Harm had spent his time in the retreat recharging himself mentally and emotionally. His days had been filled with memories of his family and friends, good times long gone, prayer, meditation and the most rigorous physical training he could muster.

Today he stood in shorts and sneakers with a gym towel, just having returned from a run up the mountain. Harm cleared his throat during a break in the conversaton," I have been in contact with my Order- Listen before you condemn me. We were originally formed to deal with threats such as the Fallen and many in the council seem to have forgotten that. We are here to protect life and the actions of the Council have not sat well with the Church. To maintain the alliance of the council they have officially stated that the Blood has gone rogue and cut all ties to us. However this was done with the blessing of the Pope and the agreement of all the Brothers, we are knights of the Church and our vows are held in the Hands of God. Each of us will lay down thier life and then some to keep you safe. I can promise that when the need is there every Blood will ride for the Gates and no power will stop us."

Harm smiled," Now who wants to join me for some sparring?"

"Yeah Harm... I'm kind of Jewish, so this is a bit awkward... Not to mention off the topic. Duane looked down at the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"Anyway back to the matter at hand.", Duane stared hard at Task, trying to understand what he was thinking.

"I know that attacking the most powerful creature on the planet alone may look like a good idea, but it's actually really horrible and painful. Wouldn't it be much better to go to the most highly protected military site in the area? You know the one with the machine gun turrets and a few thousand armed men. Unless our current goal is a painful and high-powered death, of course, in which case we can use your plan."

“Actually”, Duncan said, “there is a reason why I brought up the Prophesy first.”

Duncan nodded to Jeeves, who left the room. “I have bad news, good news, and then…’interesting’ news, on our primary purpose here, which was to find a way to fight the Fallen. I’ll get the bad news out of the way first: Unfortunately, there was no ‘angel-killing’ spell…well, at least not one that anyone short of a demon could cast. However, this is not to say that we didn’t discover weaknesses. As you recall, the Fallen had no problem deflecting or reflecting our magic attacks. However, according to our research, he should only be able to reflect terrestrial-based magic.

“Magic as we humans know it,” Duncan said, “is terrestrial. Mages manipulate natural elements or properties to create the desired effects. The Fallen, however, uses a different kind of magic, one that is beyond what is generally possible in nature. As such, to fight him, we’re going to have to something along the same lines.”

As if on cue, Jeeves returned, hauling a large, old looking chest. Duncan produced a key, and began to unlock the various locks on it. “One of my ancestors,” he said, “was a cultist, who turned priest, but eventually went back to the dark side. He was apparently quite mad towards the end. He feared divine retribution for his crimes…mostly in the form of the Angel of Death. He apparently thought if he prepared enough, he could fend off Death and live forever. Ironically, he died before his preparations were complete…lucky for us, however, some of them were.”

Duncan opened the chest, and started to put items on the table. “I know none of these look very impressive considering the firepower we have access to…old repeating rifles and revolvers, made in the days of the old west, and a few dozen rusty knives. However,” Duncan said, picking up one of knives, “this might just help us win.”

Duncan spoke a short incantation…but not in any normal language. It was a grating, grunting series of words that made your hair stand on end just listening to it. The blade became shrouded in an unnatural black and violet flame. The air took on a hint of brimstone and sulfur.

“Hellfire,” Duncan said, “not just in name…the real deal. I hate to use up one, since we don’t have the skill to make more, but I felt you deserve to know exactly what it is I am proposing to use.” Duncan gently tossed the burning blade into the fireplace, which flared for a second before it settled. “The guns are loaded with the magic bullet equivalent of what you saw with the knife…but with no reloads. Once the gun goes dry, that is it. However, what this does provide us is a way to hurt the Fallen…all the research shows that he cannot repel demonic magic, as it is a corruption of divine magic to being with. However, with the limited number of weapons we have here, I still do not believe we have enough to kill it outright.”

Duncan waited a second to let the information settle in. “So, we can hurt it, but not kill it. What does this leave us with?” Duncan’s face broke into a wry smile. “It leaves us with the most insane plan I’ve ever heard of, let alone come up with.”
Duncan grabbed a book that was next to him, and opened it. “Early our time here, I came across this…the Seal of Three Crests. It is a seal that could hold even the Fallen at bay…however, it requires very specific circumstances to cast it. It has to be cast in a place that is high in demonic energy, divine energy, and natural energy. Frankly, the only place it could be cast is at the Gates of Hell…the Gates provide the demonic energy, the relics used to contain the Gates provide the divine energy, and being in the Earth itself provides the natural energy. However, at the time, getting the Fallen to go the Gates was paramount to suicide. After all, it wanted the Gates opened, right? So why take him where he wants to go?”

