Dresden Files: Caught in the Undertow

Cowl
"'Of course' I am sorry, you're the professional, I'm just under pressure, or 'of course' I still say I know more then you, I demand you pay me attention to me." He asks as you pick up the phone, then leaves you to resume talking to the others.

Elaine

Her voice is tired, and weary, but still unmistakable.

"Dee? Is that you?"

Bartholomew Dee

"Elaine?"

He sighs in relief.

"Glad you're alright. Choking down the hospital food?"

Elaine

"Yeah. I'm probably out of commission for at least the next two days, though."

Her voice is faint, weak.

"Anyone else make it?"

Elaine
A man is shown in. He's just past his mature prime but aging gracefully, with a boaters tan, blond hair with only flecks of grey, and green eyes that seem far too hard for his appearance. He looks like the sort of man you expect to be comfortably middle-class, like a coach for a college team, or maybe a particularly health conscious lawyer, and gives you a warm smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.
He ignores the phone, and sits down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs they keep for visitors.
"Pleasure to meet you, Elaine. We haven't had the pleasure, though I do know you by reputation. My name is Gentleman Marcone, and this is a private hospital I purchased a few months ago. You were concussed, but not seriously, and while there may be a little disorientation there should be no long term effects. You were really quite lucky, you narrowly missed out on a fractured skull. May we talk for a moment?"

Lara Raith
"Very thoughtful of you." She replies, and squeezes her brothers shoulder. "Go. Mingle. Don't worry if they try to fight you, it's a rite of passage with these people. Just don't kill anyone who seems important.”
With that she takes Nicodemus’ arm and glides off alongside him. She lets him open the conversation this time, she doesn’t want to push too hard and be too forward. That would give the wrong impression.

Elaine

Automatically, she looks away from his eyes; she's had far too many soulgazes in her lifetime, and the knowledge that she will probably have more does little to aid her.

"Sure. I might have to...cut the conversation short a bit. I'm a bit drowsy, fractured skull or not."

Nicodemus

"What a fascinating specimen, your brother. He seems quite uncouth, to say the least."

Marcone
"That's fine, I just have a favor to ask." He reaches into his briefcase and removes a photo-copy of a photo-copy. "I have an issue I am trying to resolve, and I need an individual of... extra-normal persuasion. I was hoping you could tell me if the theory behind this is sound. The ritual itself, I regret to say, has been omitted for now, but that’s just as well." He hands her the sheet Ivy had Faxed him around four in the morning.
"I understand that you're in no state to be using magic, but the doctor informs me that concentrating on a task will help you get it all together, and I thought some magical theory would be a good place to start."

Lara
"What can I say? Family is family." She replies with the beginning of a sigh. “He’s something of a black sheep of course, but we do our best to ensure he knows he is welcome, and his talents are directed in avenues best suited to them.” She sips her own gin and tonic, swirls it.
“Speaking of which, Thomas ran into your daughter a few hours ago. She’s safe, if a little unhappy.”

Cowl
He maintains an aura of calm and serene peace, although when he opens his mouth this is shattered. "You know, there is a reason I loathe working with you people. I walk in and offer you help, despite having no real incentive to do so bar concern for my fellow man. You know a threat is very real; you've probably all lost friends and seen it in action, so you are afraid. And instead of acting responsibly and letting the only man who knows how to deal with it take charge, you all follow the lead of whoever is loudest and most obnoxious, regardless on whether or not he is in the slightest way fit to lead, and start demanding answers and belittling the only one willing to help you. Because you think you’re entitled. It never occurs to you that I might have good reasons for remaining quiet, reasons like the fact that the assassin had access and personal knowledge to every one of his targets means that you are obviously compromised, so revealing my plan will get us killed. Or any number of perfectly rational explanations for why I might not want to take you into my confidences, like the fact that keeping my True Name from you is but a basic means of a man protecting himself, much like keeping my face from you, and I have no more reason to trust you then you do me. Or my robe, which, I will have to tell you, is actually the mark of a Master Council Exorcist, that takes a dozen years study, and I am wearing it because it is the most powerfully enchanted clothing I own. But that would all require you engaging your brain, so is much too much to hope for. No, you seem convinced that the entire world revolves around your little conflict here.”

