both a solution, and an egregious source of corruption, for all the time England has been a legal entity on the maps. From the Picts and Celts, through the Romans, Saxons, Vikings, Normans and Danes up to now, private contracts have built Britannia to what it is. Therefore, Your Majesty, how is it that your highest regents of state don't know how to process a tender of offers, of just hand out the damn contracts piecemeal to those they already know can do the work properly without shafting the nation?"

Before anybody knew it, Neville asked in poisonous words "It's weird, but I thought we had buried all this 'Boy-who-lived' turgid shyte last year when Dumbledore was in front of the Goblin judges, being questioned by procurators from dozens of countries and hundreds of families and guilds. Do you still believe in that numskull 'Prophecy of the Savior Child' the bint Trelawney made up to con Dumbledore? Because I could swear she told, under oath and written account signed in Blood, that she had faked it all to get the Divination professorship at Hogwarts."

Hermione stated in an affected faux-snob accent "Indubitably you reminisce adequately, milord Long-of-the-Bottoms, for t'is the plebes that have not the skills to read newspapers, let alone process the reports of their minions at work. T'is why house-elves are so vital to the running of the nation, you see? Without the little servants to read aloud for them, the good, noble and highly stationed men could not possibly know enough, let alone understand enough, to get anything done in civilized fashion."

As the Royal cabinet and officials were getting into a right and proper strop of a tizzy at being insulted to their faces by a pair of children, the queen herself silenced them all with a discrete little laugh, that she immediately smothered with a lace embroidered handkerchief. As her husband, three sons and daughter were all eyeing her with mixed incredulity and betrayal, the elder dame made a vague gesture of the free hand, inviting Harry to jump back into the mess.

Girding his loins mentally, the 12 year old boy began to explain more politely what his two friends had begun to tell. "We have a very small group, with a very limited amount of abilities and resources between us. In consequence of this, we are hiring from outside the group to obtain the services and products we need, like going to Gringotts for banking and a slew of other things that normal banks don't cater to. Likewise, you could simply put out an offer to these refugees that if they form a guild, syndicate or company, you will grant them a plot of land to be exploited to their own needs and desires, for a period of time before they have to pay taxes or permits. All they need do is insure the land usages will conform to the national plans for the area concerned, then build and hire what they need. With the jobs will come housing and food growing, and everything else will proceed naturally from there until a whole village lives."

The Lord Chancellor asked astonished "Are saying that we should do like the Romans? Treat our own territory like wild lands freshly conquered to which we send soldiers and families for a parcel of land, completely free of charges and taxes for one generation, to jump-start recovery?"

Shrugging carelessly, Harry replied honestly "It worked for the Romans all the way through the Germanic tribes, including Bohemia, Prussia, Gaul, Albion and Ireland, didn't it? So why not? You have better education, better tools, much better communications, motorized vehicles including trains, planes and sea ships, not to mention all the automated construction machinery. Plus, the satellites in orbit are still working fine, as the radios, cellular phones and GPS demonstrate easily. The computers will certainly make keeping the maps for land allotment & usage up to date real-time much easier than lore crystals and pensieves ever did. It sure beats dicta-quills! So, make a map for each region you want to develop, the strategic resources of the area, and then go shopping for either in-house public works employees, or private contractors. And while you're at it, you might want to completely un-tax all farming and homesteading for several years to restart the production of basic foodstuffs across the country, or else those tens of thousands of refugees you cry about will soon starve to death in the camps you parked them in."

Prince Philip demanded in a crude way "You just won't take responsibility for this, won't you?"

Looking at all the royals in utter disbelief, Harry exclaimed "I'm a 12 year old kid, dammit! In what world do you live that this should have been my problem to begin with? I'm doing far more than my fair share, and carrying a dozen others along the way! You're the ones with a country and national army at your beck & call, so do something with it, instead of crying like babies who can't change their own soiled nappies!"

Before the Prince-Consort could even begin to swell up with righteous indignation at the insolent little whelp's tone and words, the queen interrupted him terminally; "I happen to agree with Lord Peverell, that this blame-game has lasted far too long, and for the very worse reasons. It will stop now, or I shall be the ender of it. Besides, given the time, I believe we are due for supper. My Lord Archmage, if you would announce the proper transition to the dining hall...?"

Taking the -subtle- hint from his Sovereign, the Lord Archmage cleared his throat to declare "And now we arrive at the conclusion of this conference. A light supper and digestives will be served, along with some time to receive private messages before the planned departure at 01:00am. Do avail yourselves of the hospitality our your grateful monarch, as she is quite pleased with the contributions you have brought to the table this day. All rise for Britannia!"

{ HP } - { Playing the long game } - { HP }

( Thomas Arne, 1740 - Rule Britannia )

It was passed 01:30am when Dame Elizabeth II of Clan Windsor, queen of England and her many Realms, sat heavily in the padded throne for the inescapable conclusion to the protracted day. Now that all the guests had left the Balmoral estate through that weird magical gate that froze the entire complex all over again, they could have the dreaded post-diplomacy briefing.

More talk.

Oh joy of joys, the aged woman thought bitterly.

At least the paperwork would wait until tomorrow afternoon, so they could all have ten hours of sleep plus some time to wash and eat before pushing the millstone again.

Sighing in resignation, the elder monarch signaled at the rest of the regents to take their seats and start the blasted proceedings, that way it would end at some point.

The Lord Royal Archmage of the Britannic Isles, Sir Nathaniel Mardenhold de Coppervale, stood at the foot of the table to activate the hybrid projector to replay critical parts of the meeting that had been filmed throughout the day. It was vital for the continuing survival and safety of the Crown and Realms that they understand fully the mindset and characters of these highly important players in the political arena of the new Britannic Empire that was being forged.

Taking the lead, the Lord Chancellor began "As you can all see from these selected portions of the day's events, the Peverell Alliance leadership has gelled together rather cohesively since they undertook the trip to Mistgate Glen, via the Styx. In the face of external opposition or threats, the differences of age, blood-status, wealth and cultural bias all disappear in favor of displaying a united front with nary a detectable crack to exploit. Furthermore, it seems as if the usual frictions caused by having such a young child as the title-bearer of the group have either been thoroughly repressed, or never manifested at the onset. In any cases, we have not witnessed any moment or item of conversation where the position of Harry Potter was challenged or fragile due to youth."

The Lord Archmage added "And we saw similar reactions from the better, more experienced adults when the Longbottom and Dagworth-Granger heads took the pole in representing their group for a specific point of discussion. It is to be noted that they did not seem to have any system of communication between them, save for actually calling out each other's name aloud. That makes their organization and display during the meeting all the more impressive."

An odd, eerily echoing voice sounded through the room, with a sort of interference buzz in the background. "I suspect that the young Lord Peverell was using the Blood-Law link to issue orders and exchange information real-time with his cohorts, including those left at their enclave. It was a peculiar but amusing bit of skill on his part."

The air between the two monumental hearths shimmered as the cloaking charms were released and the floating tentacled forms of the three Grell sages were revealed to the attendees. None made any gesture of fright or surprise as each had already met the beings at least once before, and they had all been briefed on their silent presence in the room during the entire day.

The alchemist Grell, having at some point hijacked one of the tea cups on the table, was delicately sipping his warm brew as a tentacle lazily aimed at the projection system, mentally switching images for those that were more important. Using his seldom employed vocal chords, the crafter blamed the royals scathingly, much to their surprise.

"You are fools! Here, here and here, you were mere seconds away from oath-breaking from being so openly aggressive and insulting towards LOYAL members of your PEERAGE! You three buffoons, Philip, Charles and Anne, almost squibbed-out your entire Lineage and destroyed any chances at Chartering the Windsor and Mountbatten Blood-Laws before their documents were even written! It will be a miracle if you can actually achieve any status above simple Family, let alone the exaltation of Clan that you crave, given the inepties we have witnessed today! Mother Mystra will not be gentle on your kindred for these sins!"

Insurging himself vehemently against the tongue-lashing he was getting, Prince Philip rasped out a threatening "How dare you, alien creature? This is the seat of House Windsor, the rulers of Britannia! We will not... Eurhhhkkk!"

The leader Grell's snobby voice echoed loudly, the severity of his words chastising even those who were not directly guilty; "For three millenia have we stood back in watchful sentry, offering help only when asked directly, never usurping control or power despite the great ease with which we could crumble your weak minds and enslave your diseased souls. We have propped you up against the hazards of climate, life, society and your own perfidies or idiocies. You are indebted to us, not the other way around, no matter what oaths we took to your ancestors, since your inept forebears broke faith and oaths repeatedly in the middle millenia of our tenure. But, if you think that we will tolerate your specist bigotries being thrown at us in lieu of pitiful excuses for your continual, inbred and innate defeats, you are MISTAKEN!"

The ambient barometric pressure increased dramatically, as did the free-floating killing intent, swirling around the attendees without purpose or target, but making them all understand the message all the same. They had trespassed against several key allies this day, and the time they could claim for safety and succor was done. Now, they would all have to account for their actions and effects, no matter species, age, creed, title, rank or function. The Grell had supported them for too long already, and this base display of disrespect and crass bigotry was too much to endure any more.

The third Grell emitted a psionic snort, just louder than a regular breath, but it was enough to inflict a catastrophic migraine that would last for two days to every living entity inside of ten kilometers of Balmoral Estate. Even the plants and bacterium felt the effects, causing a cascade of bad side-effects through the entire ecosystem for the coming month, without any human having the capacity to repair the damages.

Now thoroughly chastised publicly in a manner they could not deny or bypass, the British royals and officials were simply trying to hang on to the vestiges of what they had thought was their power and authority, when the last blow hit them.

The leader Grell whispered hoarsely directly in their minds "We are leaving this domain for the foreseeable future. When you finally act as more than spoiled, selfish and ego-driven morons will we deign consider to return to one of your assemblies. In the meanwhile, if Dame Windsor wishes for our esteemed services, she will have to travel to our dormant ship to PETITION for it, like the distraught and impoverished BEGGAR that you all are!"

The alchemist Grell physically flung his soiled cup at the table, uncaring if it broke or spilled, as he added nastily in the mental projection "Perhaps having to deal with Laudeth De Militiverrius, without intermediaries to dampen his rotten temper, will finally pound some common sense and dignity into your failed Blood-Lines! I sincerely doubt it, but maybe the Princeps Azkaban will have a method to finally make you evolve past the stage of barbarity you are stuck in."

The third Grell waved his tentacles in spiraling patterns as he deadpanned "I most definitely do not believe that even that ancient being has any chance to manage such herculean task. In fact, I am not certain that the elder wyrm Wyrax and his cult could have achieved it. Though, hope does spring eternal, if you want to emote about it."

His gesticulations finished, the third Grell, whose specialization was never truly explained to the royals, stated blithely "I have installed a psionic compulsion for honesty and forthrightness in the depths of your Identity and Inner-World, with a repeating support message in the Dream-World, just to have an actual chance at keeping this country from exploding under your idiotic assaults."

The leader Grell nodded in the odd forward tilt-bob of their kindred, emphasizing "We do this for your own good, as you are evidently too mentally childish and morally immature to carry the burdens of autonomy and leadership by yourselves. Like dutiful parents and teachers, we will insure your coming to actual maturity in good health and well educated, whether you enjoy it and the process, or not."

The alchemist Grell warned them gravely "Now we depart for our hive-ship, sleeping under the soil and ice, but remember! We are never too far away to intervene or return to set things back to rights, irrespective of your much vaunted, bigotry-fueled selves. You are autonomous from the mind-rapes of Dumbledore and the Denarians because of US, not from anything you did. We can easily alter that state of affairs to make you servile as house-elves, if we desire. Ponder with great alacrity what your next moves will be. While the Fae may actually consider giving you some support against us, it would only be at the cost of Purging the entire planet from all life, not only ours. And to such, the dread master of the Darkes, Laudeth De Militiverrius, would most certainly oppose his fearsome Slumbering Fleet and monstrous creations, each worse than the menial Dementors. Dwell upon these words, before you invoke us again."

The three space-born entities teleported in a minute spark of psionic energies that belied the full vastness of what they could do. It was in fact a gesture known amongst the mystical species as a 'right & proper snob' because it showed ostentatiously the plenitude of their Powers and skills, and just how far above everyone in sight they were. By having almost no visible trail at the point of departure, they showed how extremely adept they were at their spells or psions, not weakness or small energy reserves like people without magical culture would believe.

The humanoids in the conference hall had enough culture to understand, but not the wherewithal to process it intellectually, or the self-discipline to absorb it emotionally without experiencing a breakdown of their realitive paradigms. And the consequences of this personal lack of control would come back to bite them all not too far down the road.

Winter 1992 – The creation of the first Grot

(Adrian Von Ziegler – Accursed)

Friday, November 27th of 1992

Swarm province Ruthgal

The Styx River demi-plane

As the sun's weak rays caressed the land to declare yet another bleak dawn, the surroundings beheld anew the inhumane horror that was the Corruption Mound, sitting like the gas-bloated carcass of a dead whale that was exposed by low tide. The mind-warping aberration was humming with the combined noises of its commensals, parasites, psychic & bio-neural energies, and the slow gushing of acidic venom sluicing off its chitin-armored hide to form small puddles at its base. Its mold encrusted hull was crawling with transphasic worms and shrouded in a cloud of poisonous fetor and hook-flies, with a dozen Poison Spores floating in the immediate vicinity while six giant maggots the color of spoiled milk crawled in random patterns in the 300 feet radius near the living building.

Sensing that its master was finally waking from his two-day slumber, the sentient edifice linked with his mind to transfer the reports and wait for new orders. The mound had built as many spores (48) and larvae (12) as it could command directly in real-time, so it would need to use 'engrammatic encoding' to permanently task new units so it could exceed its management limit.

Emerging from his underground den, the Rex Mycotaur Locus wore a very rare smile of pure joy as he saw the full glory of his first creation. That the designs and rituals for its birthing had been the fruits of Old Grandfather Nurgle rather than his own mind was not important in the least, not as much as the final result. The other 36 floating spies were already at their sentry posts a hundred kilometers away, in a perfect circle, giving the RML an immediate perception of everything in that diameter, plus a bit more outside. The larvae had been split into two groups; the proximity defenders that patrolled the den's area, and the wreckers that were tongue-lashing the derelict buildings to pieces that the purple lobsters were ferrying into piles for later usage.

Now that was work well ordered and managed!

The Rex had been able to sleep soundly in his fieldstone den, warm and cozy while the menials toughed out the winds and cold to keep up the resource gathering to feed both the fires and the troops. In fact, the RML had been able to stay asleep while his mount woke to eat bits of vegetation on four occasions since its control was temporarily assumed by the mound's mind, like a secondary subconscious or alternate basal instinct to insure survival.

Rested and already fed without any effort on his part; now that was royal living!

It was a truly ironic thing that Albus Dumbledore had achieved yet another of his prurient dreams, but without being present or even alive to see nor hear about it.

{ HP } - { A gift of Nature; water-stone } - { HP }

After basking in the toxic aura of the first Corruption Mound, the slave-rider turned his mind and magicks towards the inside, to his Inner World where his baleful god Nurgle had deposited several concepts and methods. The hellish vegetal knew he needed more troops to accomplish his desires alongside the Divine Plan, but he could not birth them himself at this point. That capacity would come, but only after multiple rituals to mutate his body and mind to acquire the glands, organs and Powers to change is limited physicality.

The fungal king knew that some of Nurgle's other servants (or enemies) could 'convert' entities, be it through speech, written texts, and holding mass in public, but the Cult of Pestilence was not the best faith to use these soft methods. Some species could hijack the will, or complete mind, of other neighboring species in order to accomplish tasks outside of their own innate abilities, or to feed on their victims. From whisperer worms to zombie fungi, to pod plants that cloned entities, to xenomorphs that consumed a being to usurp its identity and life, the many manners by which organic and bio-neural enslavement could be done were countless.

The Rex Mycotaur Locus needed time and studies, along with prayers to Nurgle, to learn and develop those skills, drugs and spells. It would take even more time to make his body generate the psychedelic enslavement fluids, or lesser parasitic entities that would serve as network relay boosters between himself and his victims. That meant that he would need to use methods external to his body and mind to seed the true root of the Bleak Swarm. Thankfully, his deity had gifted him exactly the ritual for this necessity, and the cost was now easily payable.

With a gentle touch of his mind, a pair of white larvae began to belly-crawl their way towards the river shoreline, surprising the Rex by their frightful velocity. Once on the beach, the two beasts began to lash the freezing, accursed waters of the Styx with their lurid red tongues, using the forked and spiked ends to rake the silt layer for things to bring back ashore. Quickly, the medium sized aberrations had collected a pile of driftwood to eat or burn, some good round river stones to help extend the underground lair, and bits of metals that had deposited when ships had dropped garbage or sunk due to irreparable damages.

The evil monarch goaded his mount closer so he could scan the recovered spoils himself, in case a few were magical or technical. The larvae were clearly showing their versatility and usefulness as low-tier gatherers and hunters, but they were still very limited in the size of what they could grab and move, plus the fact they had no real intellect to brag about, despite having some actual sentience. After all, if the beasties could lap at the Styx with their bare tongues without losing their mind, memories or personality, then they hadn't had much to lose in the beginning.

A small glint of powerful raw magic made the Rex use his telekinesis to grab and float a small rock that one of the larvae had just pulled out of the silt. Once in his misshapen hands, the Rex could only smile at his good fortune this morning. His minion had found a piece of naturally made elemental magic called, inventively enough, a 'water-stone' since it always seemed to be wet with a permanent coat of scintillating mineral water. In reality, these rocks were always found in streams where a strong concentration of raw wild magic flowed with the water, thus slowly enchanting the stones via energetic osmosis and isotopation. While it could be found elsewhere dry like high mountains, the water-stone was really something to look for in creek beds, streams, rivers and huge watersheds of high mystical potential, like the Styx.

These drab gray rocks had a funny effect that gave them their name; they were permanently coated with a natural field of Mythal that was so powerful it condensed into an oily layer that existed even at great depths under water, or in very hot temperatures like a camp fire, although that would make the flames spark and pitch embers randomly quite a lot. The true ability of this liquid Mythal layer was that it was nigh on impossible to wear out or damage a water-stone by ordinary physical means, making it ideal for bladed tools and weapon edges or spikes. Normally, a mortal human who wanted to shape a water-stone blade would need to wear-out several regular mill stones over several months, perhaps even years if the original rock was too round or big to have the basic shape of the final tool visible in the raw stone's form. But for priests, wizards and psionicists, simple elemental manipulation spells would do the trick in mere minutes, plus some actual crafting skills to make a reliable device.

