IllinoisLARP

As much as he shouldn't have, he did. He still had connections in Chicago, odd as that may be. The Duel was perilously close, and could be, once the Lictor made arrangements, any day now. However, the pull was too great and the rumors too rich. He too, had been searching aimlessly, and once he heard the news he had to know for sure.

The Astronomy tower was empty, as usual. No one really tends to the machinery at this time of night and he was friends with all the third shift workers. He figured if he worked on his astrological charts, he would pass the time waiting for him to show up. Sure enough, he did. He stepped through the door, literally through, with no sound made whatsoever dressed in his favored fashioned of victorian era noble attire. By the fading of the color, it was just as old but he looked as young as he did the last time he saw him when his cabal was banished and claimed traitors of Atlantis.

He yawned when he stepped through, his boots gave a soft *thud* to his step on the tile floor. "Hello, old man." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "Odd time to be calling upon ghosts and phantoms, afterall I am sure there is some pointless star in the sky just begging for your autograph."

"Spare me," He told his guest, moving away from his astrological chart. With a flick of his hand, the lights burst to light casting illumination upon his face. He could tell what he was. The ghastly pallor of his skin, the slight lack of color to his flesh. How his hair had no sheen, like the color itself was the only thing that held it together. "Do you have it?"

"The Phlange?" He smirked. He always hated that smirk, that smirk that says he knows something. "Of course I have it. I even celebrated getting it with all my...pretty little mages. You should have seen the whore, old man. The amount of begging she did would cite even your...long-dead needs."

"Where is it?" He did not know who was watching, and consorting with Liches was not the best thing he could do at the moment.

"Oh it is safe, I assure you. There are so many people looking for it, I just couldn't let it sit by unprotected. Needless to say, no one will find it until I am finished with it." He gave that fucking smirk again. "Why? Are you going to join the never-ending line of 'I need it for a valorous reason that no one else's cause can top? Please. I know you, old man. You have the heart of a dead god and a stubborness that would make even me look philantropic. Get to your whining and begging, I am sure I could find some paint to watch dry to give me more of an interest."

"What do you want with it?" He would try this angle against the Lich. It would be the easiest. Liches were all the same, all dying, pardon the pun, for the key to give them true immortality and power.

"Your as old as I am, I am sure you can guess why." He shrugged, his clothes gave a hint of dust that made the old man's nose itch. "I've studied the mysteries and understand their secrets. Much of the lore of Atlantis and the wildlands without is known to me. I have perused the Inner Reaches and I have combatted the Abyss. I've tangled with Seers of the Throne, bedded Timori and assassinated Banishers. I've played errand-boy for the Elemental Masters, traded philosophical talk with Sphinxes and played knowing sage to Lagophages. I know many things, and done many things, and seen many things in this lifetime. But! There was one thing I never got, not until now. And that was what the Oracles themselves are doing. What are the fat bastards sitting atop their watchtowers doing while the Fallen World scorches itself and burns itself up? Nothing."

That interested him, mainly because it was not the answer he expected. "Nothing? The Oracles fight~"

"Yes yes yes, the Exarchs in some realm we will never see. I recall your Thearchian rhetoric. Divine benefactors of a benevolent cause seeking justice and ascension for all and whatever else makes them look to be self-righteous heroes." He interrupted with a snort and a roll of his eyes. "The Oracles do nothing because they have no reason to do anything. We ourselves are the perfect example. Out of nowhere we get dragged along an acid trip and we for god knows what reason write our name on a tower that looks like satan sits at the top of it and voila. We can fling spells and cast rituals and play god with every mortal that lives within 10 miles of us. Why?"

"Because we are the inheretors of Atlantis, and the ways of magic that permeated the realm. Somewhere in our history we are connected to those who have come from Atlantis. Some poor souls outside, Apostates with their own knack for magic. The supernal has a closer tie to us, thus we are it's natural-born inheritors."

"The lies the Ladder tell you." The lich chuckled, pouring himself a glass of wine into a tin cup. He didnt care where it came from, he knew he had powerful capacities with matter and more than likely he had the bottle the entire time. "No, the Oracles needs soldiers, old man. To fight their proxy wars and their little power gambits against the Exarchs, Timori, Banishers and every other supernatural hustler for the realms. The moment we write our name on their precious castle they have us connected until the day we die, sworn pawns for the largest chess game this world will never know about. A shadow war that will last, even after both of us finally decide to croke and go six feet under because it is the only thing left to do in this world."

"And the Phlange proves it?" This got him curious.

"Of course." He shrugged with that stupid knowing smirk again. "The soul stones of the Oracles, why do you think their powers are so omnipotent? Because with a flick of their finger they can destroy cities? I am sure that is part of it, but this is sympathy old man. Thousands of Mages across the globe and the Phlange can touch each and every one of them without cracking a point of it's glass. We are tied to the Oracles like a helpless child whines to an adult and with it, they push us against their enemies, making us do their dirty work all the time for some glimmer of revelation or edge in the war. If the Hieromagus, your precious savior actually existed he would have shown up by now. No, the Hieromagus is just the mage who lands the killing blow and the Oracles give a candy treat for doing their dirty work."

"So you think we are pawns to a greater game. What of it? Everyone of supernatural ties has a connection to some forlorn power that they believe moves them." Every scholar of the unknown world knew this.

"Someone, who lived thousands of years before my father ever dreamed of deciding to fill a woman like a stuffed twinkie to spit me out, could decide he was the major player of this great game? That I, who this man did not even know, would be his pawn for his petty little shadow wars with the Exarchs? Please." He shook his head. "I will not have my existance dictated to me by someone who does not even understand these times. I am no slave to fate or destiny, I make my own path."