While the anger is feigned, the irritation is quite real. They really are beginning to get on his nerves. “If we had time, I might ask you questions. What's it like to walk through life without any sense of personal responsibility? To think nothing of expecting a man with knowledge accumulated over centuries of careful study to tell you all in two minutes despite lacking the context to even guess at it, or the wits to understand it, simply because you have decided you're qualified. Perhaps you should open up a medical practice next, since you obviously just need to decide you are a doctor for it to become reality. What’s it like to have a cadre of the most knowledgeable, powerful men in the world, on hand and readily available to attend to your every whim and worry no matter its insignificance. Men who should really be concerned with little things such as ensuring the balance of the many forces that work to undo the world of man, and keeping civilization afloat, but naturally are far less significant then your own problems.”

He pauses. "Now you can give me more trouble, at which point I shall depart on my own, or you can let me take you to a Council Safe house in Ukraine where you can rest, recover, and survive. I am opening the portal now. Either come or don't, no skin off my nose either way."

Nicodemus

"Very good. She's been such a disappointment over the years, but as you said. Family is family."

Elaine

If someone had walked up to the Wright Brothers, and handed them a copy of the blueprints for the Blackbird airplane, the resulting reaction would be similar to Elaine's.

"What is this? I mean...this is way beyond anything I've ever seen. The power...the power needed is well within my limits, but the control? The fine precision required to pull anything of this magnitude alone?"

She scrabbles for a pencil, scratches out a few rough calculations.

"...you'd probably need a full circle of thirteen, each as good at controlling and manipulating fine magic as myself to have a chance at working this. I mean...this is really, really advanced. Where did you even find something like this?"

Bartholomew Dee

"We've got some survivors: most are at the church, a few are at other locations, and the Alphas are still good."

He falls silent for a moment. "They got Bock. And Richie. Maybe Lydia. And some of the others told me that Kincaid and the brute squad hit the Ordo Lebes hard. No survivors."

He inhales, blinking his eyes several times before composing himself once more. "Right now we're in St. Mary of the Angels. A man in a Black Cloak and Hood Getup is claiming to be from the White Council and offering Sanctuary in the Ukraine. Please tell me that my instinctive paranoia is misplaced."

Elaine

"Unless they're wearing a grey cloak, you're probably right. Of course, the problem is that none of you have any sort of ability to stop him if he stops playing nice."

Ouch. The brutal truth hurts. But Elaine's voice is still fuzzy, so her lack of tact is understandable, at least.

Marcone
He shrugs. "It came to me in a dream." he replies in answer to her question. A full circle of thirteen. He could get his hands on maybe as many as six, if he called on all the good-conduct and favors he had at once. Seven, maybe, if you counted Elaine herself. Not an option.
"But the numbers work, if in an unattainable way. Well then, that won't do at all. Tell me, if you were to use sufficiently powered focci, the very best, of course, would it be possible to cut corners?"

Lara Raith
“Of course.” She replies, glad that he understands. It was always a shame to cause the deaths of kin. But they were replaceable, and she had the means to make more.

Sartorius

As his sister walks off with what he can sense is another strong person he shivers again. Two strong fighters in the first 10 minutes of this party, and as long as he doesn't kill he's good? Oh how he wished he could kiss his sister right now. Taking her advice and dismissal he walks around the party mingling with the other party goers. What really peaks his interest is how they all seem to cower when that man, Vlad he thinks his name was, went by. He hated men like that, men that seemed to think that bullying the weak was the way to exhibit your strength when all it really meant was that your power was fading and that you had to fight the weak to still appear strong. It a boxer beats a hobo he is seen as a weakling who needs his ego boosted like some of his boys. However when a street boxer beats a champion his strength is acknowledged and goes unchallenged. He views Vlad as a man who while powerful his power is waning. That means that he can be taken down, but not now not tonight. Instead he subtlety lets his aura seep out as he consumes more alcohol. Sartorius could definitely handle his liquor, but these people didn't know that. He wanted to see who his aura effected, if they would fight, and would they have the power to back up the need to fight and the spirit of battle that he craved. His sister was crafty, and he was strong. She would handle the politics of the place. He would be thier show of force to show that they were not weak.