Mostly to amuse himself and test his own ability to make things with his recently birthed body, the Rex Mycotaur Locus concentrated on plying spells at the half-pound rock. First, he sliced it down to a dozen roundels, and it didn't matter a bit that they were asymmetrical, just the thickness had to be correct. Then, he took one slice to carve out from its outer side a thin strip of curving stone that could be affixed to a handle made of much cheaper wood or bone. Carefully manipulating the new part with his mind, the RML crafted a beveled edge on both outer and inner curves, then a diamond-shape point, and finally he thickened the tang, to which he added a pair of winglets and three small pin-holes. The winglets would distribute tension when the tool was moved around in the material being worked, while the pins would be the basic attachment, with some leather or twine wrapping to secure the blade to its haft.

Smiling happily at his first inert crafting, the Rex floated a piece of driftwood to his hand to make the needed handle, while he spell-shaped some spare gravel into three pins directly into the assembled tool to make certain they would not fall out or move around loosely. A nice little wrap made from fungal filaments plucked from his own beard completed the small, manual tool. Taking up a mundane round rock, he scraped the blade across the surface and almost dropped both when the water-stone tool actually sliced-off an inch thick roundel from the cobble. The blasted thing would have kept on going right through the rock and into his hand, if the Mycotaur had not stopped his gesture in time! Wow! What a good tool, and for so little effort, too!

Smiling at the new curved butchering knife, a miniature scimitar in truth, the fell enslaver spent some time making more stone-bladed tools according to the insights granted him by Nurgle, so that he may have the equipment necessary for the more elaborated rituals and sciences of Rot.

{ HP } - { The Chitinous Cauldron is born } - { HP }

After spending the morning on crafting small manual tools for his occult studies, the slave-rider turned back his attention to the pile of stuff the two larvae had collected on the beach. And, yes, there was what he wanted: a nice big clam the size of his open hand, its shell thick and covered in small tufts of corals that had managed to cling to the bivalve as it aged in its sandy burrow. Along the clam were a few other critters, like small shellfish and an eel with wickedly pointed teeth that was still thrashing around. A generous bundle of long green water-weed fronds was neatly stacked as potential food or fuel, and a convoy of shrimp-kin were busy grabbing some to ferry back to the stocking room, beneath the Corruption Mound.

Now that he had his basic materials, the Rex Mycotaur Locus went down into the ancient root cellar, concentrating on the right-hand wall, opposite the second chamber. He needed to build a third room, which would be dedicated to birthing new minions until an actual living hive could be erected. So, he dedicated a few hours to excavating, reinforcing and finishing the new room, with four narrow chimneys to reach the surface. The two pipes on the far wall served the purpose of bringing fresh air into the room to help the biological and magical processes, whilst the two pipes closest to the wall between the rooms would go into the belly of the Corruption Mound, to feed it the organic gases and magical effluves wasted by the rituals and gestations.

Once the gestation room's basic masonry was done, the evil fungus dug a ten foot wide by five foot deep round pit in the middle, in which he then used his elemental manipulations to carve runes and figures dedicated to Nurgle and his innumerable horrors. It took a short half-hour to finish the consecration prayers and test the solidity of the warding. Taking the still living clam in his broken, crooked hands, the Rex used one of his new water-stone tools to carve unholy scripts on both valves then force open the mollusk to spell the living animal hidden inside the shell.

Now prepared, the Rex ordered the purple shrimp drones to grab, shred and deposit in the pit several sorts of materials from the stockpile room to make a nest for the clam. In the coming hours, the slave-rider would chant in a fell tongue only he and the mound above could truly understand yet retain any hints of sanity, all the while tithing blood and sullied magicks to the nascent monster in the nest-pit.

After nearly twenty hours of backbreaking labor, the Rex could finally stop his prayer songs to behold the onion-shaped living creature that had evolved and taken root in the shallow gestation well. Held two feet above the cold bare earth floor of the pit, the unnatural procreate was colored a stomach-churning shit-brown that looked like it was spasming liquid mud trying to stay in shape against the pull of gravity. The stench of the thing was eye-watering on its own, before taking account of the oily mist suspended in the room and the obvious toxicity of the vapors. Knotted beneath the main body was a chaotic jumble of roots that dug into the bare earth floor and stone walls of the well to connect the entity with the natural ground and climate, thusly also feeding it a constant stream of basal nutrients when it wasn't busy gestating a new monster for its master.

In a cruel and twisted parody of Dagda, the child of Yggdrasil, the First Acorn, the Primal Seed, the evil devotee of Nurgle had created a giant hybrid seed from which to decant his troops. Or at least make the primordial larvae that would then be transformed or evolved into bigger and better things. Although limited, this 'Chitinous Cauldron' could produce a lot of critters, providing that they physically fit inside its girth, including entities that were fully sentient with psionic or magical capacities being possible, given education and faith in Nurgle.

One interesting feature of the cauldron was that its intelligence was reserved for its own self, and the project it was gestating. The Cauldron did not manage units, nor did it seek authority over the surrounding zone. Its sole reason for living was to give birth to ever more depraved and bizarre entities in the service of Infinite Decay, for Nurgle's local servants. Anything else, even the task of finding food to fuel the gestation in progress, was far beneath its notice or non-existent capacity to care. Truly vegetative and immobile, the Cauldron depended entirely on its poisonous smell, twisted magical aura and the beasts around the lair to fight invaders.

This self-centeredness accounted for the fact that the Chitinous Cauldron had a set of superb organs to sense and detect multitudes of events or things, but they were all inside the pot-belly, with only a handful of small myopic eyes and sensitive membranes to hear sounds or vibrations in the ground. In fact, the roots had more sensors and better perceptions to find food in the soil than the main body had for defense, because the only important job in its life was happening inside its ample rotund gut.

One truly impressive capacity of the Cauldron however, was its ability to dissolve and digest any living entity or synthetic organic material to decode the genetic structure for replication, and quite obviously make mutations to improve the lethality and adaptation of the template. With a few more glands mutated and given some potions, the Cauldron could eventually extract the cellular memories from a victim, like the ancestral memories of dragon-kin and high-magic species of similarly exalted station in Reality, to learn from their cultures and thus know how to make worse aberrations. This meant that once it was fully evolved to its highest potential, the cauldron could serve as an interrogation system against captured spies, or raid victims.

{ HP } - { The Mutatio Genitae ritual } - { HP }

While the Rex Mycotaur Locus felt the onset of fatigue and knew he should take a break, he also felt a boost of vigor and manic glee at the masterful realization he had built. He thus decided that he could tough out the effort to start up the first draft of his new minion template in the cauldron, then sleep a bit longer afterwards. With the mound on watch duty, there should not be any catastrophes during his slumber that the subaltern entity could not handle itself.

Quickly, he trotted back outside, up to the open air and the shoreline where a new pair of white larvae had taken over the job of harvesting the shallows. They were set up a bit farther along the beach, since a zone had been cleared by their brethren the day before. The Rex was gladdened to see the collection of lifeforms, especially since the purple shrimp-kin had dug a rectangular trench that was then filled with melted snow to keep the catches alive for his keen perusal.

The RML squinted in interest as he scanned the living animals for a candidate to become the basis for his new all-purpose low-tier unit. He needed something that could work at gathering, trapping and hunting alone or in groups, and autonomous enough that he or the mound did not need to psychically hold their hand throughout their daily lives and chores. Caressing the new stone-bladed tools hung from the crude fungal filament belt he had made for that purpose, the Rex Mycotaur Locus realized that he had his solution right at hand.

Mentally telling the larvae and crustaceans what to bring inside and what to use as bait for bigger catches from the river, he trotted back inside the dark, dank cellar to complete his first big organic innovation that was not gifted by Nurgle. He found the Chitinous Cauldron waiting inertly in its pit, locked inside its own mind as it dreamt dreadful dreams of rot, pestilence, death and rebirth such as only Nurglites were wont of finding satisfying and refreshing.

Gleeful at his idea, the evil mushroom king used an unholy cantrip to send freshly drawn blood at the Cauldron's brown, scaly hull to rouse it from its blessed sleep. Once he felt the myriad of small, myopic eyes focusing on his person, the Rex opened a mental channel to impart his orders upon the waiting servant entity.

"Make one like a human while using the White Larvae eggs from the Corruption Mound, but smaller, with solid legs, agile hands with straight fingers, and a full head on a neck. No innate special powers or abilities necessary, except fully developed psionic neuro-receptors so it can learn by transfer. It will need to be squib-level in magicks of all Basal Powers, from Primal Essaence down to electricity. Give it good perceptions and vocalizations to be useful at praying in high mass or large rituals, and speaking with the farm animals too."

The Rex received a mental picture of what the Cauldron understood, giving him the chance to make a few adjustments to the draft template and tweak the aesthetics. The Bleak Swarm favored the colors of rot and decay, offal and disease, and this new model would conform to that visual. Now satisfied with the first draft, the monarch gave the permission to gestate then retired to lounge on his stone bed that the shrimp-kin had just finished padding with vegetal nesting to make it more comfortable to sleep on. Well, comfortable for his mount, anyways, since he himself was never actually laid out horizontally, being a giant mushroom with a wide cap and all.

x-x

The Rex Mycotaur Locus was deeply annoyed and grumbling nastily as it received a mental message from the Chitinous Cauldron. It had barely gotten to sleep an hour ago that the rounded pot of malice was waking him. And why, pray tell?

Shaking itself out of torpor, the Rex guided his ten-legged mount over to the door of the gestation chamber, to witness the top half of the Cauldron split open in seventeen long petals like an evil, putrid flower of malevolence. This released all the contents of its womb, the fell liquid sloshing out to cascade down into the well, temporarily submerging the roots in warm amniotic fluid and weird by-products. Then, small sphincters opened in the bottom of the mutant plant to finish draining the growth medium, to facilitate the recovery of the newly made slave-creature.

Standing in the center of the remaining fluid was a two foot tall Grot, a vaguely humanoid entity based on both larvae and fungal biologies. It had two short stout legs, a robustly rounded torso, proportionate arms with wide agile hands, and a rounded head mounted on a short neck with a flat lunatic visage sporting faceted insectoid eyes and a round sphincter filled with jagged chitinous teeth for a mouth. The entire creature was the same dirty white as the mound's larvae, but its eyes were piss-yellow, glowing eerily even in daylight but making a disgusting shade in the depth of darkness.

The Rex was surprised when the entity awakened on its own, gazing at him with recognition in his eyes upon seeing the master of the Bleak Swarm. The small Grot initiated mental contact, asking for orders, and also where it would brood with its kindred, during rest cycle. Still groggy from lack of rest, the king told his new slave to connect with the mound on the surface for the first day, and he would test him extensively on the morrow to see what he could accomplish.

Feeling satisfied with the process and its apparent result, the RML went back to sleep, dreaming insanities only those anointed of Nurgle's fell insights from the Warp could want to experience.

Winter 1992 – Military takeover at Hogwarts

(Harry Potter – main theme)

Monday, November 30th of 1992

Hogsmeade village

Black Lake, Scotland, Britannic Realms

Colonel Judy Spitburn of the British Military Hybrid Cafters sat in the cabin of Land Rover #1, swaddled in her thick winter coat, boots and gloves, in the shotgun seat since she was the 'Boss' of the region. The exalted position meant that she had to sit stupid & pretty all along the road as her soldiers did the job for her, even though she knew full well how to drive and clear paths with the damned bulldozer blade as much as any of them. The unfortunate arrangement meant that she had plenty of time to ruminate passed events, despite that she didn't want to.

Blast, but she was starting to hate winter and snow with a passion!

The storm that had just cleared out before the meager sun rays of false dawn had lasted two solid days, and left them with a whopping four feet of additional snow all over the area. It had piled-up the cold white shyte atop everything so fast that thousands of trees had cracked apart, losing multiple branches completely as they could not support the cumulative weight of past weather and what came down over 48 hours.

The human woman was angry as the blasted storm had almost doubled the scheduling projections for the renovation projects they had underway in Hogsmeade, with barely the train track moved to its new position near the new town center's future location. Abandoning all hopes of quick results, the colonel had to admit defeat against Nature's whims and pass her entire operation over to 'Arctic' protocols for the remainder of their mission. Now, the men had to erect temporary wooden shelters in the form of pole barns mounted atop the builds in progress until the entire shell was fully roofed and dry-closed before recycling the wooden tent for the next edifice. This meant a much slower construction speed due to the initial set-up, but it did give the men a windless, much warmer and safer work site once the shell was in place, so less errors or accidents happened, therefore it was a good trade-off, especially with how hard getting medics here was.

Which brought Judy where she was at present, cooling her heels in a truck on the way to Hogwarts, the ancient bastion of the human Welsh Wiccan sect's educational and philosophical evolution since its inception, a thousand years back. The old beaten dirt road from the village to the castle was no longer apparent because it was buried beneath close to seven feet of snow, so the trucks had to advance in a two-car convoy formation. The lead truck had a powered blower to take the first three feet of snow off the top of the path while the second truck used a runed plow to sweep the rest all the way down to the earthen surface, doing a grading job as it went. The two hybrid vehicles were lucky to have rotating spell-rod engines along the alcohol steamers because Judy wasn't certain a regular diesel piston motor would have the torque needed to endure the hardships of the job in this weather.

"Colonel Spitburn?" asked the lieutenant at the wheel, "We are almost at the main gates. It should only be another ten minutes, now."

Nodding at the man's information, the superior officer grunted in annoyance at the way things were being handled in her region. She was saddled with plans coming from the Admiralty in London, not even the local Scotland government which should have authority over the area. It averred that the Scots, Irish and Independent Isles around England had seen the planetary mess unfold, so they had all recently decided to abdicate their hard-fought autonomy to fold back into the British Realm as integral provinces rather than Autonomous Partners like before. Which now meant that the titled blowhards in London were swamped under more paperwork and decisions to process, and all command lines were stretched all the way to the Capital, instead of being short and quick as was preferable in war time.

Beurk! What a bloody mess, this all was! And politickings to boot!

The security specialist roused her from her temporary fugue from reality when he honked the horn twice to signal the lead truck that they were continuing inside the castle bailey while the other vehicle would get back to Hogsmeade. There was simply too much work to be done to waste the other soldier on an honorary escort when the colonel would be amongst allies. The Land Rover was able to lift the plow and augment speed as the portion of roadway inside the castle grounds had been magically cleared by the house-elves, as they always did each year.

Arriving as they arrived to the castle's southern side, colonel Spitburn could discern the glass cap of the greenhouse postern keep, followed by the corner postern that jointed the herbology yards and main north-east courtyard. Then the truck rolled passed a small foot-way to finally turn west into the carriage gate-keep, through the main courtyard and stopped at the foot of the castle's secondary main block. By ancient tradition, the genuine main block was the Turris Magnus and Great Hall, on the western rocky promontory, across the deep gorge and river that split the estate in two asymmetrical parts.

{ HP } - { Hold on to your sideburns } - { HP }

As she disembarked from the militarized Land Rover, the colonel was greeted by three dwarven soldiers, clad in gleaming steel half-plate armor, with lush beards going down to mid-chest, thick sideburns braided with gold and gems, bushy eyebrows and round noses made red by the biting chill of the outside air. The ranking officer thumped his breastplate with a mailed fist in salute, giving honor to a fellow officer from an allied nation.

Judy returned the salute with her own, adding a polite nod at the two other soldiers simply to get an occasion to look them over directly. Her training about dwarven armed capacities had been limited, just as it had about all the species and races that Britannia had managed to keep deals with, over the epochs. The systematic depredations and perfidies of the Welsh Wiccan sect had made any diplomatic contacts with magical neighbors hazardous, and results were seldom good nor durable given their counterparts always expected betrayal from the English humans.

"I be the Clarion of Dumathoin, reverend Dornak McAtharnak, guardian of this here citadel, by the grace of Thann Emmerick Dabarney of the Scottish Dwarves." Gazing at the thickly garbed and heavily armed woman, he nodded in appreciation; "T'is a good thing ya came bearing wand and steel, lass. The old keep been acting a mite fussy, them last days. The ghosts are haunting her halls some'thang fierce. Is like the old stones know tha' change is comin' at 'em."

Blinking in surprise at the news, colonel Spitburn asked worriedly "Did you lose any men to the traps and stupidities the headmasters and teachers had left behind? I heard rumors through the Admiralty that you got a bit of recent troubles, but nothing about what or how serious."

Laughing heartily, the Clarion replied gamely "Unless ya mean 'em poor elves feedin' me men till they be rounder than Nature intended 'em ta be, nay laddies, we not be findin' ana'thing to have a gab at. Even the old squid in tha Black Loch was happy ta see company that wanna the old fool Dumbledore or his potion-puppets."

Scratching at her frozen chin, the colonel shrugged her shoulders as she dismissed the problems with the ghosts and lesser happenings as just more castle legends & lores that the occupying forces would have to get used to. Generations of students had managed it easily enough, even with drugged or cursed professors at the helm, the soldiers and their dependents should be able to find an accommodation that worked too. Making her decision, Judy asked "Are you set to hand over control of the keep right away, or do I get a bit of a tour to see what your men had to clean out? I would like to know what kinds of messes my soldiers will have to work at. The goblins left us a barren moonscape, so renovating Hogsmeade is pretty much new build without worries, but this castle is old, and the wards won't cooperate much when we try to modify things."

The dwarven officer gave a careless shrug, replying "Da wards had to be completely turned off, given a scrub to remove curses and dangerous programming errors, plus we wanted the darkness & evil, violence, weaponry, parasite, poison, illness and possession detectors back up. Dunna what the barmey old wankers that ran the place thought when they maimed their ward-stone as they did, but it wan'na no bright thing, I can tell ya tha'! For the rest, the physical structures are still pretty strong, and the plumbing installed in 1900 be reliable, as much as ye keep the runes that pump loch water up to tha' cisterns to feed the pipes. Now, me mates placed some warming crystals a bit all over, since the old stone hearths and iron stoves can barely handle a normal Scottish winter, and wha's comin' not be ordinary. The elves be packin' the flames twice higher than they did, an' is not helpin' much. Ye be needing to find some real heat to cover the whole place, especially in the windows, doorways, and ta keep 'em pipes from icing through."

Nodding acceptance, the female colonel wondered "How many men do you have to keep the place secure? I only have six squads of 14 men plus myself to cover all of Hogsmeade and the castle grounds together. Will that be enough?"

Shaking his head in dismay, reverend McAtharnak grumbled "Ya be needin' that many just for the castle, lass. But, with that many hands, ya could be operating tha' greenhouses and alchemy shops tha' produce for the village and weather station, once up. If ya had a school full o' students millin' about, or the families of yar men... Nay, ye'd need thrice that, and more. The Hogsmeade garrison sha'd be counted apart, but you got good numbers for that part."

"Damn! London told me to make do with what we have on hand! The scouts spotted bandits near some of the cities that have managed to regroup large numbers of survivors in crude enclaves, and they still have witch hunters rampaging across the Realms, too. The Admiralty simply can't spare the manpower to come here, no matter how important the job is."