Duncan’s smile took on a somewhat crazed manner. “Then I figured out what I top you before…that Laurella could open the Gates. That is the key. With the discovery of these weapons, it gives us our only real chance. Angels, you see, can travel between the lower and higher planes with their wings. Usually, when an angel is cast down into Hell, its wings are stripped from it to prevent its escape. However, for whatever reason, the Fallen has its wings intact.”

The smile faded from Duncan’s face. “I purpose we finish the job. We use the Seal of Three Crests to trap the Fallen, use the Hellfire weapons to destroy his wings…then Laurella opens the Gates, and we cast that thing into Hell.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned the room, and his half-maniac smile returned. “Questions? Comments? Want my measurements for a nice white coat with extra long sleeves?”

((OOC: By-the-by, for the curious, the "old guns" will be pump-action Winchester rifles and Colt Peacemakers...enough quantities enough so that everyone who can't use magic has enough for about 12-20 shots. People who can use magic will get about the same number of sigil knives.))

Task smiled. "I'll take the knives, siiirrr." Task said with a sultry tone.

"I'm really starting to get unnerved with you everytime you say something like that." Troy told his comrade.

"Me too man. Me too. Say, are you doing- never mind." Task hoped this whole thing was over soon, before he lost both his virginity or his soul. At the very least, his self-esteem.

A month of Mondays OR My Sweet Shadow
 

In a slightly darkened corner of the commons, a figure sat, stirring briefly when the new weapons were introduced. The clothes covered his body nearly completely, save for his hands which were covered with superficial wounds. The shadow of his hood cloaked his face. These clothes were clean, thanks to the care given to them by Jeeves. Due this clothing, Ricky did not appear different.

***

November Seventh, Morning

Ricky sat in the dusty library. Four days and nothing had shown up. Granted it was early in his research, and the library was not that small, Ricky wanted something.

The past few days he didn't sleep, he couldn't. It wasn't the past battles that bothered him, he had tried his best to forget them. Instead he concentrated on the future. The next battle. We may have to move very soon. I have no time to rest. This is no vacation.

When Duncan kicked him out of the Library at night, Ricky first sought out Zack for advice. His sigil experience was very limited, although those he knew were very easy for him to use. He had practiced those to the point of being able to write them in total darkness, in the middle of battle. It wasn't because he wanted to, his training with Shori had forced it upon him. So he searched for Zack when the Library closed, even if he would not be able to write them as easily, he would at least have them at his disposal.

After that, when most would sleep, Ricky left the building for his clearing. He practiced the same katas, varying his combat techniques for different possible situations. When his brain became too tired for that, he would spend hours 'cutting' the air. At this point, it was simply muscle memory taking over. The motion was programed into him since years ago, when his training started.

But this morning he willed himself to stay awake. He was tired, getting few hours of sleep with his spartan training regimen. Occasionally he would snap up from a very short nap while reading. There must be something here for me. He would stumble on some sigils, some demon summoning information, various other notes regarding the subject. He poured through dusty tome after dusty tome. I must make use of the little time I have here.

He fought a losing battle against exhaustion and frustration. He was not one to give up.

***

November Twelfth, Midnight

The lone figure swung the sword again. Darkness, Light, Heat, Cold, none mattered. Only the blade existed.

Well, that is all he would acknowledge. His muscles screamed at him. His back protested constantly. His joints were sore. The cold chilled his hands and face, the rest was covered by his clothing. Sweat dripped from his face, blood from his hands. His jacket was soaked. But still he cut.

The excessive working out amplified his definition. The new diet, thanks to his new providers, was allowing for much better results then he experienced on his own. Without having to deal with preparing that, it gave him another hour. An hour he spent running, or reading, or studying. And inside, he loved every second of it.

This swing flung him off balance. The sword flew to the edge of the clearing. His hood slipped back, revealing a very tired face, with matted hair and bloodshot eyes. He landed on his back looking up at the sky. The gray clouds obscured all. He laid there winded for several minutes. A cold wind bit at his face as he tried to catch his breath.

...I should go in for a few minutes. A quick snack should get me back up.

He stumbled back to the house and wandered into the room they had set up for him. The bed looked pristine, it had not been slept in yet. The room was spotless, partly due to Jeeves' diligence, partly because Ricky entered it only once before. He collapsed on the bed and glanced over at the alarm clock. 0452. Eight minutes, then I'll get some breakfast. Ricky closed his eyes.