Cowl
By bad luck more then design, there is a sudden wall of static that cuts off Elaine's reply. It continues, threatening to damage Dee's eardrums, and then gives way to a sad, beeping as the call is terminated and the line goes dead.

Cowl, on the other hand, is opening a portal to the Nevernever. He's just done when you hear the sound of gunfire outside, the rattle of automatics. Cowl only cocks his head and keeps concentrating.

Lara
"Ah, how convenient. A distraction. Well, if you aren't doing anything else tonight, I do have several pieces of art I was hoping you could help me appraise. I even aquired a Da Vinci."

Sartorius
Vlad's men prove easy to attract the attention of. You're alone, and a dozen are circling like sharks that sense blood, baring teeth and flexing menacingly. One of them shouts something in a deep guttural language, and they laugh, then a bigger one then the rest pushes forward. Unlike the othere, their are no scars on his face.

Bart Dee, Vlad
As Cowl ordered, the kin are advancing, firing their guns without the smallest ammount of skill or idea, and doing plenty to shatter windows and destroy nice brickwork. However, those inside do not know this, and no doubt the feeling of what they thought of as their last safe haven under seige is terrifying.

Sanya
Father Forthill parks his truck right infront of you the second you step onto the sidewalk. "Sanya! I was just going to go pick up some provisions at the all-night 7-11. Need a lift?"

Elaine

"A foci would help, but only so far."

She points at several of the variables scribbled out.

"Most foci are really good at enhancing ones existing reserves of power-the ritual doesn't call for a large amount of power, however. Foci to help with control, on the other hand, would help slightly. The constants here, here, and here, aren't actually constant; they change in real time, and the participants would have to keep track of multiple constants at once. You wouldn't need as many people, true, but they'd need to be really good at concentrating. A ritual like this is in a very grey area if done right. If it gets messed up...that's the Fourth Law broken."

Nicodemus

"I would be delighted to. Though I should warn you, though, that many of the man's works sold today, and not in public collection are highly expert forgeries."

His smile indicates that he knows where the real ones are located.

Marcone
"I'm sure we're both honest people who'd never consider working against the establishment." He replies, doing his best to understand what she was demonstrating.

Lara Raith
She giggles, and it's a genuinely good-humored sound, rather then the sort of titter she usually does when wishing to appear amused. “Oh? Well that would be devastating to learn, wouldn’t it.” She replies, leading him towards her limousine, and hanging off his arm in a sort of formal way that only serves to draw more attention to her, by establishing herself as far more then eye-candy.

Cowl
"Well. That hastens things, doesn't it?" He says softly. "Very well. The portal is stable, and the area it leads is relatively safe, as long as you are not claustraphobic. When we get to the Safe-house, I will answer your questions. Or don't come, and be shot."

Sartorius

He sips his wine calmly with his eyes closed as he stands in the middle of the crowd cool as a cucumber. If anyone were to look at him in this state they would immediately think 'Scarface'. As if just know noticing the gathering crowd he opens his eyes and politely asks with a smile, "Hmm, can I help you gents? You seem a bit agitated."

Sanya

Sanya nods. "Quite possibly. We're running a spy operation on Deirdre to see if she'll lead us back to Tessa. If need be, could I borrow your car when the time is right?"

Bartholomew Dee

"Elaine? Elaine!"

Ziltch.

Bartholomew stares at his phone for a moment forlornly. Looks like it's pretty broken.

Well, this is why he buys cheap phones.

He enters back into the main room to see Cowl opening a Way to the Nevernever.

He holds up a hand. "Stop, guys! He is not White Council."

{And Yes, you don't have to tell me how outclassed he is.}

Cowl
You don't know what you expected. Perhaps him to yell 'curses, foiled again', then escape in a hot air balloon. Or maybe him to start throwing around harmful magic and try to kill everyone now that his ruse is discovered. Instead he stops, and turns sedately, looking at you. You start to feel very self-concious. "Will you shut up? This is even harder then it looks, and the last thing I need is to let an archdemon out and rampage through the lot of you because some street magician wants everyone to pay attention to him again."