Passing a metal-gloved hand through his lush beard, the priest of Dumathoin posited "Then make it appealing for the titled idjiots tha' be sendin' you troops. Tell 'em about the lodgin' capacity for families, and the medicine shops. Plus, the storage in the dungeons. Ya could also make a pair of landing pads for 'em whirly-birds yar lot uses. Shielded inside the bailey wall, they be nice and cozy. Well, that or other contraptions. And ya plan to move the train line to inside the castle walls? Ya' do realize lassie that there be a mighty big ravine with a river splittin' tha' keep in halves while going up a hill? Was yar engineers drunk the day the plans were drawn?"

Snorting in amusement, Judy replied cheekily "No, they were sober, and it shows. If they had drunk their lot, then they would have been more occupied at making sense of the job than doing the pretty pony routine to impress whatever's left alive of the Admiralty and Monarchy, so the plans would make an ounce of bloody logic. But, we're soldiers of the Crown. Ours is not to ask, only to obey and perform as Her Majesty commands. And stay alive too, if we can."

Giving a mighty bellow of laughter, the trio of dwarves invited the colonel and lieutenant inside the warm halls for a mug of tea and nibbles before taking them on a tour of the old pile of rocks that would take the rest of the day to walk through. Apparently, the best way to waste your day was to ask dwarves about architecture, especially masonry and excavations. Judy would learn her lesson well, especially about mentioning her own specialties in mining technologies to people culturally obsessed with those things. The tour could have been only half as long, if she'd kept her mouth shut before dinner, but she spent the evening in the catacombs by her own fault.

Diplomacy between allied armies really sucked, sometimes.

Winter 1992 – The truly eerie House of Lestrange

(Adrian Von Ziegler – Twisted)

Monday, November 30th of 1992

Island of Tusker Rock

Ogmore-by-Sea, Bridgend county, Wales, England

Lying less than a full mile off the western coast of the sleepy village of Ogmore-by-Sea, located on the shores of the narrow River Ogmore, was a barren-looking piece of cold rock that had been aptly named Tusker Rock by the ancient human dwellers of the area. The sea-beaten island was about 1,000 yards long by 300 yards wide, rising barely twenty feet above the waves in most places, but having a wildly chaotic geometry and quite a few majestic curved stone spires that looked like raised boar tusks, thus the popular name.

Four nearly four centuries, the noble House of Lestrange had held manse on the island, betting on its isolation to avoid envy and attempts at conquests by other Welsh Wiccan cultists. The Lestrange had been a minor House in France that came over to England with a cadet Malfoy line and six dozen other minor houses during one of the multiple wars the two neighboring countries had fought against each other, usually because their monarchies were inter-married and inheritance questions had the bad habit of generating conflicts. Or else, the king of the day wanted to increase his territory and thought the surrounding nations too weak to resist, thus war.

In reality, the entire House Lestrange had left France not just to wage war on the English, nor establish human Welsh Wiccan supremacy over all species as they were not initially part of that insular wizarding sect. The real reason was far more sinister, closely held by the family's members and retinue of secretive, badly mutated house-elves. The founders of House Lestrange had practiced some of the most esoteric occult arts known to human sages in Europa for nearly two millenia before crossing the English Channel to find new domicile on a barren pile of wind-swept, sea salt caked rock nobody wanted except the seagulls and seals. They even located themselves far away from all the other French houses that had come over on the trip, much to the surprise of their colleagues who knew nothing of the true reasons for the choice. Now isolated on an unwanted island in a foreign country, the Lestrange finally dodged all the nasty rumors that had plagued them in their birth nation for twenty centuries. Of prime importance, they lost the attention of the French Gendarmerie Baguettière at the same time, which had been the reason to take the risks upon an armed conflict to cover their exit. If they lost they died, but even a partial victory could obtain them that illusive certitude of freedom from any police oversight they craved for generations.

Now ensconced in the desolate and minuscule island of Tusker Rock, the House Lestrange could proceed with its fell arts unchallenged, and receive the aberrant guests they enjoyed entertaining.

x-x

Raising in tenebrous glory above the irregular rocky isle, the Lestrange Manor was an intriguing design made up of a huge 198' wide round tower that stopped at seven floors high, then was crowned by a sharply angled five-sided, three-pitched gable topped by a domed lantern. The main gable was circled by a 13' wide embattled & covered walkway that was hung outside the edifice's diameter upon thick machicolations. The pinnacle lantern was circled by a 7' wide open-air embattled walkway that rested fully atop the actual structural system of the roof without overhangs.

The five abutting 66' wide absidial towers rose to the full thirteen floors, all ending in flat rooftops garnished by a 7' wide embattled & covered walkway, partially hung outside the towers' diameter, held aloft by machicolations, thus leaving a 55' wide open-air court in the middle.

The base of the manor had a single rectangular extension, 55' long and 33' wide over two storeys high with a steeply pitched two-sided gabled roof, that was lodged between the two lower absides to serve as main entry point to the castle. As far as anybody could see, there were no physical doors that allowed access inside the massive edifice from the ground level, nor anywhere that a normal entry would be situated. The only doorways people would suppose existed were those to access the patrol walkways of the roofs. Another odd detail was the absence of visible chimneys and the usual long tails of smoke rising towards the sky, but no explanations were ever perceived or given for this.

The most striking visual feature of Tusker Rock was that there were no actual grounds, gardens, corrals or curtain walls, nor any sorts of out-buildings at all, in fact. The entire island was kept barren and inhospitable, except for the single huge edifice, by willful design of her foul owners to facilitate their aberrant practices and communions.

Built in a style vaguely reminiscent of Caer Azkaban prison tower, the Lestrange Manor had precious few windows to be seen, and none were bigger than arrow slits. Even in the important bedrooms, dens, offices and bathrooms of the Family, the better illumination was achieved by grouping three, five or seven arrow slits closely under a gothic arch frame to give the illusion of a wider panel window. This allowed decoration and a bit of upper style without compromising security or weakening the structure against the tremendous winds of the Bristol Channel, where the island lay exposed directly to oceanic climates. This meant that there were no balconies anywhere other than the roofs, making so that the tall, all black stone, bland edifice was in truth more suited to a monastic order, or maybe a prison, than to house the Titled Seat of a Most Ancient and Most Noble House of the Welsh Wiccan sect.

And yet...

Firstly, the Lestrange had pretty much usurped their title and standing among the Welsh Wiccan, as they had been in the country for just four centuries, so being called 'Most Ancient' was a bloody joke. The 'Most Noble' appellation was the result of a 'wergild' or 'blood price' paid to them by the (human) British Ministry of Magic of the time to shorten the Magical War happening by buying-out the French that had come over to conquer lands. It was amusing to see that the Malfoy fought to the end, believing in their cause and allies despite their ill-fated namesake, while the Lestrange had been the very first French House to accept the Britannic Ministry's offer, barely two months after arriving in Albion, thus having almost no participation in the war effort at all for either side.

And yet, the Lestrange had managed to obnubilate everybody about their true social and political status since then, including the much vaunted House of Black to which they inter-married on occasion, the Dark Lord Voldemort, and even Albus Dumbledore too. The very few people who knew better, like House Lovegood or House Prewett for examples, had fallen so low on the Welsh Wiccan measuring stick of reputation, wealth, political power and living numbers, that nobody in government or elsewhere took their opinions seriously anymore.

And thus, the Lestrange could continue to get -stranger- than before they became British.

Their odd, inhospitable castle lost on the sea-side island was just the most visible symptom of a lingering malady that never went away, and never stopped rotting them body and soul from inside.

{ HP } - { The unwanted arrival } - { HP }

The entry foyer of Lestrange Manor was a simple rectangle, made in the manner that Pureblood elites of England and Europa would deem an 'unwanted guest salon' in the architectural and cultural senses. It had a small service counter with plumbing for cold & hot drinks or snacks, plus a powder room cubicle, both installed along the right side wall of the massive floo hearth, with the toilet cabin in the corner next to the fireplace, out of the way. There were two distinct service areas; the floo reception sitting area with two large 4-seat couches, two 2-seat settees and a pair of coffee tables, and then the massive 18-seat conference table for semi-important events.

The furniture was ancient, made of massive English oak timbers and dark brown cow leather that contrasted oddly with the gray flagstones of the floor and the imported goat wool Persian carpets that delimited the two guest zones of the room. There were dark black curtains tied open at each of the window alcoves around the room, letting in the weak, pallid sunlight that was slowly going down over the horizon as the day gave way to evening. Not that it would change the light level in the foyer, as several sconces holding spirit-flames were spread symmetrically to insure total coverage. Along the overall blueish light were a few candles, small stubs of gangrenous black stuff that burned with noxious purple flames which, thankfully, didn't smell.

The two small chandeliers hung from the high vaulted ceiling were black wrought iron, shaped queerly into patterns and designs foreign to human perceptions and concepts, holding dark purple gems and small blue wax stubs whose stuttering green flames gave almost no helpful light at all. Oddly enough for the well maintained if anachronistic foyer, the chandeliers were caked with waste wax drippings, and occasionally gleamed with what seemed a layer of unclean oily residue that maculated the things all the way up their chains to the ceiling anchors. There was even an odd odor, when one stood directly under one of the metal fixtures too long with their head turned upwards.

When one looked at the furniture, wall sconces and chandeliers from up close, you could finally see the details of the aesthetics, the sculpted reliefs and deep engravings that gave the room its decidedly macabre feel. Everywhere were figurations of humanoid skeletons, but they were all deformed, sometimes drastically mutated, and in some cases it was questionable if it were a humanoid at all being shown. The frames around the thin arrow slits were actually carved with reliefs that reminded more of Errant Souls, those dead spirits that haunted freely around the world because they could not hear the call of Hallowed Nepenthe, to orient their travels towards The Light and Peace as promised by Hades.

And for some reason no sane mind could fathom, the buffet counter to offer guests hospitality was a schizophrenic nightmare. It held some inviting platters of vividly colored fresh fruits, cheeses, nuts and small cut sandwiches of the best hand-made quality. But next to these were nauseating platters, some bearing purplish rancid meat hidden under crawling maggots, rotten fruits that were shrouded by small clouds of flies, cheese wedges grew luminescent lichens like demonic Chia Pets, and even the nuts were cracked, sprouting unwholesome tendrils.

It was in this -welcoming- setting that Rabastan Lestrange achieved peace at last.

For now, anyways.

x-x

And so it came to this.

Rabastan Lestrange sat in mortal repose, placid in his favorite sofa of the reception foyer of the old manor, pale light-less eyes staring emptily at the animated Family tapestry hung on the wall next to the monumental floo hearth. The massive chimney occupied the middle of the wall at the outer side of the foyer, away from the main edifice and the massive armored doors that could segregate the small dependency from the rest of the castle, to repel invaders or pests.

Next to the restful corpse of the dead last Lord Lestrange (elect) sat the cold corpse of the late Welsh Wiccan Unspeakable Roderick Bode, his murderer who had died in turn from his multiple broken oaths and the internal defenses of the dreaded, unnatural manor and its abhorrent occupants.

Bode had mind-raped the portkey window coordinates from Rabastan's head then teleported them straight in, operating under the belief that his mental probe had been too powerful and technically competent for the drugged and spelled man to resist. In fact, he was right; Rabastan alone was too weak in mind magicks or psionics to fend off the Unspeakable who was an expert at mind contacts and speech with inhuman creatures, namely the Dementors of Caer Azkaban. However, Rabastan was not alone inside his mind, and the entity that cohabited his Inner-World had easily fed Bode false information about the destination and conditions waiting on arrival.

The dying Unspeakable had portkeyed them directly into the reception foyer of the Lestrange Manor, only to be stunned and bound upon materialization, the shock of the attack giving the last coup to his agonizing body. He died of multiple internal organs failing at the same time, plus the oath-breaking backlashes that shred his magicks and soul together. He would have exploded into a spectacularly expansive shower of gore if it weren't for the exceptionally eerie wards on the manor, due to the owners' peculiar... practices.

As it were, the arrogant fool Bode died on arrival while Rabastan was freed from all mind control by the double effect of the wards and his jailer dying. Once fully aware, the last Lestrange had set the dead interloper in a lesser butler's chair, out of the way, and sat himself in his favorite wingback sofa to let himself die peacefully. It wasn't that big of a deal, anyways.

He knew that the bastard had poisoned him and set a curse with a timer the very moment his automated portkey launcher had grabbed him from inside the Wizarding Wireless edifice. There was nothing to be done about either traps inside of his body, and the castle's inner doors would not open as long as any 'unsafe' entities or items were sensed by the wards. Even the elves would not come until the doors opened, as they were trained to defend the Family first and the building long after the people had evacuated.

So Rabastan sat peacefully for a few hours, gazing meditatively upon the tapestry of his Family, fully at ease with the events that had led to this current situation, without remorse or regrets.

As for the trouble of dying...

What is death, to those that contemplate the Void, hearing its eerie chant calling to them?

x-x

Increasing the depraved eeriness of the macabre scene was the ancient, mutated and sooo clearly not-sane house-elf that was slowly, meticulously, and lovingly dusting the cadaver of his master with fastidious attention to his long, stringy and greasy hair that had not been tended to while held in Azkaban. Fretting silently with many shakes of the head and disapproving clucks of the tongue, the elf squinted his horrifyingly deformed eyes at the dead body, giving the nose an extra buff with the rag & polish, just to be sure the master would look his best for the Honored Guest that was coming tonight.

The guests always had to be happy, or the punishments would be cruel and sooooooo long...

Turning his dull red, thirteen-parted pupils towards the dead interloper that had killed his master, the elf walked over to give the cad a minimal sweep and rub, just in case the guest decided to be fussy tonight. Of all the guests the Lestrange had welcomed throughout history, this particular entity had the most chaotic and unpredictable temper, thus making him a favorite of the House.

Puckering his purplish lips in disapproval, yet utterly silent as a good elf should be, the servile being renewed the anti-decay ward on the Unspeakable, as having decomposition fluids going to waste in the foyer would be both uncouth and incompetent. There were so many dark, evil and terrifying usages for the effluvium of decaying flesh that it should not be allowed to waste so.

x-x

Flittering carelessly into the foyer, the ghostly form of Rosthal Lestrange, Lord Emeritus and father of Rabastan, was humming an unearthly hymnal that would have shattered the sanity of most humans, if any such mundane beings dwelt inside the manse.

"Ah, Il'li-Threshe! I was wondering where you had gone to!" Exclaimed the bombastic spectral lord as he beheld his preferred elf working on the new cadavers to grace the house.

Bowing lowly until his crooked nose touched the hand-woven Persian carpet, the decrepit mutated elf answered feebly "I bees making the young Master presentable for the guest, Old Master. Hees bees dead not an excuse for ugliness and smells." The elf rose back to his normal height, as much as age, mutations, injuries and illnesses could allow it to stand tall.

Nodding approvingly, the ghost expostulated with much enthusiasm "Right you are, Il'li-Threshe! It would do our House no favors to have a bad showing tonight! Already, we had to report the meeting by several weeks to grow new bodies for Rodolphus and Bellatrix, and now we have a party crasher too! You should have heard the Mistress shrieking about it! She was at it for three days when her poor boy arrived with this ill-aborted spawn in tow!"

The elf nodded along without ever venturing an opinion, as was proper for servants. His place in life was to work silently, without making situations worse for the Family, not take airs and hope for privileges above his station in life. The few flesh craftings and mutations gifted him by the Family or the Honored Guests were already far, far beyond his merits.

x-x

Storming into the now unlocked foyer with a great swish of black silk robes, polished silver jewelry and lustrous up-styled black hair, the quite lively and fleshy Bellatrix Black Lestrange stopped in front of her dead brother-in-law, frowning malignantly at the male's inert body.

"Excuse my impertinence, good Father," Bellatrix asked the floating translucent Head of Lestrange, "but shouldn't have Rabastan transited to his new body by now? He seems to be taking his own sweet time of things. As usual, the lazy arse..."

Shrugging away his daughter-in-law's concerns with bonhomie, the ghost floated closer to the undesired burden that was the Unspeakable, rubbing at his curled forked goatee as his oddly shaped tri-colored eyes scanned the felon's cold corpse for... who knew what?

"Be at peace, my dear daughter. Rabastan will rouse in proper time, no more." The ghost said kindly, after a lengthy delay. Turning to face the fidgeting woman, he smiled warmly at her, setting her at ease in a way that she had never felt inside her birth house or Family.

Her birth parents Cygnus and Druella Black had both been defective violent bastards that thought auror-level pain curses were a normal method of correction for pre-Hogwarts aged children, and worse whence they attended the venerable institution. There were some pretty clear reasons why she had become insane and accepted marrying into House Lestrange so easily, while Andromeda had eloped out of their reach as fast as she could. The only lucky one was Narcissa, the youngest and most beautiful of the three sisters, who usually got away with simple stinging hexes or canings on bare arse, unlike the older girls who always had injuries and scars from any disciplinary reprisals their parents inflicted.

The fact their uncle Orion and aunt Walburga Black, incestuous inbreds both of them, had treated Sirius and Regulus in similar fashion also explained why both boys had ended the way they did. Regulus had never been able to formulate an independent thought passed age eight, while Sirius had been headstrong beyond defiant and rebellious, but unfocused, random and erratic in all matters, all the way to his shameful death.

And through this, the rest of House Black had disappeared, lost the Name or willingly turned their back on what the Family had degenerated to, abandoning the children of the last generation to the depredations of the foul inhuman beasts Welsh Wiccan society called their parents. Poor old Lord Arcturus Black had never recovered from the conjuction of diseases, poisons and curses he suffered from Grindelwald after refusing the foolish Dark Lord. He had no strength left by the time Voldemort came around, and so his few kin left were swayed to the wrong side. Of his two sisters, the eldest Cassiopeia had disappeared in the depths of Russia, while the youngest Dorea had married Charlus Potter and so escaped the mental illnesses and felonies of House Black.

For her part, Bellatrix had suffered at the hands of her parents and aunt, but been one of the few lucky women in the Welsh Wiccan sect who had gotten an arranged marriage that was a clear and beneficial step-up from the life she had in her birth family. The very moment the contract had been signed for betrothing Rodolphus, Lord Rosthal and Athabi Lestrange had demanded she undergo periodic medical examinations by their House healer, a third degree cousin who lived in the manor. Then, they had insisted on educational standards, and that she finish her schooling at Hogwarts with her age group and social peers. This was in spite of her parents whom were ready to send her off to copulate with her new child-husband, both being barely thirteen years of age, to procreate more Pureblood devotees for Voldemort to exploit.