***

November Seventeenth, Late night

Ricky thought he found something. He had spent most of the afternoon following a lead he read in one of the books. It was the first glimmer of hope he had seen in two weeks. He went back through several volumes, looking for information on the type of magic that was required. But after reading more into it, he found that magic was very limited in its users. It required either a celestial/demonic magic user, or human sacrifice. He was briefly tempted. Briefly. He shook his head and began returning the books when Duncan kicked him out again.

That night he brought some large diameter rope with him. He wrapped a large old tree with it, and set about punching his makeshift target. He was fuming. He repeatedly struck it, growing slightly less frustrated with each strike. What am I supposed to do?! Every tool needs life, or some other high powered magic. Is this supposed to be impossible?

His movements became faster. He struck quickly and violently at the target. His breathing quickened, He assaulted it for nearly an hour before he sat down. He slowed his breathing, and closed his eyes. I need to calm myself. He got on the balls of his feet, and knelt down. He began to concentrate, to meditate, to relax a little. He concentrated on a one, the Create Darkness sigil. It was a simple one, symmetrical, with bold lines and sharp shapes. It was one he didn't use anymore, after developing his skill in using the Amulet, he found he didn't need a sigil to manipulate darkness, light, or sound. But he remembered it well, it was the first he memorized, and had won him many sparring matches against Shori.

As he brought himself out, he thought about what he could do. He had picked up some sigils, but they were more complicated then the ones he was used to, and were likely not going to work against The Fallen. Steel was not very effective against the creature, at least, from what he heard.

Perhaps I need to fight him to find out.

He looked over to the edge of the clearing. It stood there, with it's massive blade, it's impressive wing span. It was huge. The sword was fearsome. The energy that came from it was fearsome. Ricky froze for a second, then did a double take. It was gone.

He rubbed his eyes. Sleep deprivation is a scary thing. But what the heck is fear going to get me in battle?

He stood, drew his sword, and began another kata, a slightly more advanced one then usual.

It must be instinct.

***

November Twenty-second, Dawn

Ricky lied in the middle of the clearing. It was bitterly cold this morning, and he would have been shivering uncontrollably if it weren't for the activity he had just finished. He looked at the cloudless sky. It's going to get worse today. He liked the feeling of the sun on days like this, but what little warmth it offered would not compensate for the heat lost to the empty sky. He sat in the frost covered field and took a bite of jerky. He had not worked any lighter during the past night, but his body had become used to it, and stronger because of it. He felt better now.

His studies had yielded no results for himself, but he had managed to provide some assistance to Duncan. It brought him some consolation, he had all but given up hope on the library. He was seeing better results from the advice he had gotten from Zack, but those sigils would not help him much against the Fallen. He knew this from the beginning, but the knowledge Zack had would be helpful for nearly any other foe, and it would help him understand any other sigils he may discover.

He finished up the bit of meat, and stood up. He surveyed what had been his home for the last few weeks. It was more his home then the house had been. It was far from a fortress of solitude, some of the others showed up occasionally for various reasons. He welcomed these brief distractions, he liked having others to bounce ideas off.

He looked at the frost covered ground, and saw some interesting patterns. He could almost pick out which steps belonged to which kata. They were very regular, almost text book at this point. He tilted his head to the side, and his eyes flew open wide.

...wait a minute...!

***

November Twenty-Seventh, Pre-Dawn

Ricky was standing in the center of the clearing, his sword drawn. His eyes were covered completely by his blindfold, but he saw Shori standing before him, his sword also drawn. The blades shined brightly in the moonlight.

"You know, I wondered why you wanted me to learn these damn things. There was so much research showing they are usless for real combat training."

Ricky's sword rose above his head. He smirked under his hood.

"...I guess they didn't understand what the patterns could do..."

The vision faded from his eyes, Shori vanishing from the field. Ricky became a blur of light and shadow. Blades flew from his form, his sword flying around the field, knives shooting to specific spots in the area. His kata was fluid, quick. Each strike hard, violent. He danced about the field, fighting off imaginary opponants, striking them down quickly, following the pattern exactly. Seconds after it began, he was back where he started, returning the blade to the sheath. He exhaled.

"Kai!"

***

December First

He was well rested this morning. He was told the night before about today's meeting, so he took a night off to sleep. He sat up in the chair as the weapons were introduced, looking intently when Duncan demonstrated the activate blade. Ricky wanted those, but he also wanted to know about them.