"So you would fight destiny and fate, and lose in the process. Nothing can deny destiny his due, destiny is as fickle and precise a mistress as Death herself, which you should know. Also, in doing so, throw the supernal world into chaos for your petty decision that you are better than everyone else." He could try to reason with the Lich, but unfortunately even to him, his logic was sound. The idea of the robbing of free will in exchange for magic, to a person who studied Fate most of all, is an abhorrent exchange.

"That is where the Phlange comes in. What better to destroy destiny than to use the power of destiny itself? Beholden to the greatest Archmage the Acanthus has ever seen, fueling his power and destroying the very thing that binds me to this wasted pit of a world? It is time for me to go Upstairs, and pay my chessmaster a visit. That is what I will do with it."

"And do what?" He knew where this was going. He was a Lich, his answer was simple.

"The only way to be free, in a society that damns everyone save five people? Is to become one of the five people. Only then will I truly be free."

"You speak like Dolorossa, hubris glazed with righteousness." The old man tried to prod a wound he knew festered, but the chuckle that came from the Lich made it clear that wound never existed.

"Dolorossa was just a stepping stone. He never did understand the more subtle meanings of our existance. I will be free, unshackled by the Oracles to peer into the true mystery of this universe. To understand the greatest of mysteries, and transcend this dirt-trodden prison to become something far more my...stature." He stood a dignified pose. "Now is that all old man? I have a ritual to prepare, an Abyss to penetrate, and an Oracle to eat. I'm utterly swamped, so if there is nothing else..."

"You won't succeed. The second you begin your plans all Archmages in the region will be against you." A final defense, the one of obvious defense.

"Let them. When I die they will bicker and throw their city-destructing magic across Chicago to claim the legendary Celestial Phlange, so they can own the world or make all mages subservient to them or some other self-fulfilling goal. Face it, old man. I wont be the only one who seeks the Phlange for a grand purpose. Until it's destroyed, or dealt with, the region will have an endless supply of Archmages seeking it out to fulfill their odd head-in-the-clouds desires until they destroy themselves doing it. Either way, the board loses it's knights and bishops and the Exarchs win...or is that the Exarch's move itself? No one can ever tell when ageless scions play chess. Farewell, old man." The now-empy wine glass vanished into the aether. "It is always nice to see your smug, defeated face." He turned and went through the door as he did before.

The old man grumbled and sat alone in the tower, contemplating his words. He hated the Lich, mainly because he was right. Usually. At least about his face.

He was never a scholastic individual. He never even graduated high school. However, when he got out of his car in front of the leading Mysterium laboratory in the region he already felt dumb. And this wasn't even the hard part. The hard part will be checking in with Deacon Kirin Bale. He didn't like her, she had this sinful wickedness to her that just made you feel naughty just by talking to her. But, that is what happens when you dabble with Pandemonium as intimately as she does.

A lady opened the door to the laboratory, a run-down factory near Lake Erie that the Mysterium bought and pulled off the books. "Hey, I'm Nod. I contacted the Hierophant about meeting Curator Jaylyn here?"

"Hello, Nod." She smiled, letting him inside. Oddly enough, there were no dancing candles or strange Atlantean artifacts on tables being dissected. Unfortunately, the Mysterium thought ahead and decided to put a lobby in here for possible non-Mysterium like Nod. It made him sigh.

"Hierophant Ouroboros told me you were coming. Do you have the requisition form?" She asked. Nod liked her. She had that homely, kind librarian look. And she wasn't bad on the eyes either.

"Oh! Yeah, right here." He patted his hoodie pockets, pulling out a paper that had atlantean glyphs as watermarks over a requisition form. He offered it to her, and when she read it she gave an odd look.

"Five grams of Nethium?" She seemed perplexed. "What could you need Nethium for?"

Nod just smiled. He didn't want to say, but he was a Lictor. The fact of his title alone seemed to make her edge back a bit. She seemed sheepish at first, but folded the form and put it in a folder in the nearby desk. "I surely hope whatever you are doing, it is that necessary."

"I hope so too, but that is what is required." He shrugged. "I don't try to understand the ones involved. In a way, I don't think I can, even if I tried." He twitched his lips. She gave him a sympathetic look, asked him to be seated and then went through a metal door, more than likely into the laboratory.

It was about fifteen when she returned, with a box made of a cool metal that seemed to leech the heat right out of his hands. "This box is a proven container for Nethium." She instructed. "Now, Nethium decays any living matter within a matter of seconds upon physical contact, so do not touch it even with gloves. You will have to use either tongs or magical means if you wish to remove it from the case.

"K." Nod opened the box. It looked like a rock of coal, save that if one looked closely there was some ephemeral mist clinging to it like a mist. Something about it unnerved him, and he closed the box. "What happens if it is touched?"

"Nethium is a metaphysical substance, not even magic can repair the damage caused by Nethicosis.: A rudimentary mystical decay of an individuals permanent life pattern." She shuddered.

Nod had to as well. "K. Anything else I need to know?" He didn't like this one bit. Apparently the Nethium didn't either, the box got a bit cold.

"No. I would suggest for safety sake, unless you have immediate need of it, do not remove it from it's container. Otherwise, just return it with the container when your finished. Ouroboros authorized you to have it for two weeks."

Nod gave a few nods of 'i know.' "It's not a consumptive task, merely a judicial one. I do not think any of it will be lost. I'm not the science type. I looked into Magnesium when I light it on fire in chemistry class? I thought it was cool, my eyes didn't though."

She laughed. It took the pressure off of the stuff that he was holding agaisnt his appendix. His poor appendix. "Okay, well, be sure to bring it back when your finished. If it's not returned, the Mysterium will have to take reactive measures against the Silver Ladder for compensation of loss of materials."

"No problem." Nod said, and with a simple wave he was off with a rock that sucked the living essence of a person away.