Poor, damaged Bellatrix had been scared out of her few remaining wits, the first time she had been allowed inside the confines of Lestrange Manor, a privilege afforded to few in this world. For all the heavy, oppressive aura of esoteric Powers and matching deleterious odors, the small girl had found safety, peace and sanity in this antique manor. For all the rumors about her relationship with the French Family, they had never beaten, cursed or starved her as punishment for imaginary misbehavior, the way her parents had done. And while the Lestrange men always did have a heavyset body type across generations, none of them were boorish louts or aggressive towards her the way Welsh Wiccan gossips had claimed since she was betrothed. If anything, the average British citizen would be dramatically surprised to behold just how loving and gentle the Lestrange were amongst each other, inside the privacy of their fortified castle.

Snort! Let the fools believe what they will.

Bellatrix had been the recipient of the Lestrange's esoteric and metaphysical arts for the last twenty years of her life, imbibing potions made with otherworldly components and getting healed body, magicks, mind and soul with a battery of spells and prayers that would have made Dumbledore weep in mixed envy and dreadful fright. The result was that even after spending eleven years locked in Azkaban, she had actually come out in better health and more sane than she had ever been under her parents' custody.

Due to the occult tutoring of her in-laws, she had even learned the fell tongue used by the monsters who guard the wizarding prison, so she and the two brothers had been able to pass messages to each other via the amused Dementors who had absolutely nothing else to do in life, so they were willing accomplices to their tricks. It also meant that the floating creatures had rarely taken more energy and emotions from them than what they could afford to spare, as they could warn the Dementors that the drain was reaching the danger point. For those who understood the true Power of Will and Willing Sacrifice, energies freely offered fed the creatures far better than what they stole from the other prisoners, therefore they were quite helpful to those who could verbally bargain with them.

The three Lestrange had quickly been located in better cells at the top of the tower to get more sunlight and clean air, received food like the guards' that wasn't spoiled, and got seen by the keep's healer the very day they declared a malady. And no guards ever tried to beat, curse or rape either of them, not even the accursed Warden put in place by the Welsh Wiccan Ministry, despite that it was nominally an autonomous dependency of the British Crown. All because they could speak a non-human tongue from the connective plane Border Ethereal, from where naturally originated the Dementors.

Patting the beautiful young woman's cheek in paternal doting, old Rosthal smirked at her blush, knowing all too well just how deprived of kind touches and emotional support her early life had been. It was so much fun for his wife Athabi and he to watch her reactions, when one of the Family gave her a bit of kindness or attention that did not end in misery. Well, the recent bout of seclusion in Caer Azkaban had not helped the healing process, but she would have centuries to rectify that mess at long last, under their kindred's tender care.

"Come, my daughter. We must prepare the terraces atop the absides to open the gateway for our Honored Guests. They have been patient enough with us, given the wars raging across the Earth, but we are an awful seven weeks behind on our tithes and ceremonials. We cannot delay further without paying penalties that we dare not engage from our dark patrons."

Smiling happily at the ghostly man, Bellatrix frowned one last time at the dead Rabastan, then sighing in resignation as she followed Rosthal to wherever he had laid his corpse to rest, so that he could prepare the manor's more radioactive elements without becoming more mutated than he already was. Gods-given mutations were blessings to crave, but simple isotopic poisoning would help nothing in the family's schemes.

As for Roderick Bode, well, he wasn't going anywhere for now, was he?

{ HP } - { Ancient crimes repeated } - { HP }

(The choir of the Spheres)

Monday, November 30th of 1992 – 23:30pm

It was ink-black darkness across the vastness of the night sky, all over the English Channel as far as the naked eye could peer. The darkness was so impenetrable that it was questionable if modern electronic cameras could have pierced this preternatural absence of light or colors.

Inside the thirteenth floor of absidial tower #3, the middle tower of the set, the only light available came from the brand new foot-tall gray tapers that burned clear red, utterly mundane flames to avoid polluting the incredibly delicate occult apparatus that filled most of the open-plan level. Besides that, even if there had been moonlight visible outside, the only windows in the tower walls were thin arrow slits that held stained glass figurations of metaphysical significance, so no real illumination would come through them anyways.

Spread between the thirteen thick columns holding the ceiling aloft were black cast iron frames to support multitudes of glasswares and tubes, forged Ember plugs and silver discs inlaid with gold scriptworkes that glowed with inner energies even in the dark. Positioned at symmetrical emplacements around the outer perimeter of the floor were thirteen hand-carved stone basins, their general shape roughly resembling Egyptian sarcophagi without a lid. From the head and foot of each oblong basin emerged forged Ember wires that rose to the ceiling, joining a complex network of other wires and pipes hung from cast iron brackets bolted to the stone ceiling.

The very physical and fleshy form of Rodolphus Lestrange accompanied the ghostly form of his mother, Lady Dowager Athabi Lestrange, née Elderberry, as she completed the last inspection of the machinery that would allow the Family to welcome their Honored Guests into their home. Passing by basin #4, she peered at the nude humanoid body laying inside, chained to the vessel by three sets of mithril shackles that locked around the ankles individually but linked, wrists individually but linked and joined to the waist, and neck alone. The chains attached to the basin by stone eye-holes molded directly from the basin's own thickness, and each anchor-point was at the center of a mystical figure inlaid in forged Ember wiring.

Each body slaved to the incredibly complex device was a higher sentient entity, but the actual species or race was not important, only its level of intelligence. In fact, even the being's abilities for magicks or psionics did not matter, not as much as its capacity to feel fear, madness, and copious amounts of physical or emotional pain. As such, each being was carefully chosen from many, many places over the world, and some came from elsewhere than Earth, having arrived by one of the hundreds of passages possible between this planet and the vast Multiverse.

Each victim needed by the machinery was meticulously screened for ailments of body and soul, then fed a regimen of high quality food and potions via the natural apertures. The process was made much easier on the poor house-elves by completely incapacitating the slaves by cutting the tendons in their elbows and knees, and completely removing the mobile parts of the mouth including the tongue. So immobilized and unable to resist, keeping them attached to a stone display frame made the feeding and cleaning easy, even for the most docile and fearful elf.

Now, these victims, who were all males, had not been rendered sterile nor emasculated, since the Lestrange knew well just how hard it was to find good, durable specimens to power the machine when they required Exalted communication. Consequently, many generations ago, before even leaving France, the Family had begun the process of selecting multiple specimen from each species they found useful so they could breed them to form a permanent chattel. The ranching operation was kept deep in the fourth basement beneath the castle, to have them in the safest place possible. Like any competent slavers, they kept males and females separated, and usually spelled asleep to avoid problems with rebellions and homesteading chores.

Finding nothing untowards, Lady Athabi moved on to inspect the last few slaves, to make certain the Powers were flowing freely through the network of dweomercrafted Ember wires and pipes to reach the massive capacitor in the middle of the floor. The fifteen foot wide by ten foot high stone cylinder was filled with 'red water', and incredibly powerful alchemic catalyst that very few potioneers or transmuters would ever be able to produce. And each cistern held five tons of the blood-red mythalar elixir. The last detail was the opening of the roof, making the twenty foot wide section raise up by a yard to be free from the technical ring that supported the mechanism, then split apart in thirteen wedges that lifted enough to have a central gap five feet wide between the tips.

Not finding problems or feeling doubts about the functionality of the capricious gateway device, the mother – son pair used a permanent 'wizard door' that was built into the frame of the regular physical stairwell as a cheap form of elevator. Both arrived at the 7th floor, the one beneath the massive central gable, in a blink without real effort. Leaving the absidial tower, they entered the central edifice directly at the level of the massive ritual hall that lay under the empty angled roof.

Soon, they were joined by Rosthal and Rabastan, both alive and fleshy, who had finished with another machine chamber while Bellatrix was preparing their unwanted guest for his participation in tonight's long overdue festival. The aforethought young woman was then heard to arrive, the noise of the bronze casters on the old medical wheelchair screeching occasionally as they had not been oiled in a while. The witch pushed her wrapped and shackled burden, much more alive than he had any rights to expect, to an out-of-the-way position, a sort of visitors' gallery, next to the main doors of the ceremonial hall.

x-x

(Adrian Von Ziegler – Dark Overture)

At the sign from Athabi, the five core Lestrange took positions on figures of power inlaid in the floor's flagstone surface, the braided gold and forged Ember of the scriptworkes making a display that was both esoteric and entrancingly beautiful, even for the Family. All around the vast prayer chamber, sixty one more members of the extended House took place on similar figures, elevating sixty-six voices to the ethers of the Void, entreating fell deities for patronage and succor in their plights.

Inside the thirteenth floor of each absidial tower, the slaves were thrashing desperately against what they all knew was the coming onslaught of pain, misery and mind-rending madness without limits. As the dire machine began to sap their biologically generated energies and willpower, the victims experienced cruel physical pains worse than the Cruciatus Maxima along the unspeakable hallucinations of dreaded domains far beyond mortal reckoning that shook theirm faith in the goodness of the Multiverse. Then the worse of the evil cycle began as the alchemic array processed the basic energies obtained through a series of elixir vials and Ember plugs to return through the victims for an amplification loop that depended on just how much insanity each could endure as their soul was rendered into thirteen non-symmetrical and non-mirroring parts that functioned both in parallel and crosswise.

(Screams of Perdition and Moans of Damnation)

Their very soul being temporarily a braided cord of densified ectoplasm, the machine's figures of Powers and crystal cores inserted psychomantic programming into the constricted pseudo-matter to make it serve as both active processor & breaker in the completed machinery. This allowed the final activation sequence to be compiled and the gateway to start being invoked.

Up on the flat roofs of the absidial towers, the capacitors rose their emitter, a rod of mithril alloy two feet thick and fifty feet tall that was topped by a five-fingered dragon bone claw that had been fossilized and plated in gem speckled adamantite. Once the five emitter rods were fully extended to stand thirty-five feet above the covered walkways of the tower-top courtyards, they began to emit eldritch energies in radiant frequencies that were never meant to be felt inside the living atmosphere of a planet. The five beams rose at 45º in the air until they converged, then uniting into a single beam that dropped straight down to hit the dome of the pinnacle lantern.

The roof covering of both lantern and main gable changed color, the drab deep purple of shale turning transparent to let be seen the thousands of sigils woven of forged Ember wiring that had been hidden under the artificial coloration of the safety layer. The magical beam hit the lantern's dome, splitting into thirteen smaller beams that seemed to flow like water along the curvature of the small roof, then 'dripping' to the main gable's three-angled roof like thirteen rivulets of liquid energy, glowing a poisonous eye-watering green like psychedelic demonic pond scum. The flows of eldritch Powers concentrated on the central angle of the three-angled roof, penetrating towards the inside of the armored structure and the devotees praying within.

(The choir of the Spheres)

Inside the ceremonial hall, the worshipers now saw the thirteen large accumulations of fell Powers that were concentrating in the 'obtuse angles' of the roof's three-pitched curvature, thusly completing the condition for the intersection of non-Eucledian arithmancy and Yuggian metaphysics in a display of sickeningly glorious radiance. Then the thirteen pools of flowing green Powers lanced across the empty space inside the vaulted ceiling, recombining into what most would consider a majestic explosion of divine almight. A cosmic majesty no mere mortal should ever witness unpunished, for the sheer queerness of the colors, sounds and smells rushing out of the newly opened gateway to the Endless Void.

{ HP } - { The Honored Guests } - { HP }

( Forsaken hymnals - La! La! Yuggoth si alta lex caelesticum! )

Monday, November 30th of 1992 – 23:45pm

At the bottom of the reality-twisting, soul-churning vortex of colors and miasmic Powers moved an unnatural shape like no mundane senses were ever meant to witness and stay sane.

Existing in a Plane that could only be described as a Hellscape or Elemental Chaos unfettered, the blurry entity seemed to tower hundreds of yards above the jagged boulders and lava pools that looked to be the only environment of that world. In yet more mind-twisting mystery, the monumental creature was surrounded by titanesque skeletons of all manners, their heaps choking the streets between the debris piles left by shattered buildings that were already antique whence the Pavilion of the Cynosure was crafted to hold the Living Gods beholden to Yggdrasil.

The demonic shadow was too vaporous, too blurred in the poisonous atmosphere full of vapors from incinerated cities and foul sulfuric gases from volcanoes, its own unholy aura's reverberation waves in the suspended particulates worsened this appearance of not being solid enough for clear determination.

And yet, -maybe- some features could be seen...

It did -seem- to have three long muscular legs ended in humanoid feet with long cruel talons and a long tentacle for heel, with two limbs placed normally and the third aimed backwards. Then it had long lanky torso with three humanoid arms ending in hands bearing wickedly sharp claws, two arms being placed normally, but the third was set in the lower-middle of the abdomen, just above the front of the pelvis, its joints in the reverse sense the other arms had. The middle of each palm was occupied by a pentacle shaped mouth that opened to reveal toothy apertures in the wings and a sickeningly mutated eye in the center of the star-form. Then there were three major tentacles, long and muscular, covered in suckers that hid a poisonous chitin barb, one emerging from each shoulder blade and one from the middle of the thorax just above the heart. The thing's 'head' was actually a fourth major tentacle emerging from between the clavicles, with a wide hugely fanged maw as the front half of the joint between the hellish limb and torso. This upper tentacle was covered in clusters of thirteen small, beady and cruel, asymmetrical eyes whose mutated poly-chromatic pupils revealed boundless insanity, while deformed mouths of various sizes constantly murmured profane depravities to any unlucky soul that got near enough to listen. In further unnaturality, given how that mouth was always opened in that peculiar angle, it was impossible to say if what it swallowed would end-up in the belly or just further up the cephalopodic limb. A mane of short flailing tentacles ran down its back, and the stubs of aborted tentacles protuberated from its knees, elbows and hips.

As the bestial creature from the Endless Void was orienting its baleful face devoid of features besides its monstrous maw towards the gateway, it shimmered in spectacular explosions of Powers like several miniature Big Bangs happening repeatedly inside a handful of seconds, in slow motion, before the worshipers in the chamber were no longer certain that the beast had actually existed.

Instead, they could see quite clearly the very close humanoid figure of a helmeted and masked being who was walking calmly through the gate, suddenly present amongst them inside their holiest and safest of sanctuaries.

The first of their Honored Guests of the evening had arrived: the Black Pharaoh.

x-x

Immediately a second pulse of foul green, poisonous radiance from the gateway announced it had shifted to connect with a different dimension. One that was drowned in eternal night, agonizing under the sickly lambent glow of several half-destroyed moons, and shrouded in ethereal ink-black and deep purple shadows. There were 1,000' foot tall trees of innumerable species and types farther than even magic-boosted senses could reach, creating an accursed forested desolation without borders that was haunted by banks of pale silver mists and randomly blinking will-o'-the-wisps. The ululations and shrieks of animals were occasionally cut-off by the mind-warping howls of indescribable agony from a poor victim of some unholy act of perfidy.

The moment the gateway stabilized, a flesh-rotting stench wafted through the aperture, immediately stimulating bacteria, viruses, hormones and enzymes to greater levels of activity, causing eruptions of parasites, diseases and puss-leaking sores in all who were not protected specifically against this smelly but invisible calamity.

The passage of the second entity, this one not even trying to appear human, caused severe mental trauma, disorientation, nausea, acute tinnitus and hallucinations of rotting corpses in all onlookers not wearing protective amulets on top of having drunk customized healing elixirs just to endure the coming visitation.

Which meant only Roderick Bode, as he was the one person not fully prepared by decades of rituals, or rather, what was left of Bode after the arrival of Nyarlathotep had irrevocably destroyed his mind, magicks and soul. Or had it?

The thing looked only in the vaguest terms akin to a giant demonic goat, huge like a prehistoric mastodon, draped in shaggy, mangy black fur that was actually innumerable long tendrils, thin like coarse wool strands but covered in toothy mouths, bone barbs, deformed insane eyes and acrid oily slime. It's deformed skull was partially exposed due to massive patches of gangrene having eaten away at the skin and meat around the maw, eye clusters and throat. The long-necked head was surmounted by three pairs of twisted cracked horns, and its face was marred by seven clusters of five mutated asymmetrical eyes. There were four thick muscular legs ending in cloven hooves that extended into three sharp ivory blades, supporting a thickly muscled body that was angled upwards because the forelegs were twice longer than the hindquarters. There was a mane of dozens of mutated twenty yard long tentacles that ran from the middle of its forehead to its haunches, where emerged a cluster of five thick, ten yard long tentacles covered in suckers and tipped by a venomous stinger. Under its belly were located three sets of malformed udders, each bearing seven teats and covered in warts and sores. Along the ribs, from the pelvic arches to the shoulders, were two series of seven gestating pouches, semi-transparent and glowing with internal malevolence that no normally sane being could comprehend.

Demonstrating far more alien intelligence than its shadowed, wavering appearance let think, the entity actually shrunk itself enough to fit inside the containment circle that was inlaid in the flagstone floor of the ritual hall. Any who peered into the unfathomable, mismatched gazes of its eyes knew for certain that there were far superior lifeforms away from Earth, and this was one.

This was Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Infinitely Despondent Forests of Yuggoth.

x-x

As soon as the mutated goat was through the event horizon of the gateway, it shifted to its last destination, revealing a genuine Hellscape in a dimension filled with naught but fires, lava streams and pools, noxious clouds of yellow gas hovering around the rocky outcroppings, and the few bit of vegetation visible seemed to be fossilized or mutated, cursed undead things. There were no animals or superior entities in sight of the gate's opening, right until the awaited being showed up to pass through as convoked.

The third entity to arrive appeared even less like a living being than the first two. It was a vertical object standing fifteen feet high, vaguely kite-shaped, but had three facets like a pair of three-sided pyramids fused to each other. It floated on its own foul psychic Powers without any limbs visible to assist motricity. However, the abyssal creature had an elongated demonic face on each of its three sides, that were stretched from the top apex all the way down to the inferior apex. All baleful visages were composed of nine deformed non-symmetrical eyes, and a huge fanged maw from which unfurled a fifteen foot long prehensile tongue that ended in a slim, muscular three-fingered claw with a small venomous talon at the tip of each digit. A stench of sulfur, brimstone and cremated flesh wafted around the entity, and its presence warped the area with effluves of raw negative energy that saturated the environment so much that it condensed into bluish hoarfrost on inert objects. Every breath it took exhaled wisps of condensed ectoplasm that drooled in small rivulets down its three chins to drop to the floor, soiling the stone pavers with the offensive unholy liquid that was trying to corrode or inflame everything it touched.

This being was simply known as a Tarterus Deltoid, and its name was not speak-able by a human throat, even one with severe physical and genetic mutations. It was invoked only through scriptworkes and idols, and at great costs to the devotees present to witness its otherworldly majesty as it never shielded or changed its shape and Powers for any reason.

x-x

Once the three foul Entities of Perdition were arrayed on their reserved figures inlaid in the floor, Rosthal Lestrange, acting as high priest of the cult, began the prayers of supplications as his two sons proffered the gifts and sacrifices to thank the Honored Guests for the immeasurable blessing of their presence inside their home. The three extra-dimensional entities received precious metals and gems in the form of small icons and votive statuettes, fruits, fresh & rotten meats, and the true devotion of the assembled cultists through high praise.