He coughed a little, his lungs still sore from the morning run.

"Sir, a few questions about these. First, are they consumed upon use or will they function as melee weapons? Also, you say we cannot create more, is it possible to transfer this power into a different bladed weapon?"

Then he turned Harm, smiling under the darkness of the hood.

"...I may take you up on that. I imagine it will be more fun that practicing alone."

((OOC: Short story: Rick practiced a crap load during the month. He studied in the Library when Duncan would let him. He looked for some advice from Zack. He also thinks he has figured out a new technique for combat.))

"They're just like any other sigil, Rick," Duncan answered, "Once the sigil is activated, the spell will start to consume the object the sigil is etched on. Unless you like your hand covered in hellfire, I wouldn't suggest using these as melee...but I wouldn't really suggest bringing a knife to a sword fight with a fallen angel, so take that as you will. And no, we wouldn't be able to transfer the sigil...what you're looking at is what we got, and beggars can't be choosers."

"And before you guys go out, we do have one little manner to work out," Duncan said, shooting a look at Harm and Rick, "Mainly, the small fact that to execute the plan, we need to have access to the Gates of Hell...which is currently in the belly of a rather heavily defended fortress held by a bunch of people who ordered our deaths a little more than a month ago."

"I may be able to help with that," Martin said. "Like Harm here, I've been in contact with people on the inside...namely, Tessa Scott. After the incident on the highway, she's been relieved of her post and is restricted from leaving the Citadel, but she just left me a message today. It seems all is not unified within the ranks. A fair number of people fell that that organizations that the Council reside over should be focused more on hunting the Fallen than us, and others believe that the organizations should be protecting the Chosen from the Fallen, not planning to kill her to protect ourselves from it. Either way, while on paper the Council has full support, in truth, they appear to be only in full control of only half of the forces at their disposal, and most of those are spread around trying to track us down. While technically she doesn’t have any power, she has some powerful people on her side…including, get this…the Death Book commander. It turns out 3 of the Death Books survived the fight with the Fallen, and their commander, while not for the same reasons as us, has no desire to see Laurella dead at the moment. If we want access to the Gates, I can contact Tessa, see what we can come up with.”

Duncan nodded, not seeming very surprised. “Alright. Anyone else have any bright ideas?”

"Any bright ideas wouldn't be any brighter than what Martin and Harm have suggested combined, and with that said-" Laurella paused, standing up and unsheathing her rapier. "I suggest we strike while the iron is hot. I'd like to leave today if not sooner. To be honest, I can't stand living here anymore. Call me a pampered bitch, but I miss the mansion and all the friends we left behind. The sooner I close those gates, the sooner I can begin my new future, not as the Mother of Hell, but as Laurella Kalvatine-Fergusen, a blossoming young lady who wants to turn my Mother of Hell story into the next Blockbuster, starring me in my real life role!"

With this, Laurella posed dramatically, showing her skill with the rapier and drawing one of her guns.

"Alright," Duncan said. He picked up a smaller book from the table, and threw it to Laurella. "Page 50, the first and second sections...you need to figure out both the incantations to open and close the gates. It won’t do us a lot of good to throw the sucker into Hell if we can’t close the door behind him. Any of the mages here can help you figure it out.”

“In the meanwhile,” Duncan said, “Martin and myself will be gone for a few days.” Martin looked surprised by this announcement. “I’m all for striking while the iron is hot, but if we dive into this head first, we’re dead. So me and Martin will drive out a ways, and contact the Council’s forces. That way, if things go south, they only get the two of us, and not everyone else. If we haven’t contacted you guys in five days, get the heck out of Dodge.”

The gathering broke up, and Duncan and Martin gathered a few days of supplies. As they left, Duncan called out, “Get those incantations down, Laurella…everything depends on that. Everyone else…well…get ready. The craps going to hit the fan inside of a week.”

((OOC: Okay, if you have anything to do, this is the last chance. I’ll kick off things sometime this weekend or early next week.))

"All right!" cheered Troy, climbing over the back of the chair. "We're gonna kick Fallen ass!" He and his sister exchanged a high-five, after which they promptly disappeared in opposite directions to prepare for the upcoming fight.

(SUMMARY: A post that basically confirms my continuing interest in the game! Yay for me!)

Laurella quickly checked page 50. "What the fuck? How do I even begin to memorize this shit? I don't think I can even pronounce this word, here. I need a sigil expert to tutor me, I know that much. Maybe two. But with at least five days, I should be able to pull a miracle out of my ass."