Cylis' response to the fragment "Sometimes I tire of the British", which you should read first if you
No trip wires were involved, and the woman was completely innocent. She did, in fact, have supernatural powers (and quite powerful ones at that) but she is not a Satanist. Actually, the woman who said "sorry" is a High Priestess of the Order of the White Feather, her name within the brotherhood being Mother Steris Horus Von Sisi Leita Wohora. The Order of the White Feather, a magickal secret society hidden within London, is completely dedicated to the protection of non-magicians from evil occult forces.
Indeed, the force which poses a threat to your well-being was not even situated in England. Another people planned your destruction. A people who have had a long rivalry with the British, a people who have always had a fascination for the mystic brotherhoods, a people who make really good pastries. }:9. Yes, the forces that brought about your "fall from grace" were situated in France.
[A dark chamber, lit only by flickering black candles. The sigil of Baphomat stands out clearly on the wall in a blood red shade. A naked woman, serving as a satanic altar, lies upon a large trapezoidal platform. A priest, dressed completely in black waves a runic sword in the air while he recites an Enochian key. The cryptic blade waves and dances with the tempo of the gutteral words. His follers wait in silence for the litany to end. Each is dressed completely in black including a peculiar blue dragon shifting akwardly in his black robes. A pudgy figure entirely in black holds the Book of Leviathan from which the priest continues to chant.]
"...ralaxa yolaci matabe nomiji mononusa olora jinayo anujelareda. Ohyo! ohyo! noibe Ohyo! caosagonu! Bajile madarida i zodirope cahiso darisapa! NISO! caripe ipe nidali!" As he completes the chant, the priest continues with a destruction rite.
"BEHOLD! The mighty voices of my vengence smash the stillness of the air and stand as monoliths of wrath upon a plain of writhing serpents. I am become as a monstrous machine of annihilation to the festering fragments of the body of he who would detain me.
"It repenteth me not that my summons doth ride upon the blasting winds which multiply the sting of my bitterness; And great slimy shapes shall rise from brackish pits and vomit their pustulence into his puny brain.
"I call upon the messengers of doom to slash with grim delight this victim I hath chosen. Silent is that voiceless bird that feeds upon the brain-pulp of him who hath tormented me, and the agony of the is to be shall sustain itself in shrieks of pain, only to serve as signals of warning to those who would resent my being.
"Oh come forth in the name of Abaddon and destroy him whose name-"
The attempt of a polite cough interrupts the ceremony. Raspy in the extreme and unsure, like a middle-aged woman testing a pool with a hairy toe, the amazing pitifulness of the cough stops the ritual like claws across a black board.
The priest lowers his sword and turns eyes of dull iron towards the offender. The book-holder's mouth falls open as he too turns to gape. Pages of the Book of Leviathan turn unnoticed. Even the nude altar turns her head to look mildly astonished at the embarassed figure in black.
"Yes?" asks the priest with all the cheer of a coffin.
"Um yeah. Er hallo, gee," begins the blue dragon nervously. "You know I was just thinking: You know I sort of like Quentinus, even if he is marked for destruction for wrongs in a past life and is just about the most obseqious creature ever to slide out of plasma and of course there is that habit of criticizing things he doesn't know about and," the dragon stops to think, "everything else for that matter. Do we really have to complete this Hex of Destruction? Couldn't we just do something mildly annoying?"
The priest raises a pencil thin brown eyebrow and scrutinizes the dragon before him. The dragon appears to be attempting to retreat like a hermit crab into his wings. Both wings being safely tucked away in his robe, this gesture accomplishes nothing more than making him look like an undignified mound of clothing. The eyebrow rises higher.
"'Mildly annoying?'" Spiders could build webs around the priest's tone. "The forces of darkness and evil envocted to spread a dark cloud of 'mild annoyance' over the earth? I suppose you want our enemies to live out the rest of their existence in a slightly disturbing and uneasy lukewarm hell?"
"Well," begins the blue dragon, "it might improve our PR..."
The eyebrow drops like a guillotine as the priest spins to addresse his book-holder. The scarlet cloak of priesthood swirls in a flutter of bat wings and the candels flicker as if with fear.
"This 'dragon,'" the priest asks, "what is his name?"
With a sigh the book-holder lays his leather bound tome on the stone ground and reads off a crinkled yellow legal pad sheet.
"Cylisiricashad, Ether Dragon and third Echelon member of the 'Black Pudding' grotto. He's an exchange satanist from," the book-holder shudders, "America."
"Fuck," hisses the priest vehemently. "We could have gotten that old wyrm Smaug or someone useful like that old Serpent that gave St. George such a time at it. Well, no matter. We are continuing the ceremony and Cylisiricashad can clean the altar when we're done. The platform not the lady," the priest explains catching the expression on Cylis' face.