After the welcoming offerings were distributed, the House Lestrange began the lengthy process of paying the tithes and tributes of glory that each entity demanded in exchange of its continued communion, dark blessings and forsaken lores from the Endless Void, Outer Planes or Hellish and Chaotic Dimensions.

The Dark Pharaoh received a string of thirteen Lorne spheres from the Family coffers, plus a platinum coin anointed in freely given Blood from each of the sixty-six celebrants, all in a basket woven of skin strips from diverse humanoid victims.

Shub-Niggurath received a living human slave to devour messily on the spot, plus a coin of spell-shaped raw iron from each of the sixty-six celebrants, collected in an offering plate made of hardened painted seal skin stretched over a goat bone frame.

The Tarterus Deltoid received directly on its extended tongue the contents of a large quartz chalice that held the freely given Blood Tithe of each celebrant, plus the Conquered Blood of an equal number of victims enslaved under House Lestrange in the past lunar year of the Stygian calendar. It was also given three profaned dead doves, killed in unholy sacrificial ceremony before its merciless mismatched gazes for just this purpose, to be eaten during the visitation.

Now that all outstanding debts had been settled with their otherworldly patrons, the Lestrange were free to begin 'socializing' with the visiting divinities, and perhaps get to bargain for ancient incantations forbidden by ordinary gods, or simple secrets from their enemies in this world. In any cases, it involved a great deal of supplications, abasement, groveling, and pining openly for the 'otherness' that each entity demonstrated by its very existence. All these prayers and rites were done in full defiance of 'ordinary' churches and creeds beholden to Yggdrasil, as were the most common religions and legal regencies in the solar system of Earth.

x-x

The Dark Pharaoh was actually the Dreaded Great Old One, Nyarlathotep, Herald of the Outer Gods, styled 'The Crawling Chaos' and the 'Usurper of a Thousand Guises'. He was an entity of pure elemental entropy and societal chaos, rejecting all forms of order except the sects that venerated the Outer Gods to whom he was slavishly beholden. Having no agenda of his own but to further the aims and plans of his extended kindred in the Endless Void, and forlorn worlds like the Forsaken Dimension of Yuggoth, the foul and mad Nyarlathotep was the most unpredictable and random of all unholy divinities a mortal could deal with.

His fraudulent presentation as a fifteen foot tall Pharaoh styled upon the Mu Empire's grand viziers was simply one of those thousand shapes he could assume to con the entities he encountered, or commit propaganda and sabotage to push along the accomplishment of his many masters' wills. He always wore a gold helmet with flared crest and sides, and a gold mask composed of two flat, smooth, in-curved plates with a pair of eye-holes rimmed with blue jade inlays. From under the mask emerged a curved goatee, tightly wrapped with gray cotton strips inscribed in unholy glyphs in the Upper Egyptian style. His basic clothing was actually several sets of black stallion leather bands ornated with gold wire scriptures that made him look like a walking mummy, given that each limb, fingers, toes and head were wrapped individually. The over-clothes was a two-layered, deeply cowled ritual robe made of gray cotton inner liner that showed at the hood and neckline, sleeves and lower hem, and a black cotton cover that bore gold wire and blue jade occult iconography. He wore a pair of open sandals crafted from a slab of black marble with cotton padding as sole and black leather straps to attach to his calves. He carried a twenty foot tall staff topped by a blue jade jackal head, and a gold khopesh sword inlaid with luminous ruby scripts.

The Dark Pharaoh was usually invoked by those seeking inspiration from sages and sources that had been erased from the official records of the Multiverse by fearful churches and governments. He was commonly associated to the Arcanoloths and Book-Wyrms, and many other servants of the sects that protected mysteries, magycks, psionics or forsaken Dark lores. He was however a notably mercurial being, prideful and jealous like the hallowed monarch he portrayed, demanding eerie payments that rarely had any report with the informations or favors begged by the cultists. He was also quite prone to playing mind-games during any interactions, always inflicting a nasty cruel twist to any answers he gave to questions. On the rare occasion whence he accepted to barter for a material object the sect needed to progress further on their path towards the Endless Void (and madness) he would never sell them exactly what they asked / paid for, relishing the chaos and misery that the revelation of the fraud would cause amongst the cultists.

Tonight, Nyarlathotep was amused by the salamalecs of the poor, foolishly credulous cultists that dared to invoke his presence upon them. They begged for privileged informations about rituals that had gone out of fashion before Mu and Atlantis had built their first modern starships to reach out to the stars by means other than magical gates. Imbeciles! Could he not be requested by mortals with ambitions and questions about REAL mysteries, like how the End of All happens?

Mentally sighing in simmering disappointment, the Dark Pharaoh decided to stir the cauldron of turgid shyte these useless humans had filled for themselves. "High Priest! Your species has committed the egregious act of attempting to incinerate its planet with alchemic pyromancy beyond the ken of mortals! The gaze and judgment of the Cynosure is upon thee! All the hope you have left is to kneel and beg for their forgiveness, if they have any to offer your kind."

Rosthal Lestrange threw himself to his knees before the dreaded and most unpredictable of all the unholy divinities and celestials the House had ever invoked in its 2,400 years, raw fear and anxiety plainly displayed on his entire person. "Hail thee, and Praise to your anti-light of the Darkes, oh eldritch Pharaoh of antiquity! What could our humble Family ever do to cleanse away that sin against the Order of Things? We were not the ones to commit the deeds, but if we could act to buffer the wrath of the Cynosure to save some of our world, we would make the attempt."

Smiling evilly behind his opaque gold mask, the malevolent deity began to unravel a tale of rites and sacrifices not seen by mundane eyes since the fall of Mu and the entombment of the viziers under the Great Mountain Country of Khen-Ra, in the Outer Planes. This was of course a lie, as the Mu Empire had been based elsewhere, and seeded hundreds of millions of solar systems across the fruits, grapes and boughs of Yggdrasil, just like their competitors the Atlantean Empire, the Illithid Galactic Congregation, the Beholder Nation, the Scros, the Netherim, the Noble Elves, the Fae Empire, and so many others that history had forgotten their existence.

It was greatly succulent for the chaos god to watch as the inbred moron cultist swallowed all the swill he fed him about moon phases, ruined prayer halls and sacrificial wells forgotten in the heart of forlorn mountains not visited by Man for aeons untold. It should take the twit and his ilk a few centuries of wasting their limited manpower, resources and collective wealth, before they figured out they had been conned into a dud treasure chase for a miracle that wouldn't happen.

They deserved no less for wasting his time with banalities and menial wishes. War was bloody war; if you got stuck in one, you survived by defeating everything else or you got dead, or maybe undead depending on the magicks flying around. In any case, they shouldn't have tried to play Saviors of the World with a (literally) damned dark god of entropy, chaos and madness. His sect wasn't supposed to cater to cretins who had Messiah syndrome! They were EVIL, fuck it all!

Finally appeased by his subtly twisted manipulations of the cultists' fears and stresses, the Dark Pharaoh considered he had done enough for this visit and marched himself back through the gateway without giving anybody the chance to speak further. He knew what the Black Goat did but had no care as it was an Outer God and he did occasionally serve its will, but stayed out of its activities when it was present in person. The Deltoid was a menial mercenary, barely a celestial due to its necrotic conveyance rather than raw Powers, so it mattered even less than zero and could not influence what the Usurper of a Thousand Guises had wrought.

x-x

The Outer God named Shub-Niggurath was part of those beings called 'Dreaded Great Old Ones', and was also styled 'The Black Goat of the Infinitely Despondent Forest' because its basic appearance truly was what people perceived of it, and it normally lived in the wildest, darkest and most desolate sectors of the hinterlands of the foul dimension Yuggoth. It never changed shape for any reason, and would simply devour any fool who died or lost sanity in its presence. It would take the time to slowly torture the soul of any cretin, or fanatic zealot, if they tried to excommunicate or banish it, before consuming the still-warm, giggling corpse.

The massive brutish creature seemed to be only preoccupied at procreating smaller weirder versions of itself, but they were so mutated as to look more like a cluster of demonic tentacles with suckers, mouths and eyes placed randomly along their lengths, all emerging from atop the dorsal of a small twisted bovidae body mounted on two short stubby cloven-hoofed legs.

The Black Goat was however an avid gossip-monger because it lived such an isolated existence, and its occult powers made it incredibly able at perceiving events through the Veils between realities, dimensions and timelines, thus making it a good purveyor of secrets. It very predictably demanded payments of living sentient victims as food, and almost never an object unless it had another barter at play in another sect, which it would reveal only if it was asked directly and paid for that specific answer as well.

Most erroneously Shub-Niggurath was not seen as greedy nor avaricious simply because it did not require money, jewels and rare books for its tithes and barters, but in reality it was a rapacious, savagely chaotic entity who would just as soon eat you as receive your prayers. It took a solid mind to simply gaze upon the creature, and the patience of someone under sedatives to parse through the thick primitive provincial accent of the thing's mind-voice during barter. And that was another problem; for all its brutish physique and loutish mannerisms, this dark deity was actually far more intelligent, educated and informed than even Minos could suspect. That was something that had caused many foolish cultists to think word-plays and mind-games could get the unholy being to entrap itself to the invokers' benefits. That never happened. The only way to profit from summoning Shub-Niggurath was to have a chattel of living slaves to pay, if all the sect members truly valued were gains of the material or textual kinds.

In the case of House Lestrange, they had been active slavers for many dozen generations, so they were flush with the means to pay the aberrant creature for anything they could think to ask, and would not lose sleep or afterthoughts about it. This placed them in good position to negotiate, but never ahead as the divinity had trillions of years of lived experience, plus the fact it subsumed the personal and cellular memories of anything it ate. Plus, it was so highly psionic it could mind-rape several thousand mortal humans at the same time without straining its own mind, so it always had the dominant position in any parley it participated in, unless an Outer God was also actively involved.

In this case, it was Bellatrix who was put forward by the Lestrange to deal with the Honored Guest because they believed she would get along best with its temper, and it was known it had no long-term plans to be weary of. This would allow the young witch's acute instincts for chaos to let her navigate the tempestuous eddies of the Goat's ever-changing feelings and baser impulses, like its drive to rape anything of all species & genders to procreate faster than by its own gestating pouches alone.

Bellatrix knelt before Shub-Niggurath with her head bowed in self-abasement, as she raised an offering plate above her head in supplication. The plate held delicacies the Goat cherished to eat during its visits; Lorne spheres and bone-meal biscuits with humanoid meat filling. A second plate with platinum coins anointed in the blood of Conquered victims waited besides Bella's prone form, ready to supplement the voracious entity's appetites if it so desired. As the Outer God gazed at the gifts, it extended its prehensile tongue to grab a clutch of biscuits, since it ate Lorne or metals only when forced by its barters with other deities and celestials.

Waiting for the Black Goat to swallow its first mouth of food, Bella pleaded softly with the otherworldly entity "La! La! Yuggoth si alta lex caelesticum! We offer the highest praises and the lowest perfidies unto thine altar, of Procreator of a Thousand Young! My family is cast adrift upon the eddies of war and planetary collapse. We would beg thee, Dreaded Great Old One, to lend your wisdom unto us, that we may survive the cataclysm that afflicts House Lestrange."

Grabbing another clutch of sacrificial cookies, the Black Goat ruminated (pun intended) the answers to give the menial human witch, in regards to her decent offerings and precious faith. As a god, even an Outer God, it did have to maintain a minimal relationship with its cultists, despite the randomly chaotic morality it lived by, just so it could keep on getting fed and prayed. Almost no celestial or divine could exist like Nyarlathotep, as he was a genetic, psionic and magical exception to a well proven rule of worship mechanics.

Seizing a Lorne to suckle like a small hard candy, the fell creature replied telepathically, as its vocal chords produced such dissonance that it would disrupt the soft tissues of all in the building if it were to bleat a single word of its forgotten Yuggian language. "Dark daughter of my cult, you have honored me tonight. Despite his lofty claims to your Lord, the Black Pharaoh was lying through every word, weaving a fable that would have you waste precious time and resources on things more diaphanous than Faerie silk."

Crunching the Lorne to aspire the soft cold ectoplasm inside, Shub-Niggurath licked his purple lips and smirked, revealing a rack of pointed fangs that seemed so much wider than its face actually was. "The Pharaoh's end-goal has always been penultimate chaos and destruction, so helping you survive a war or environmental disaster will never be his desire. My own needs, on the other hand, do not conflict with your existence. But the solution I can offer will not be one that you enjoy living through."

Bellatrix raised her head to observe the Goat, surprised as it had never been coy or hesitant before in all its interactions with their kin. Boldly, the witch queried "If it keeps us alive and able to continue serving your glory, can it be so objectionable?"

Tilting its head to the left, the unholy beast extended its tongue for more cookies, glancing sideways at the Tarterus demon, knowing it to be devoid of loyalties beyond itself, so it felt no qualms about answering the human. "It could be so, due to whom you will be forced to make alliance with. I have seen how mortals can become -lost- in their passions, when feuds and rivalries with other groups become entrenched through generations. Not that gods and celestials are any better in that domain. After all, it is the creed and will of the gods that pushes mortals to act the way they do, and they always imitate their superiors with such verve. Especially in the arts of violence, torture and murder."

Bella blinked at the verbose answer, astonished that Shub-Niggurath would say so much when its normal habits were a single phrase of a dozen words or less. Daring like never before, the witch probed lightly "I can't think of a group that House Lestrange would be so at odds with that we would choose destruction or leaving the planet instead of making an effort of patience. These people would have to try to wage war on us, to be truly off the table. Besides a few fanatical churches who espouse ultimate goodness without compromises, most cults, guilds, syndicates and companies should be negotiable, within reason."

Chuckling in amusement, the Black Goat quipped "They will be less costly than summoning one of my kindred, or paying for our services, that is certain," leaving the entire Lestrange family agog with surprise at the deity's capacity for humor. "But, to give your question a more direct answer, your survival passes through the laands of the Clan Peverell and their Alliance with your chosen Family, by the way of your birth in House Black. The followers of Hades have several well shielded enclaves on Earth, and in the adjacent portions of the connective demi-planes."

Bellatrix was wide-eyed at the revelation of something that she had been blind to since she had learned of the change in leadership inside her old familial structure. Given she had been rotting in Azkaban for eleven years, she had never considered that the boy-lord would ever think of accepting a woman he believed had attacked his god-mother and god-brother in the name of that fake poser, Voldemort. But, it was also true that the revelations about Dumbledore's many crimes spanning five generations were unimpeachable, established in goblin court by vows and written blood-ink allocutions. There just might be a path, narrow and constrictive as it may be.

Prostrating in gratefulness, Bellatrix exclaimed "La! La! Shub-Niggurath alta dei nocti! The House of Lestrange gives praise and thanks for your knowledge of the stars, that was so kindly shared with us. Please receive our prayers and gifts, as we chant the exaltation of your name!"

The Black Goat chewed on its sacrificial foods contentedly, its paltry gift having been accepted without much question or doubt, as it knew would happen. The people who were cultists of the Dreaded Great Old Ones usually had a specific mindset, one that was prone to suspend disbelief and follow any old myth or legend, if it had Power and social status at the end. Whatever the foolish Tarterus demon would say was not its problem, and would not change the course of events from now on. In fact, to its unnatural mutated eyes, only Tzeench the Changer of Ways could whelm so much influence as to create a durable alteration to the Reality line.

Having finished with its affairs, Shub-Niggurath used its mind-voice to bless the assembly and slowly ambled through the gateway, back to its despondent, infinite forests in dreaded Yuggoth.

x-x

The Tarterus Deltoid was a completely different type of sentience and awareness as it had no real organic body, all that the cultists saw being actually densified ectoplasm (raw soul material) and its innate psychic energies that easily rivaled the Grell and Illithid Elder Brain for output. The Deltoid was natively incorporeal, therefore it was forced to inhabit a frame crafted of zombified flesh pieces from demons and elementals that cultists in its home dimension had sacrificed and turned into a floating construct for their dreaded lord to ride like a palanquin. Without this necrotic golem to serve as focus and corporeal frame for its limitless evil and deformed ugliness, the Tarterus Deltoid would be reduced to a very powerful but simple spirit of pure Maleficium (moral malevolence), and therefore far less dangerous, to the point it could be banished or destroyed by a Celestial of appropriate Purity and Faith.

The Deltoid species was expert at ferreting out the most hurtful or cruel ways to damage the enemies of anybody that paid their toll, always in mixed Freely given Blood and Conquered Blood, in equal parts. Occasionally, it would also ask for a few Lorne spheres or magical gems, but that was quite rare. Normally, the Deltoid only sold information or spells cast directly upon the invoking cultists or an item they brought. They never sold physical objects and did not craft anything of their own, using slaves or contractors if they did need something built, but they never sold these rare personal properties.

This demonic species was known to be ultimately chaotic just like the dimension Tarterus which they were born in, but not randomly so. It was just that they had no long-term schemes or goals as individuals or group, and wanted no parts of any 'big thing' the mortal sects were planning against each other, besides getting paid when they sold info. Deltoids had a nasty temper, and even worse patience, with a habit of doling out pain curses and dark burning hexes if the worshipers haggled too much, or didn't take "no" for an answer when the demon flatly refused to get involved in their petty politickings and crusades.

Lady Athabi Lestrange, née Elderberry, approached the floating entity very great care and caution, knowing well just how quick at casting pain curses the thing was. This particular demon had a thing for causing nerve damages with his spells, and enjoyed watching the injuries burn through the skin, scarring for life the cultists affected. Nobody wanted that, as it could ruin their life, and erasing the wounds or curing the effects were seen as a challenge to the entity's power.

Raising a tray crafted of dragon bones, the human witch offered rancid meats and spoiled fruits to the Tarteran creature, hoping that sating his appetite would put him in a talkative mood. The red and purple being glared at the tray, but extended one tongue towards the food, seizing the leg of a halfling as if it were a simple chicken wing then crunching the thing whole in one move.

"We beseech thee, in thine glorious almight, Oh Lord of fyres and cinders! Please lend us your guidance against adversity in these tribulations!" Athabi entreated, careful to stay submissive in her pose and never fully in front of a single face, lest the other two sides of the tri-cephalic entity take offense.

The arch-demon glared malevolently at the pale skinned pest, wondering again why he bothered with answering their invocations. Ah, yes! They had food and Lorne to offer. Pity, that. He so wished to exterminate all of their weak, parasitic kind in great belches of Hellfyres and waves of pain, misery and humiliations unseen in several Ages of Man. The things he had to do to eat...

Frowning all three sets of features together, the floating demon growled out with much malice and ill-will "Oh, stop your idiotic words, girl! And try to update your language patterns while you're at it! I'm not one of those fools from Yuggoth or R'lyeh and others of the Outer Planes. And I have no time to waste on meaningless mind-games like the Black Pharaoh."

Nodding in acquiescence, Lady Athabi asked directly "You heard the wisdom of the other divines, but it seems what the Pharaoh told us was willingly false. Can you add anything to these facts?"

Pivoting on its vertical axis, the Deltoid extended its second tongue to seize a Lorne from the offering plate still in range, swallowing the jewel immediately. "Yes, girl, I can add a few things to your paltry ignorance, though it won't render you any wiser to the ways of the Multiverse. Firstly, everything the fool Nyarlathotep, he whom you call Pharaoh, told you was fraud and lies, as is his manner. You offended him when you asked his help to survive, as he is a divinity of infinite chaos and annihilation. By his views, you should survive on your own merits or die like weaklings, but without any involvement from him."

"Secondly, the Black Goat was correct; Clan Peverell is the method by which you can remain on Earth, and you access them through House Black's ancient Blood-Law. I do not purport to know what prices or sacrifices the Lord Peverell will demand for this union to happen."

"Thirdly, neither of my counterparts warned you of the incoming threats lurking in the connective demi-planes. There are three great armies making placements of units and buildings in the vicinity of Earth itself, or your solar system at large. Historically, your little sector of space was deemed useless and unprofitable, but something has changed that perception amongst the leaders of these vast groups. If you stay and make alliance with Peverell, you will face World War, and few chances of survival. If you leave, then you face the vagaries of multiversal travel, and all the risks implied without any support or succor from anybody."

Lady Athabi asked worriedly "What are these great armies massing at our gates?"

The chaos demon pivoted anew, exposing its third face, swiping another humanoid limb from the tray the witch held in trembling hands, chewed the morsel then answered "The worse threat is actually the Fae Empire, with the Netherim possibly making a comeback. The true variable is the newcomer, called Bleak Swarm. It is not written in any records as it just began to exist a few days ago, but the ethers and veils between realities are replete with echoes and whispers of their potential to grow into one of the worse plagues this small galaxy has ever known. There exists worse in other galaxies, but in this little patch of Wild-Space, it could commit calamity on a truly amazing scale. And be advised that genocide and decomposition are their only goal, as they worship the Ruinous Power named Old Grandfather Nurgle, a divinity of basal chaos, rot, pestilence and infinite corruption."

Lady Athabi prostrated herself on the floor, low beneath the deformed eyes of the entity whose patience had waned to its end. The human woman knew that the Deltoid allowed cultists to ask a maximum of one or two questions per face of its frame then felt put-upon, reacting badly if the summoners went beyond their quota, despite paying dearly for the service. Feeling they had enough enemies and threats pounding on their doors as it was, Lady Lestrange thanked the being with effusive praise and more food, signifying to the demon that it could leave unhindered, which it did as it could feel the pressure of the positive energy in this plane of existence grate at its nerves and temper.

{ HP } - { A betrayal most transparent } - { HP }

Temporarily existing in the Outer Plane of Azatoth, seated amongst the ruins of broken buildings and devastated landscapes, the fell deity Nyarlathotep maintained his guise as the Black Pharaoh to complete this piece of petty mischief against the mortals of Earth.

Sitting in state on a gold throne atop a green marble dais that had both been conjured for the situation, the demonic creature gazed at the blue-white humanoid form floating in front of him. This was the soul of the traitor and terrorist Roderick Bole, that he had temporarily hijacked from his body. Okay, technically that meant he had murdered the man via curses most foul, but that was barely worth being called a detail, to one with such magnificent psychic abilities as himself. Besides, a small bit of temporo-dimensional manipulation and the mortal fool would be back in his flesh sack, rotting and agonizing according to the telomeres in his DNA as all inferior things did.

"Listen well, little fleshy puppet. I am the Dark Apostle of the Dreaded Great Old Ones of Yuggoth, R'lyeh, Azatoth, Azeroth, and all the Outer Planes and chaotic dimensions. You may know me as the Black Pharaoh for now. We shall see if you deserve more occult knowledge, along the rest of your service to my almight."

The wretched soul nodded silently, as the foul alien magicks holding it in thrall also blocked all its capacities for expression, except for slow movements. It could however feel everything as if it still had a body, which the monster holding him prisoner used to inflict physical or mental pain with a neglectful indolence seen only in the worse psychopaths. Being a divinity of entropy and basal chaos, it certainly fit the profile.

Almost ignoring the impotent human soul's motions, Nyarlathotep spoke to it vocally and mentally, using low-powered psionic skills to imprint his words, meanings and context so the criminal would not forget or deviate from the orders given. Because, with a limited brain and almost no emotional discipline, mortals ALWAYS lost the plot at some point, so a bit of external control was necessary. This little bit of chaos was just for the sheer fun of it, but it still had to be performed up to certain standards, or else why bother at all?

Pushing his will against and through the innate resistance of the human, Nyarlathotep carelessly adjusted his Inner-World and Identity, then dumped a clutch of thingies in his Dream-World, just to make it look like a serious job, which it truly wasn't. The traitor would now be sent back to Earth, partially insane and not completely functional, to accomplish the funny little disturbances and illogical messes the Dark God loved so much. The funniest thing was that nobody would ever know why or how Roderick Bode had survived so long with his multiple diseases and mental defects, nor why he kept doing such idiotic crimes and attacks all the time, even when he knew in advance that they would produce no useful results.

x-x

The ex-Unspeakable should have awakened in his original body, still chained to the ancient wheelchair that Bellatrix had used to ferry him around the Lestrange castle. From there, he should have been able to either connive his way to freedom, or else fight his way out of the building. That was the plan Nyarlathotep had envisioned and 'graciously' shared with him.

Yeah, well, no. It didn't happen that way.

Because the Lestrange were careful slavers for long generations, they were used to putting a bevvy of monitoring charms on their prisoners AND the furniture or rooms where said victims were handled. The moment Roderick Bode's body lost its soul, as in 'died', it was put in stasis and beeped a signal through the manor wards to warn the slave pen manager. He in turn warned Lord Rosthal by telepathy, who ordered via the same method that the criminal be dismembered and deboned for his meat, being transformed into food paste for the slaves and hydroponics beds in the basements. This was done within mere seconds as the manager and slave pen workers were all house-elves and therefore never involved in the high worship rituals of the Family. The poor mutated elves had no important task that night, so the job of processing Bode into paste was done before either of the other Lestrange could realize the prisoner who killed their kin was dead.

So, Bode had no body of any sorts to return to.

Instead, he appeared silently in the Prime Material Plane with almost no pulse of Power to denote his arrival, and was promptly ejected from Lestrange manor by the wards since he was tagged as a harmless Errant Soul following divine aegis. Thusly, the treasonous bastard found himself landing on the sea shores of the small fishing village Ogmore-by-sea, completely transparent and incorporeal, which limited his capacities to whatever his magicks and psionics could affect. This meant of course that he had to find a body to possess, or at least a victim to Imperius to compliance as he needed something's arms to do the physical labor for him.

Not too sure why, the Phantom Bode drifted through the desolate village, searching for anything vaguely humanoid to inhabit or command, utterly ignoring the tempestuous winter climate and the late hour of the night. As an undead spirit, he had no weaknesses towards daylight or cold, so he was more than a bit disconnected and would need a lot of time to set his perceptions, let alone his broken mind, back to rights.

But by the will and curses of Nyarlathotep, he would never be a fraction of his old self again.

Winter 1992 – A strange debate indeed

(Harry Potter – main theme)

Tuesday, December 1st of 1992

Island of Tusker Rock

Ogmore-by-Sea, Bridgend county, Wales, England

It was morning tea, or Low Tea as the brits reckon, when the Lestrange family's core members gathered in the intimate dining room reserved for the directorate of the House. They had matters of the utmost importance to discuss, and yet also the strangest, which given their surname wasn't going to scare them off the topics on the docket.

Lord Rabastan Lestrange, master of magical transports & gates, newly elevated to the posting after the escape from Caer Azkaban prison, sat at the head of the table. His father Rosthal Lestrange, master necromancer, and mother Athabi Lestrange née Elderberry, mistress invoker, were seated on his left hand. They were followed by paternal Uncle Dastan Lestrange, master potioneer & apothecary, his wife Lutèce Lestrange née Dufrêne, mistress alchemist & symbologist, with paternal grand-father Odieux Lestrange, master enchanter & archaeologist, sitting at the foot of the table. On Rabastan's right hand were seated his older brother Rodolphus Lestrange, master spiritist & invoker, and sister-in-law Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, mistress diviner & Dark Arts scholar. After that came the paternal aunt Marjorie Glaxenburgh née Lestrange, priestess of Mystra, mistress invoker & binder, and her husband Horace Glaxenburgh, master dweomercrafter & alchemist.

There were many more people involved in the management of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Lestrange, but these were the core deciders for all matters of laws, politics, magicks, religion and philosophy. The other directors of the Family were mostly concerned with finances, contracts & trade partners, the secret studies their members did since early childhood, the food & supplies, slave upkeep, and castle maintenance. A few minor posts were also attributed for the daily control of the house-elves, in-house care for the elderly relatives or infants, or surveillance of the ward layers. But in truth, most of the Lestrange and their spouses were loners who toiled in their laboratories or workshops with little popular interaction, and so there was very scarce competition for the 'executive' jobs inside the eerie castle.

The poor mutated house-elf Il'li-Threshe scurried around the dining hall silently, mentally capting the instructions of the humans without need for a single sound to be uttered. He removed the soiled plates and refreshed tea cups almost as fast as they were set down, providing a level of service that few 5-star hotel guests could ever boast of experiencing, from an European elitist point of view. With the solid portion of the tea consumed, Rabastan cleared his throat to begin his first official meeting as actual Lord of House.

"We need to address the things told to us by our dark patrons last night. If we are to believe two of them, one was patently false with the intent to punish us for our weakness because we asked for his help to survive the war the Denarians started. What are your opinions on this?"

It was aunt Marjorie who opened the debate; "Well, learning that the Black Pharaoh had betrayed our trust should not be such a shock. All the literature about him is explicit about his duplicitous nature and mercurial whims. He represents entropy and societal chaos, the destruction of all forms of civilization, so his refusing to help survive a war is to be expected. That he flat-out lied to send us on a wild goose chase for several decades is not that disturbing, in true perspective."

Grand-father Odieux sneered in contempt, declaring "But he has scorned the House inside our very sanctum, during a high mass to his glory! He spurned us! During the very festival that we pray to bolster his Powers and presence in the Multiverse! We tithed our Living Blood willingly to this fell beast, and how does he repay us? Such offense against us cannot be let to stand! This foul under-being must not again be admitted as an Honored Guest in our rituals."

Wrapping her green velvet housecoat tighter around her thin frame, Athabi assented "Yes, that entity has far too much pleasure at causing chaos and dissent to be of any further uses. Also, it is greatly dangerous to deal with a Divine who has forgotten that his Powers come from the belief and Faith of mortals through prayers and offering. It is like trying to hand-feed a blind dog that bites everything it senses near its muzzle. Futile, and ultimately self-destructive."

Rodolphus twirled his warm tea cup gently with both hands as he opined "I was never at ease in the convocations of the Black Pharaoh. All our ancestors knew from the Pnakotic Manuscripts that told of a fundamentally dangerous, unreliable and deceitful entity who was merely the Exalted Annunciator for a plethora of much older and fearsome deities from the Outer Planes. There is even an old myth that he does not require the worship of mortals to exist, as his divine masters supply his vital needs. If that is the truly case, then he has no genuine use for us except to feast on our suffering and broken dreams, when we discover his betrayals. I say we cut him off permanently, like Odieux said."

Bellatrix voiced her concerns carefully "While I doubt that the Deltoid would have a secondary or tertiary plot at play, I am not so certain where Shub-Niggurath is involved. The Black Goat of Yuggoth is far more intelligent and canny than any eldritch tome hints at. Also, given that these are Dark deities vying for our worship and offerings, I do not think that infighting or stabbing each other in the back is beyond their moral stance. It should probably be assumed that they betray one another as a matter of philosophy and religious creed, just as much as getting more Blood and Lorne than the neighbors. Considering this, I wonder how reliable their denunciation of the Pharaoh can be, and do we heed those warnings or follow his prescriptions nonetheless?"

Lord Rabastan decided firmly "In the presence of so many doubts, plus what we already knew of the entity's predisposition for betraying his followers and allies, I say we no longer waste our limited resources and manpower on the obviously false leads he pushed at us."

{ HP } - { And further strangeness was afoot } - { HP }

Receiving nods of acceptance all around, Rabastan gestured at a small, withered house-elf who sat at a diminutive wooden lectern, hidden in the window alcove that allowed to look outside the castle's thick walls to the desolate surface of Tusker Rock Island. The ancient scribe penned the words of the meeting faithfully with his quill, keeping the meeting logbook to date as had been its task for nigh on three centuries. The decrepit old elf would also be the one to copy the new pages to send all the relatives so they could know what changes to the House politics had been done today.

Taking the lead again, Rabastan declared "I have already assigned in writing the research jobs for the great threats the Deltoid spoke of, and given four days to return a report of what is found from our usual sources. This brings us to the crux of this meeting; what the Goat said about our continued presence on Earth passing by House Peverell, via House Black's Blood-Law due to Bella marrying Rodolphus. What are your thoughts?"

Aunt Lutèce sipped some tea then commented "I think we need to consider the words of the Deltoid first. The Tarteran demon was quite clear about the fact that if we remain on this planet, we will face a World War of untold proportions and savagery. Given what its definition of savagery entails, I am of the opinion that we should firstly debate whether we stay or leave this planet, and only then put efforts into planning the actually consequential moves. Otherwise, we are simply shoveling clouds around, to no avail but loss of breath."

Grand-father Odieux agreed loudly, raising his cup in salute: "Hear, hear! Let us decide if we stay or leave, then plan for the calamity we picked. We have precious little time left, so we should not be wasting it on plotting for events we will not live through. And I vote we stay. We have invested 2,400 years and more on this planet, and we should not let a pithy little thing like a global war by beastly cohorts from the planes or dimensions be what makes us flee in fear."

Rosthal tipped his cup towards his youngest son, opining "We fled from our ancient homelands in France 400 years ago, and see what tribulations we had to endure, for so few gains that are always threatened by corrupt politicians and well-thinking fools. If we leave this bastion, then how long before we encounter a threat that scares us into moving again, and again, and so on? When will we have the permanent roots and home that was the reason we guided our kindred the way we did, over all these centuries? Nay, son. I say we plant our feet in this soil and fight for it, to earn it anew, or we did not deserve it to begin with."

All the other members also agreed that they should only consider the plans that have them staying on planet, preferably in one of their own estates. While only the manor had any Blood-Law knot active, they still owned a few corporate holdings under layered fake identities to bring in revenues not traced by the diverse ministries of England. All of these properties were fully functional, had mundane utilities as much as magical systems, and each had a bunker under double religious & sorcerous Fidelius wards to help secure the Family's survival. As such, their plans would center specifically on 'where' and 'how' they survived the coming war, and which allies they would have to tolerate for the schemes to work out.

Rabastan folded his hands over his abdomen, gazing pensively at his kin as he opined "I do not believe that any of us are happy about the next topic, but needs must. Bellatrix, what can you tell us about a potential rapprochement with House Black? Would they automatically be the Senior House or would we be on equal footing? I know already that since it is named 'Peverell Alliance' trying to be seen as equals to the Venerable Clan inside their own group is a waste of time, but what of Black? What status can we achieve, comparatively to them?"

Bellatrix huffed out a breath, shaking her head morosely as she answered "Not all that good, I'm afraid. First of all, Harry Potter is the legitimate Lord Black via his grand-mother Dorea Black, mother of James Potter. Secondly, he was the Blood-bound godson of Sirius when he ascended as Lord Black, and even worse, was still so bound when my cousin broke the oaths to Harry, James and the House Potter all at once. The boy takes the House in totality, and nothing under Mystra's gaze can change that in our lifetimes."

Draining her tea cup before it was cold, Bella continued blithely "The Lord Black has already extended his hand in welcome to the few relatives yet alive. What I tell you is from the messages sent from my goblin manager via Gringotts' mailbox. Great-aunt Cassiopeia was found in the bottom of Siberia, but she hasn't returned the kid's formal offer of reintegration. The new family tree produced by Gringotts, in 1991 before the atomic blasts, shows a few lonely rape-spawns and some disinherited squibs that have no prior links to the main House or cadet branches. The new Lord Black has extended courtesies and offers to join the active Blood-Law to grow the family's living ranks, but so far not one answered positively. And given the climate and wars going on, we can bet most of them are either dead, agonizing, or beyond saving anyways."

"How joyful," quipped Athabi with a disdainful sniff. "To be offered formal recognition inside the august ranks of the House Black, and yet refuse it, dwelling in abject anonymity, menialness and squalor instead! Oh, the sheer nerve of these inferior fools! In my youth, such a thing would never have been allowed to pass without punishment! The Lords of Elderberry would have seen them publicly executed, if an honor duel before the Wizengamot was not possible."

Bellatrix hummed noncommittally, countering with "It's not that big of a deal. I mean, a few gets of some rapes back a hundred years got married and produced kids of dubious quality, while the squibs had genuine Black blood, but certainly not the value or potential. We shouldn't be making such a scandal of old laundry that got burned instead of washed. As it should be."

Ignoring the snorts of mixed acquiescence and disdain from the group, Rabastan asked his sister-in-law "What are the chances that the boy keeps you in the family? And by the way, wasn't that buffoon Sirius supposed to have cast you out? Would you be confirmed or readmitted, if this goes through?"

Bellatrix made a face as she explained "I had a message delivered by Gringotts at Azkaban, from the new Lord Black. He was offering to investigate my imprisonment and the trial, in regards to what Albus Dumbledore could have manipulated of the Longbottom attack, our capture, the Gamot hearing and everything around. He wrote that if I could prove under oath that I had never been willing to attack the family of his god-brother, then I could be confirmed as Living Blood of House Black, in a cadet branch besides those of Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy. I and my children would never be in the line to inherit the Black title, but we would have generous stipends, plus equally generous loans for business ventures, usage of properties or vehicles, and access to determined portions of the Black ancestral library. Plus, an automatic membership in the Peverell Alliance if it should still be functional when said children are born. From the letter, I gathered that my husband was welcome to join me, and the possibility of further rapprochement between both Black and Peverell with House Lestrange was not denied upfront. Which is as good as an open invitation to parley on the subject, in the current planetary situation."

Grand-father Odieux mumbled pensively "We'll need to be careful with that boy. He may be young, but you all saw the bloody swathe he cursed through the Gamot's membership, and the two different governments he brought down? Fudge was taken out cleanly to his face, while there was never an actual successor because all the potential ministers were scared shitless of facing the boy across the Gamot floor. The way he killed Barty Crouch was a thing of beauty, and the pensive memories gathered from the event are glorious viewing!"