"And," he continues, "I don't want to hear anything about the mild retribution of infernal powers-"
"I don't know. The whole destruction thing is so unchic," a mellow voice calls out. Grunts and murmurs of approval spread throughout the room.
Both eyebrows rise and in a voice that could make glaciers pull on a sweater the priest inquires of this new offender, "What exactly are you saying?"
The speaker stands up. He has long black hair and a bearing born to compose poetry.
"It's like totally over involved," he explains. "It doesn't really matter to the cosmic balance and stuff. What are good and evil, man? I just don't care enough to get this guy cursed. I mean," he considers, "make bless not hex." A mild undertone of snapping fingers and bungo drums seem to flow over the scenery.
The altar giggles, bringing down a baleful look from the priest.
"Quiet," he says, "you're supposed to be inanimate," his voice drops to a whisper. "Where did these satanists come from?"
The book-holder consults the yellow sheet and brings apprehensive eyes up to the priest.
"French Coffee bars..."
"That's it," the priest takes up his sword and prepares an ad lib chant. He turns to Cylis, "The forces of darkness are nothing compared to the apathey of 'artistic' youth. Damn it this is so much easier in Bavaria. What did you have in mind?"
Suddenly finding attenion focused on him, the Ether Dragon ponders, "Well, couldn't we just give him a nasty fall?"
"Fine," the Priest sighs and prepares for a modified and less spiteful curse, "but I'm going to make it the most nefarious nose-bleed that the deepest sulfurous pits of hell can spawn."
[Meanwhile, across a body of water and deep seperation of philosophy a very different ceremony is taking place.]
Mother Steris Horus Von Sisi Leita Wohora continues her work as a medium, scanning the progress of the satanic ritual in France. Her eyes pop open.
"Something has gone wrong," she murmurs.
Eyes on mediating individuals around her spring open. All in the room are dressed in white Tau robes.
"What do you mean?" asks Brother Mervis Begorus Yoko Hoko.
"The foul Black Magicians have weakened their spell." Were she not in the white temple of the moody rising swan, Mother Wohora would have spat on the ground. "Now it's only a mild destruction spell."
"Oh good," says one of the junior members.
"Not really," Mother Wohora sighs, "our magickal energies are bent on producing a shield to block waves of pure entropic nature. I'm not sure, if we can block waves of only bad desposition. I'm going to check. Brother Hoko, ready my griffion."
"Um, Mother," Brother Hoko licks his lips, "your griffin is feeling a bit under the weather. Hoof and beak diease, you know."
"Fine. I'll take public transportation." Mother Wohora rises, leaves the circle and moves out of the room.
"What sacrifice!" the junior member whispers in awe as she goes back to meditation.
The efforts of The Order of The White Feather were only enough to keep the trip from resulting in serious injury. Mother Wohora felt mildly guilty and was beset with feelings of bad karma and apologized for her groups inadequacy. But when she looked into the suspicious and bewildered eyes of the non-magician they had saved, she saw only confusion and a sudden hate for his own race.
Ah, how the mysteries of the world pass us by.
WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR CHARACTERS AFTER THIS STORY:
Mother Wohora: Went on to found an organization for the preservation of classical films and neglected her magickal career until she predicted the great Californa earthquake of 1999.
The Junior Member: Eithier became the world's greatest magician since Aleister Crowley. Or didn't, depending on how an essential state vector collapses.
The Book-Holder: Made millions of dollars in software piracy and got it stolen by a conniving wife. He managed to forget everyone involved in that certain satanic ritual.
Brother Hoko: Became an accountant and had a downs-syndrome son who he loved very much. My stories aren't always humorous and caustic....
Shimmerwings: Didn't appear in this story, but would no doubt have had a touching role with her mate. The scene would no doubt be cute with graphic imagery of puffy pink hearts and flowers. I'm glad Shimmerwings didn't appear in this story.
The Satanic French Coffee Heads: Formed the Apathetic Fiends of Darkness. Their symbol was a smiley face with drooping eyes, a straight line for a mouth and horns. They conjured such diabolically evil spells as pushing ice cream off cones, giving paper cuts, and reducing the time on parking meters.
Cylis: Decided that cameo appearances really became him and went on to star in many stories. He managed to ignore the fact that he wrote all of them himself.
Quentinus/Sam: Your guess is as good as mine. Wait, actually I guess it would be better. He was actually considered for membership in a satanic brotherhood until it was decided that he would have a tendancy to try to instruct the Devil on the finer points of evil.
The Altar: Married a software pirate and stole all his money. She managed to forget everyone involved in that certain satanic ritual.
Priest: Became a successful grotto leader in southern Germany and then died of Dutch Elm diease in a truly shameful situation.
That's it. Everything and more than you want to know about that one little trip and the involvement of Satanists in your life. By the way, did you know that Ether Dragons can't lie? };>
Cylis, The Ether Dragon