Waving that particular line of thought aside, Rabastan insisted at his sister-in-law "If you are confirmed in House Black, could you be a credible influence on the boy-lord? Would you be listened to, or just be a warm body to get more whelps? Not only will I not waste our resources on a feeble alliance, I most certainly won't send you back just to be corralled as a brood mare."

Shrugging nonchalantly, Bellatrix countered "At this point, we will all have to do unpalatable things to survive, or help our loved ones stay in good health. War makes beasts of all entities, regardless of their magicks or social standing, and we shall not evade this. If we stay on Earth, that is the path we pave for our kindred and descendants; a causeway of bones cemented in blood and washed pain. But, to address your concerns, brother mine, I don't believe that Harry Potter has lived long enough in the magical side of reality to become polluted by the Purosangue creed or its paranoid need to control who marries and reproduces with whom. I should be safe enough while the Potter tyke is in charge, modern mugglified morals being all the rage these days."

Rodolphus growled "I will be asking for written guarantees in a magically binding contract. No one will force Bella to put herself out in the wind without solid protections in place. And since I have never met this kid, I will wait until he makes his proofs to lend any trust."

Bella shrugged one shoulder as she signaled Il'li-Threshe for more tea. "That will mesh well with the boy's request for the Triplicate Valediction oaths to demonstrate our true innocence in the Blood War of 1975-81. If we can prove we were simple flesh puppets suffering under the potions and curses of Dumbledore, then no blame or doubt will be cast upon us, so we would be accepted under the protective shroud of House Black without gravely impugning caveats. Until we start speaking of House Lestrange's more esoteric occult practices and worship, that is."

Rosthal waved that part away, admitting drably "We can already suss that our more foreign Guests and associated arcana will be the determining point of contention in any negotiations we undertake with any individual, House, guild, church or national government. Even most mafious groups would look at us severely askance upon learning of our otherworldly erudition and contacts. Not everybody can summon celestials and divines of the Outer Planes and stay sane or healthy, so that will always be a very thorny topic to broach. Especially as it is attached to our House Blood-Law and fundamental to our way of life. We cannot detach from it, any more than Peverell could separate from their cult in Hades or Ravencroft from their ravennashae mancy."

"In that perspective, we may have a slim chance to establish a loose partnership with House Peverell," aunt Marjorie opined cautiously. "The young Lord Potter has gone on the record as identifying as High Traditionalists of the Darkes when he first attended the Wizengamot, and has confirmed it at each meeting with Gringotts or the British royal authorities. Than means that he would have a much stronger respect of the ancestral Family magicks and practices than the ordinary wizard would. Maybe even enough to not be disgusted or offended by what our House has done over the last three millenia."

Uncle Dastan declared "As long as the lad can make his troops march all in the same direction when he calls to them, it's already better than what we see around the world. Anything else should be treated as good luck on top, not something we are entitled to. However, there is a big argument that weighs in our favor, and you have all forgotten. We have sixty-five living members in our Blood-Law, if we don't count Bellatrix. Plus our house-elves, livestock and slaves, which do count in the strategic balance, when an alliance is built. And our considerable monetary assets, plus the Lestrange library that is the envy of hundreds of Houses across the planet. We may be forced into subordination towards House Peverell, and Black too because of English laws being redone as we speak, be we would actually sit as kingmakers at the Head table, not relegated to the back benches as fillers. I think that having Bellatrix reactivate her place in House Black and sit as our primary negotiator alongside Rabastan would serve the interests of our kindred well."

Rabastan listened to a few more comments and ideas before declaring "By common accord, we will begin to communicate with House Black's account managers to set up the preliminary meeting with the new Lord. If all goes well with the House oaths, we should be able to have a fist partnership negotiation session in the same day or soon after. The goblins will see much profit in this happening for all clients and their bank, so they'll hurry it along any way they can."

Without further comments or objections, the newly named Lord Lestrange adjourned the meeting to go write that first message for the Lord Black, Bellatrix walking besides him.

Winter 1992 – A truly Black consideration of events

(Harry Potter – main theme)

Wednesday, December 2nd of 1992

Gringotts Wizarding Bank

Diagon Alley, London, England

Harry Potter was a simple (yeah, right!) twelve year old boy, if you asked him directly.

Then why was it that he was the poor schmuck stuck with these repeated messes?

"How the bloody damned, hard-pumping fucks can so many people die and come back to life in the same span of time in this measly mudball? Have they never heard of Hades and the Great Beyond? What happened to following the Order of Things? Or just Natural Law?"

Poor Harry was rubbing both temples as he tried to intellectualize the information that had just been imparted by king Ragnok and the Peverell account manager. Dumbledore's life-stone had some conniptions before finally going dark, but the bloody Lestrange family kept yo-yoing around life, death, in-between and thereafter, like it was a beer-pong drinking game in a tavern.

And why again, were all these things his problems?

Ah yes, Blood-Law! Bellatrix Black was a daughter of his secondary House by distaff heritage, so he was pretty much caught with having to care, and do something about it, lest the Prince Royal of Belphégor Isles decide to intervene outside of his jurisdiction. Apparently, that was not something sensible wizards wanted to see happen in their lifetime, so the goblins and queen Elizabeth II were being pesky about making him decide things faster than he was comfortable.

By all rights, Bellatrix, her husband and brother-in-law had all been acting under the effects of the potions and curses of Dumbledore when they participated in the Purosangue War of 1975-81, so they were no more culpable than anybody else. In fact, given her inborn instabilities that were then compounded by abuse and torments at the hands of her parents until she was truly insane, it could be argued that Bella never had a single free choice in her life till she escaped prison. And that was a point that Harry wanted to explore and settle before making any decisions about her position inside the Black Blood-Law, and the Peverell Alliance at large.

Glaring at the British Royal Herald, Harry dropped the sheaf of papers on the table, not interested in letting anybody push him into rash, thoughtless decisions. "Peverell manager Neckwrencher, please pen the following missive to the attention of my monarch. 'I, the seated Lord Peverell, Lord Black, Lord Potter and Evans, Liege of Van Uttebatten, Dhennack and Gloutnay, have received your quite pertinent information on the status of my kinsmen, and shall act in due accordance, time and events allowing.' Add the most trite banalities for closing, and only the stamp for signature. This sort of thing should have been told to us during the Balmoral meeting, a few days back, and I don't accept that anybody withhold crucial datum about any of my Blood-Lineages and Allies."

Grinning a toothy smile that showed his molars, king Ragnok Backsnapper swirled his tumbler of fine brandy as he stated, outwardly bland but with much inner mirth, "I wonder what that human queen has done to get a Hadean priest hot under the gorget? T'is not a common sight, a devotee of Death in such a fine strop at this early hour."

Studiously ignoring the monarchic peanut gallery as much as he could, Harry focused on his laughing account manager, making certain the male goblin was actually writing the bloody letter so the human messenger could be booted out of the conference room promptly. His presence was irking the child-lord, as it felt more like having an Unspeakable in the room than a simple usher. Finally, the letter penned, bound and sealed with Harry's ring stamped in the wax, the human courier was sent out and forgotten.

"Damn paperwork!" Harry griped as he sipped warm tea adulterated with some of Ragnok's brandy that he had filched when the old goblin was busy answering his crystal panel for an urgent message he could not process later. It was barely 10:12am and he was already hitting the hard liquor, wishing 22:00pm could arrive so he could put the damn day to bed.

The massive, heavily ornated double-doors opened to let in Neville, Frank and Alice Longbottom who were walking slowly so the adults could keep up. The parents were finally able to move without crutches or canes, so Neville didn't want to jolt them or force a velocity that would destabilize them into a fall to the hard stone floor.

"Hey, brother! We just finished updating our medical files and some financial stuff," proclaimed Neville happily, "so we're all done for the day. How about you?"

Shaking his head in abject despondency, Harry grumbled base oaths under his breath, causing Ragnok to jostle with hilarity at the inventive use of his native tongue by an upworlder. "I hate you, Nev! And your parents, too! Just so you know..."

"Ah, shucks, Harri-kins! You make me feel all kinds 'a warm inside when you say things like that!" replied his god-brother in total disregard for the juvenile lord's discomforts and miseries. The fact his parents were laughing besides him wasn't helping Harry either, the damned bastards!

Before any further 'pleasantries' could be exchanged between the two god-siblings, the doors opened again to allow entry to Xenophilius Lovegood, the newly elevated Lord of Clan Ravenclaw, and his daughter Luna Lovegood, the newly elevated Lady of House Lovegood. Accompanying them were Severus Snape, the newly instated Lord of House Prince, and their respective account managers, the goblins all wearing toothy grins of predatory satisfaction.

{ HP } - { Make it all Golden } - { HP }

( Loud Luxury & Frank Walker feat. Stephen Puth - Like Gold, 2020 )

A few hours later, Harry was bemoaning his many plights inside the privacy of his mind while glaring inquisitively at the far too happy goblin king seated on his left, who was humming a weirdly modern and human-like tune as he ordered files on his portable crystal panel. What in the names of the larvae sentenced to inclusion in Hallowed Nepenthe's Walls was that all about?

The young boy looked around at the massive congregation of peoples, humanoids of diverse shapes and sizes, who were all assembling for the meeting called by the goblin king himself, at the behest of several account managers and the British monarchy. Due to the size of the crowd, they were using one of the amphitheaters reserved for inter-House arbitration so everybody could sit gathered in those clusters required by Blood-Law, church, guild or contracts. Even then, they had to use expansion charms at least once to double the chamber's size, to fit all the poor house-elves and familiars whom had been forgotten by the goblins in the initial guest count, a fact that Harry had corrected promptly with much griping.

The central dais where the dissidents (adversaries) normally sat had been arranged with poor little Harry in the very middle chair, with Ragnok on his immediate left, followed by Neville Longbottom as Heir Potter pro-tempore, plus the empty chairs for Houses Evans, Van Uttebatten and Dhennack, then Family Gloutnay, then the new Lord Ravenclaw and new Lady Lovegood. At the boy's immediate right sat Nymphadora Tonks as Heiress Black presumptive, Lucius Malfoy as House Malfoy was allied with Black by marriage, the empty chair of Lestrange as they were allied to Black by marriage, and finally Theodore Tonks as the new House Tonks was allied to Black by marriage.

Arrayed on a second tier, set back by ten feet and up by three, were seated the god-families, guardians and tutors, as well as House Regents or Proxies if there had been any in place. This meant that Alice Longbottom sat as oath-bonded god-mother to Harry, while Severus Snape sat as oath-bonded god-father to both Harry and Draco, while Amelia Bones was a third degree cousin through a shared great-grand-mother on the Potter side. Lord Terrence Goyle was seated on this tier, as vassal to House Malfoy, and there were still a few more empty chairs around them, just in case of impromptu arrivals or claims.

The people assembled in the many rows of high-staggered pulpits could only look onto the leadership dais curiously, wondering where this would all go as the particulars of the meeting had not been fully explained in the convocation letter they received through Gringotts mail.

x-x

Once all the current members of the Peverell Alliance were seated and prepared for a long meeting with writing kits, beverages and finger foods, the Potter account manager stood from his table to call the session to order. Dressed in a fine three-piece suit in the late 1800's style favored by the goblins, the banker & solicitor informed the participants of the full order of the day to be processed, all before 18:00pm when the official end happened. Then he sat back, allowing his king to take over as master-of-ceremonies for the day, given how important this mass of clients were due to their combined political, economical and magical might.

Ragnok Backsnapper stood from his small throne, telling the assembly "We have forced you all to come from the safety of the Mistgate Glen via the newly built Point-of-Ayre mass-portkey station with your servants to say all this a single presentation correctly."

The goblin monarch gave the crowd time to digest his words and tone of voice, and to admire the resplendent three-piece suit covered by the ceremonial mithril breastplate bearing the gold effigy of Gruumsh the One Eyed, their nation's god. It was indeed a very rare occasion that humans and elves from the surface saw the king when they did not have a high diplomatic clearance or a noble title of their own. The lower-status British citizens were all duly impressed with the decorum and style of the event, making a positive impression of their subterranean neighbors as Ragnok wanted all along. There had been enough bloodshed, it was time for peace and stability.

Continuing his speech, Ragnok declared "Your Alliance has several facts to learn, then several crucial decisions to formalize before looking to the future. The British Crown has made several gestures and acts that will become public knowledge at the December session of Parliament, but you need to have prepared yourselves in advance, in case of nasty last-second surprises. Some of the interactions of the Balmoral meeting have not gone well, and a clear amount of ill-will towards your Families and Alliance has been discovered amongst Dame Windsor's progeny."

Ragnok sat back in his throne, letting the crowd whisper amongst themselves at that revelation, as it would take a good five minutes before people calmed down enough to pursue. After the murmurs had mostly died down, it was Harry who stood from his centrally emplaced chair. He had Rehz Ib Fettach on his right shoulder, the dragonnet gazing around the hall curiously, his eyes seeing far beyond the meager limits of humans and goblins.

"I will start this segment by announcing the good news that we have received. Our good friend Xenophilius Lovegood has been elevated to the status of Clan Lord Ravenclaw by Blood-Law. This now gives our Alliance a foot in the door of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, a legally binding say in all the construction plans, and a direct position of influence inside the school when it is reopened to students. This means that our friend Luna, Xeno's daughter, had to ascend early as Lady Lovegood. Please, give a generous round of applause for both of them!"

Harry waited a minute as the happy exclamations and applause passed, before stating "As a second event, our friend professor Severus Snape has been reacquainted with his Blood-Law and elevated as Lord of House Prince. This inverses the Blood-theft committed by Dumbledore and grants our Alliance yet another seat in Westminster! Please, applaud our good friend!"

x-x

Again, Harry waited a minute for the public approval to be expressed, then stating in a more reserved tone of voice "We have some serious, but mostly positive news from an acquainted House which has decided to join us formally in Blood-Law and Alliance. Due to the manipulations of Albus Dumbledore, these persons were made to commit crimes against other members of our extended kin, thus creating a magical injury between us, in order to keep us from uniting fully and stably. Now that the Usurper has died, his curses and potions are gone and the true feelings of the people can be revealed. The House Black is pleased to announce the return of its lost daughter Bellatrix, now free of body, magicks and mind, to the Living Blood of Black, and that she has convinced her in-laws, House Lestrange, to join us as well."

There was a wave of whispers, most quite incredulous or downright nasty, at that revelation, but nothing anybody could really do. If the woman was tested to be clean by Gringotts' healers and managed to stay alive and sane when signing the Charter and Alliance Contract, then she was one of them, period. And they all knew how Harry Potter felt about Family duties and rights, so her getting a fair chance at it was a foregone decision. It only remained to see if she lived.

The elderly goblin who was the House Black account manager gestured at a beautiful young human woman with up-styled black hair, clear white skin and mesmerizing purple eyes to come forth, to lay her claims before the Lord Black, and received his decision. Bellatrix stood and walked straight-backed, head held high and gaze firm, resplendent in her dark green robes and shawl adorned with silver jewelry just like the upper-elite witch she had been raised to be, by the Lestrange once she was married to them.

Kneeling before Harry's chair on a small black cushion, she intoned the formalities to petition for Appeal of her distance from the Seat of Black, and plead for rapprochement with her paternal House. Harry gave the expected answer that she must pass the test of the Blood-Law and Heirlooms to be deemed an appropriate member of their Living Blood, or else she would be killed in the attempt. He would not tolerate another Usurper in his life, nor in his death as Hades would permit him to affect.

Surprising a great many in the room, even a few seated at the dais, Bellatrix gleefully took the Black's ancient onyx athame and silver bowl to give her Tithe of freely offered Blood, passing the vessel and blade back to the account manager afterwards. The wrinkled old goblin, who actually made the Black house-elf Kreacher look young and spry, delicately dipped a blessed adamantite nib tipped quill-pen in the raw Blood, then set it down on enchanted vellum. The quill rose on its own power, then began to draw an abbreviated version of the Black Family's tree around Bella on one sheet, then her position in the Lestrange Family tree on a second sheet. This act of ancestral magicks was the first step to validate that she was in fact who she claimed, and that she had maintained sufficient Honor and Loyalty towards her birth House to make the petition before her Lord.

Now, the account manager for House Peverell spoke in the name of all their allies that had been harmed or threatened by Bellatrix or her in-laws during the Purosangue War of 1975-81. He challenged her to prove by the ritual of Triplicate Valediction that she had never wanted, meant, nor accepted, to cause dishonor, harm or threat to anyone of her own free will. This would be done by writing her judicial testimony before king Ragnok with Blood-ink and the same quill-pen as the first test, all the while under the influence of goblin truth serum as she sat in a stone chair scripted with glyphs of honor, honesty, decency, and truthfulness. All this would be wrapped in the third part, an Unbreakable Vow to never resist the truth potion and glyphs, the anti-cheating vellum, the Blood-ink and quill, incanted and bound by Lord Cantankerous Nott, enacted before the witch even drank the potion then completed when she had finished writing.

The entire process was actually rather quick and not very spectacular, since the woman spoke the Vow with Lord Nott in a tone of voice that was clearly unafraid. She took the vial of truth potion from the goblin shaman in firm hands, drinking the whole thing in one go. Then, sitting in the visibly radiant stone chair, she gave more blood to the bowl, after which she just had to tap the quill-pen's shaft to her temple to extract the statement she had prepared for it to be written magically in her stead, at high speed almost like a laser printer. Then, she revised the document, stamping her cut bloody right thumb into the wax wafer at the end to seal and bind the Writ. Upon handing the judicial testimony to the Peverell manager, she stood before Lord Nott to be scanned by the shamans for trickeries and frauds, then they closed the Unbreakable Vow, making it possible for Mother Mystra to kill her at any point of her existence if she was ever found false.

As the young sorceress was still alive, magical and visibly sane, nobody doubted what would happen next. Harry Potter decreed his formal acceptance of the woman back into the Living Blood of House Black as a cherished daughter, besides her sisters Andromeda and Narcissa whom were ecstatic at the news.

The subsequent appending of House Lestrange as a vassal of House Black and junior member of the Peverell Alliance next to the Malfoy and Tonks was likewise a foregone conclusion. There was a moment of intense staring contest between Lord Rabastan Lestrange and Harry's familiar, but the Faerie Drake let it pass by, to be dealt with in later private discussions. While Rabastan was the youngest of the two brothers, and their father Rosthal was still alive and well, it had been decided inside their Family that his brother Rodolphus' marriage to a daughter of Black was so demanding that it warranted a different person be elevated to House Lord, and soon, to stabilize their collective magicks. Hence why it was Rabastan that took the written Black oaths and Peverell contracts in the name of his kindred, who then filed before the goblin managers to sign in Blood the two documents, each person in the order they appeared in their updated Family tree.

While Harry and his close advisers had several doubts about Rabastan and Rodolphus as persons, and their extended kindred by rebound, the Black Charter and Alliance Contract had both accepted the petitioners without backlash or alarms. That meant any problems or insecurities the boy-lord felt were more of a political, societal or religious nature than an actual threat to the sanctity of their common magicks and welfare, so Harry would address it discretely later, in the new year 1993.

In any case, the entire House Lestrange counted sixty-five living human Blood-Law members and 11 elves, so it was an incredibly strong acquisition since they had just a bit more than 66% of the Alliance's totaled 73 humans and 41 elves to date. The Family was known to accumulate its large fortune by selling exorbitantly priced expert alchemical arrays, enchanting supplies & tools, or diverse custom potions, to any entity that could pay. They had no farmland or vast country estates, nor even a small townhouse in London to be close to the Ministry. However, the images they now showed of their forlorn castle on Tusker Island gave both pause, and a good idea of their riches, along subtle dark hints at their true occult Powers and faiths.

Given the importance of the disturbance inside the personal magicks of each participant of the long day of rituals, it was decided to adjourn the remaining problems to a few days later. It was necessary to let people stabilize their magical core and mind before proceeding to further changes in the Houses and Alliance, or the members could start suffering backlash effects. Even worse, the new oaths and contracts could fail to take hold stably and reliably thus opening holes in the layers of protection around their group. King Ragnok dismissed the assembly, to be reunited in a couple of days, to finish the current segment of business.

Winter 1992 – The Peverell Alliance acquires new members

(Harry Potter – main theme)

Saturday, December 5th of 1992

Gringotts Wizarding Bank

Diagon Alley, London, England

Twelve year old Harry Potter passed a weary hand over his face as he yet again sat before an assembly of sentients several hundred strong, dressed in finery and jewels like a feudal monarch in a paperback fantasy story book. Hermione was smirking at his discomfort far too much for it to be accidental, as she tried to demure when challenged about it. And neither Neville, Nymmy, Draco nor Susan were trying anything to orient her tender attentions elsewhere, the traitors. At least Luna was busy reading through an impressively ancient Lovegood grimoire, so she wasn't participating in his torment. She was his new favorite in their age group, and the rest of the little mongrels could go hang if they didn't like it!

"Well, it seems a good day for tallying some gold!" king Ragnok exclaimed pleasantly as he sat in his small throne on Harry's left-hand side, setting some folders and old ledgers on the table before his seat. A young goblin assistant pushed a three-tiered wheeled cart loaded with more folders, folios, envelopes, scroll tubes and ledgers until it was parked next to his monarch's left side, then brought the tea service tray for him and Harry to share during the meeting.

Humming distractedly by the Arrival of the three Black sisters, already thick as thieves in a county fair, the boy-lord replied softly "You could extract gold from a miser's clutches, my king, given how adept you are at dealing with people." Turning a bratty grin towards the old goblin, he rammed in the verbal dagger "After all, an ax is such a universal solution that even an infirm old crud like you could not fail at the task set, and taking gold from a hand-less fool is easy."

The young servant choked on his laughter as he was placing the tea things while Ragnok began to hurl 'kind words' about Harry's father in Orushkeh-Tegh, his native tongue, to which the boy actually replied in kind, commenting that the king's mother was clearly not responsible for his disposition, late in life as he was getting. The whole mess got worse when Rehz got in it, hissing a few choice suggestions for Ragnok's retirement home, like the midden pits under the warrens.

Studiously ignoring the laughter of the other goblins and curious faces of everybody else, the two very friendly beings began to serve each other tea and snacks, playing at one-upping the other with fake, sycophantic compliments and affected flourishes. The spectacle of the Peverell leader and goblin king acting like school friends having tea between classes in the common room was quite the sight for the people gathered in the amphitheater, as none knew that Ragnok felt so at ease with Harry, nor that the boy had such facility with the ornery old ruler from another species.

{ HP } - { We're raising the dead tonight - almost } - { HP }

( Requiem de Profundis )

It was a good thing the Alliance's general meeting had been scheduled for Low Tea or else many of the people required would not have made it, thus forcing another lengthy delay which they could not afford, what with the December session of Westminster almost upon them.

Now that they were operating under wartime measures, Dame Windsor had scaled back all parliamentary activity to just one session of 12 hours every month to avoid wasting time in circular debates, while at the same time resorbing most legislative and executive functions within her Privy Council and Sovereign Cabinet. The newly centralized system was vaunted as more nimble, faster at adapting to reality around Britain, but it was also visibly less democratic, shifting Power to the House of Lords and the Peerage like in the Middle Ages. In fact, it was a rather blatant attempt at solidifying the people at the top while creating a glass floor under them that ordinary citizens would find practically impenetrable, unless one of the 'superiors' invited some 'blessed knave' to elevate through the invisible societal barrier.

The whole shift in political regime, judicial structure and military directorship gave Harry severe pause, and more than a few ulcers, as he contemplated what it could augur for his kin. The meeting at Balmoral Estate had been constructive on many subjects, but divisive on many others, and revealed some deeply seated resentment from the Royal Family towards all the allies and friends that surrounded Harry. Prince Philip in particular had some splendid spleen to vent against the child-lord, well beyond what his age and very ordinary 'not noble' education merited.

The goblin manager of the House Potter accounts clanged his dagger blade against a small brass bell on his table, dragging Harry out of his musings and the rest of the assembly out of their own hodge-podge of activities so they could start. They had a busy schedule, and few hours. The middle-aged male glared at the entities until they were all staring attentively at him, snarling at the few stragglers until they quieted. Fidgeting with the gold rings on his right hand in a manner that suggest nervous habit, the banker announced the coming events.

"We are gathered today to bring back to life several Chartered Families that have been dead or in abeyance for a prolonged period of time. This is done lawfully in accordance to the Gringotts Treaty which integrates our Dynasty to Britannia, giving us the right to arbitrate heritage and succession disputes in the name of our duly contracted clients. Our first task is to establish a new Heir for the House Evans, the maternal line of Lord Potter. The British Monarchy has recognized the Family and granted it Noble status, but not Peerage."

Pointing at several items on the table before himself, the goblin manager detailed "A series of candidates chosen in advance by Lord Potter will approach the newly enchanted Evans heirlooms and be tested. From those who receive a positive response, Lord Potter will choose a title-bearer, an Heir Primus and Heir Secundus, then place the remainder at his will. As the House is Chartered under the 'modern' laws and codiciles, the heritage is to be determined completely at the choice of the current title-bearer, or else by the Family heirlooms if the throne is vacant without a testament to enlighten us as to the order of succession desired. Contestants, please approach in alphabetical order."

Walking slowly before the curious gazes of the dozens of goblins, a hundred-plus humans and similar number of house-elves were a column of completely new people. All of them were chosen after Gringotts had submitted several lists of potential settlers to Harry and his partner Houses, and four passes of triage had been applied to the petitioners to whittle the number from nearly 2,000 hopefuls down to barely 81 names. None of these persons were known to the Peverell Alliance members since Families or individuals known were passed through a faster, preferential process under sponsorship of a House lord who guaranteed their loyalty by contract.

Harry Potter was a bit discomfited to be doing this ritual, if truth be told. He was traumatized by being an orphan forcibly housed in a bad family, plus discovering Dumbledore's bastardies, so he wanted to have family around him real strongly. He wanted to never again be alone, isolated and abandoned, and at first glance the idea of simply adopting people into several subordinate Families or Houses beneath his position seemed a good idea. But that was the concept. The reality was now settling in that these people, pure strangers to him and everybody else, would soon become related to him by Blood-Law as much as magic and mundane laws. This was due to the complex Blood-Adoption that the goblins would enact, using sanctified vials of Living Blood stored for this purpose by his mother. It had sounded like a good idea, a few weeks ago when proposed, but did Harry really want strangers to suddenly have the Blood of his poor Mother flowing inside them, shared with him?

Curse the damned royals for putting him in the position of being obliged to make such gut-wrenching choices at the age of 12! If the bastards hadn't been so aggressive and conniving, he wouldn't have been pushed into these decisions so early by the goblin managers who were smelling war and betrayal in the air, around Balmoral and Westminster. Harry was caught in a very wide and tightly meshed political, societal and judicial net that he could not fight unless he had more votes, lands and riches to move on the board.

So they would be entering pure strangers into the Families thought dead or in abeyance, in order to reactivate their vaults, territories, and most importantly their Peerage or votes when they had any to whelm. At the very least, this preemptive maneuver would keep Elizabeth II from trying to find & impose title-bearers or heirs in his stead, then pass an exceptional law to force events in her favor. Theft of Peerage Titles or Parliament seats was an old game in England, and across most of Europa, Slavia, Russia and the British colonies at large. The goblins had been adamant that if Harry didn't make the moves first, the Sovereign would do it for him, under the pretense that he was too young and too occupied to do it himself without their 'wise' input.

But still, some of these strangers would be his family before lunch bell rang, close enough to be called 'brother' or 'sister' since it was Lilly Evan's Living Blood at stake.

Harry REALLY wasn't sure he wanted to have family that bad anymore, but the dice were cast and Mystra was already judging the worthiness of the postulant, the effluves of raw Mana becoming visible in the amphitheater even for the untrained mundane.

Closing his eyes to hold in a chaotic jumble of hope, fear, desire, shame, loneliness and stress at losing his precious autonomy, the young boy heard the song of basal magycks swirl around each person, changing subtly in pitch, tone, harmonics and tune as it reacted to their lives and potentials. Soon, far too soon for the traumatized child, the heirlooms of Evans had selected the best candidates from the 81 who had been retained specifically for this very particular House. It was now Harry's job to look at the individuals and offer them the positions he thought they suited best inside the Family Charter, regardless of species, age, gender, or occult practices. By the time the Evans Charter was signed and sealed, he had acquired two older sisters, a younger brother, a dowager aunt and three teenaged cousins.

Yay!

Maybe?

He'd decide on that much, much later, when he was alone to think.

And had a new bottle of halfling sherry and a nargileh full of herbs at hand for the evening.

One thing was sure, Harry was becoming happy that he had chosen to not repopulate the actual Potter, Black or Peverell Lineages by this method. It would be too many people too close, and far too quickly for his capacity to adapt emotionally to such changes.

x-x

Due to how well things had gone, it was decided to proceed with the other rituals before calling the lunch break. The entire assembly were in accord, as the tea snacks had been so good as to spoil the appetites of many, and curiosity was gripping the insides of most members.

The following Family to be brought back from 'death' was the Elder and Noble House of Van Uttebatten, of whom House Potter were Liege. The goblins processed through the new group of 128 candidates, which included a few from the Evans selection who had obviously not been retained for the House that was so close to Harry's heart. Rapidly, the ancient heirlooms that had been newly reactivated by Harry's freely given Blood Tithe as Liege chose a group of 5 lucky persons to bear the honor of Van Uttebatten amongst the living.

By common accord, it was quickly followed by the rituals to select the new members for the minor House Dhennack, cadet branch of House Van Uttebatten, for which 60 candidates walked by the table, resulting in 4 new relatives.

The participants of the assembly were so taken by the drama and intrigue of choosing new family members that they finally opted to eat lunch in the amphitheater as the rituals happened, to make certain thy could do all they needed that very day. It was urgent, but it was also yet more living Blood and magicks suffusing the entire Alliance, and the feeling produced was positively giddy.

The goblins used the meal period to process the selection for the Family Gloutnay which was being elevated to titular House status as distaff branch of Van Uttebatten, besides the slightly older House Dhennack. The assembly witnessed a procession of 42 candidates from which 6 were deemed worthy to join the Family by the reactivated heirlooms.

This last batch of nominations brought Harry's total number of living kinsmen to a staggering number that he could scarcely believe; Andromeda Black plus husband and daughter, Narcissa Black plus husband and son, Bellatrix Black plus husband and 64 Lestrange relatives, 7 Evans, 5 Van Uttebatten, 4 Dhennack and 6 Gloutnay, for a grand total of 94 living relatives.

From desperately alone to 94 close and extended kin, plus the far relatives by marriage or alliance, all in the space of a measly handful of years...

Yeah, Harry was dreaming wide awake of his beloved nargileh even as he signed in Blood all the adoption documents and alliance contracts the diverse goblins put under his nose, all their gray skinned faces becoming an indistinguishable blur after the eighth sheaf was stamped.

{ HP } - { Additional memberships granted } - { HP }

Nearing 15:00pm, king Ragnok announced loudly "And now we have the great pleasure of seeing the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Prince update its Charter and proceed to the Blood-Adoption of new kin to shore-up the survival of the family. Managers, proceed!"

As was the now standard system, a line of postulants was gathered to walk before the table so that the newly re-blooded heirlooms could scan and judge the worthiness of prospects. From the long list of 193 people were chosen 2 adult women, 4 adolescents and five young children, most of them originating from very humble blue-collar families and orphanages. Those who knew the past life of Severus Snape were not surprised, nodding approvingly at the selection and how he spread them through the beginnings of a House structure that would grow quickly into respectable strength.

The Peverell Alliance applauded the 11 newcomers happily, just as they were eagerly waiting on the last few details to be done before the truly big mess at the end.

Lord Lucius Malfoy petitioned Harry Potter for his acceptance of House Crabbe as vassals of House Malfoy within the Peverell Alliance. The young boy replied as he always did, that they must prove by written testimony their innocence of any attacks or shame against the membership of the Alliance, and then they would be able to sign the contract to be full members, if in a junior position under their patron Family. The deposition of testimonies and signatures of contracts were done without a hitch, so the group welcomed the four living Crabbe into their assembly, bringing with them five elves, nine human employees and several hundred acres of land put in stasis for the moment.

Then the last significant petition was heard; the Lady Zabini, matriarch of House Zabini, wanted to enter the Peverell Alliance by taking the position of vassal directly under the Lord Peverell to bolster his seat as he presently stood alone to carry the name and title. While many saw this as a rather ambitious, disrespectful even, move from an outsider who belonged to an Italian noble House, others agreed with the woman's evaluation but maybe not enough to support her House for that sensitive place. Someone of British origins and exalted standing like House Ollivander or House Prince could take that spot honorably without being seen as limited by the legal or political strictures of vassalage. Why would the Italian family be afforded such privilege right out of nowhere?

It so averred that Harry had similar thoughts, but countered by instead offering to take the House Zabini as autonomous members inside the Alliance, to give the entire group of arrivals and newly named people some time to adapt to all the dramatic changes they had lived. Once inside the global shroud of Peverell, there would always be an apportunity to alter the societal status of persons or the familial positioning of groups, as necessity dictated. Everybody was relieved to see the Lady Zabini accept the proposal so easily, thus bringing herself, her son Blaise Zabini, eleven elves, eighty human employees, with a dozen large estates and twenty businesses all currently in stasis.

{ HP } - { 'Settling' some doubts } - { HP }

Passed 17:00pm, king Ragnok declared that all major elevations, nominations or adoptions were done for this meeting, and they would now spend the last hour recruiting people from the general list of potential employees Gringotts kept up to date just for that purpose. A very busy and profitable endeavor, if the goblin managers' many toothy grins were to go by. Apparently, curating a list of resumes and investigations for Harry Potter was worth several full-time jobs, and the monetary premiums paid out when the Alliance accepted one of the candidates were quite appreciable in the eyes of Gringotts' personnel, all species commingled.

Just like the first time the Alliance had done this, just before traveling through the Styx River for a month to escape their stalkers, the titled Lords of the ranking Clans, Houses and Families parsed through the main list to pull out those files they thought merited to be debated, then some very quick hand gestures resolved each case. Inside the space of that short hour, the leadership had decided to invite some 23 individuals as employees for specific jobs or postings inside the Mistgate Glen or their steam carrack, and 39 small families of non-Titled, non-Chartered 'settlers' who were simply offered plots of land for basic farming, limited ranching, or small artisanal workshops to make a multitude of fundamental staples of life. There were even a few who accepted to take over a pair of taverns and one small inn to start-up the Glen's capacity to receive tourists and have some social life, at long last.

Of course, the poor restaurant owners were not informed yet that most of their alcohol, tobaccos, herbal drugs and food spices would be supplied by teenaged or child-aged entrepreneurs who bore enough Titles to jingle with every step they walked. That amusing little detail would become apparent only once they were established inside the Glen's climatic shell.

It was a very relieved Harry Potter who sighed in soul-deep weariness at the end of the day, when the house-elves began to pass around the collective banquet, in synch with the chimes that proclaimed 19:00pm firm. Resting his aching head against the backrest of his chair, the poor child could only wonder what it meant for him, that he now had Blood relatives on his mother's side, but nobody on the Potter and Peverell sides to balance things out. He had the feeling that he would be forced by the Family magicks, or petty British politics, to make that choice before he turned fourteen years old, if he were so lucky as to buy that much delay. Knowing his usual luck in complicated matters that weren't life-or-death, he would probably be obliged to Blood-Adopt a bevvy of Potter, Black and Peverell before February was half done, just because...

Deciding to follow Rehz Ib Fettach's advice, the boy concentrated on his excellent potage and roast poultry meal instead of giving himself ulcers ahead of the absolutely necessary time. He could stress-out as much as he wanted later, for now he would calm himself and enjoy the cheer that embalmed the atmosphere of their enlarged community whose chances of survival had just enhanced a whole lot.

More than four hundred humans, two dozen elves, livestock, a few thousand acres of land and dozens of buildings for residential or commercial activities, all inside one massive swoop across a slice of population that Britain's royals would consider 'inferiors' just because they weren't born in a manor or luxury condominium, when it wasn't their semi-human biology at stake. Well, Harry considered them all to be some of the best candidates in the nearly 3,000 files they had revised in preparation for the meeting, and the master list still had plenty more to take, which he would do in the appropriate moment.

For now, his head was spinning and he needed solid food in a hurry, with a headache potion to stave off the migraine illness that was looming over him.

Preview of chapter 6;

The Peverell Alliance is busy at helping newcomers install themselves in Mistgate Glen while Harry tries to become acquainted amiably with his recently adopted family. An aunt, two older sisters, a younger brother and three adolescent cousins in the Evans Lineage just weren't things to pass along easily.

The Rex Mycotaur Locus tries to evolve his troops to expand his Swarm, but Nature doesn't give him any help, quite the contrary.

The Fae Fleet in the Solar System tries desperately to make something of its obsolete ships, much to the curiosity, and hilarity, of every other advanced space-faring society that witness the events unfolding.

The mid-December 1992 session of the British Realm's Westminster Parliament happens with great fanfares and pageantry, but pettiness, political maneuverings and betrayals leave everybody unhappy in the end.

The Peverell Alliance feast Samhain 1992, their first religious celebration in Mistgate Glen, which also marks the change of year and the end of the separation between the worlds on Earth.