Being an asshole has worked wonders, just as he intended. Why? He's essentially killed any credibility you had as a man with insight about the occult world. By pointing out how little you actually know, you’re not going to be convincing anyone you’re smarter then them any time soon, and therefore they'll assume all your arguments are equally wrong.

Cowl tilts his head and raises a hand, and the portal finally stabilizes. “I’m sure we’d all like to hear you assert yourself some more, Dee, but this isn't the time. You see, since if we do take the time to flatter your ego, those men with guns will break in and start killing people, I think we’ll put it on hold until we get to the safehouse. Then, when we actually have time, I'll answer those of your questions that are worth my time."

He says we, and uses it to encompass all the others. Of course he does. And people seem to be willing to fall behind him, mostly because he’s actually offering a way to help them out.

“Now form an orderly line, and step through the portal. Do not touch anything, do not make a sound if you can avoid it. Wait for me. Do you all understand? Oh, and it's only going to be stable for under a minute, so I suggest you hurry."

Thomas Raith
He tells the driver to let him and Dedire out at Château Raith. Because, ironically, it's the best place he has access to that will be able to keep her from going out of control, and it will help convince her he's on her side. It seemed like such a good idea at the time.

So he's very annoyed when, as they get out of the taxi, a stretch limo pulls up and his sister gets out, followed shortly by a lean shadow of a man he's heard enough about to feel a chill prickle down his spine. A tall man, with dark hair streaked with silver and sleepy, amused eyes, in a carelessly fashionable tan overcoat.

Nicodemus. He knew he shouldn't have listened to Sanya.

Bartholomew Dee

{Say, Cracklord: do you suppose you could narrate the Minor Talents responses to the Cowl/Dee Debate?}

Shit, Shit, Shit. Bartholomew thinks to himself as everyone begins to line up.

This guy shows up right when a bunch of mooks start opening fire on the Cathedral, and offers us passage through the Ways to an unknown destination where we'll be totally at his mercy. He's done nothing but insult us...well, mostly me...and not answer any of our questions. And somehow he wound up sounding like our Savior. Him, the one in Ringwraith getup! How can I stop this? How? How?

"Sir, I apologize." Bartholomew finds himself saying.

He doffs his hat at Cowl. "I've indeed allowed the heat of the moment to influence me negatively. You've freely offered us help, White Council or no, and I responded with foul and spiteful contempt. Our attackers and their gunfire has all addled our wits."

He picks up his duffel and begins walking to the door. "Which is why I'm going to take care of those attackers to give us some more time to think. If you hear a loud and feminine scream, then I've bought the farm, and you should go with our New Benefactor. "

He turns back and smirks.

"Still, it shouldn't be a problem. Please keep my friends safe until I get back, Sir."

With that, he walks out, the members of Chicago's Occult Community frozen in their tracks by this seemingly suicidal act. And, as Bartholomew was hoping, wanting to stick around to see if he lived or no. To see if his confidence was truly warranted.

Now all I have to do, Bartholomew Dee thinks to himself as he sneaks out the side entrance of the Church, sneaking his way towards where the group of Barbarians are opening fire on the Church, Is not only take down these yahoos, but do so fast enough that the Paraneters won't panic and leave with Cowl.

Now I know why gambling's a Sin.

{This was the best way I could think of to wreck Cowl's forward momentum. It could, maybe work: on the other hand, I'm also the person who came up with the 'Let Deirdre Escape and Have Thomas Be Double Agent' plan, and that's already gotten off to some freaky complications.

If any of what I've said above is too ill-thought out or Meta, please tell me: I'll be glad to retcon it.

Or alternatively: don't narrate what happens to the Minor Talents and Cowl until Bartholomew gets back from his semi-suicide mission: more surprising that way.}

Cowl
You reveal your plan. For the first time so far, he is taken aback. Then he shrugs. "I have no particular liking for you, as I'm sure you've guessed. But that does not mean I want to see yourself die in a spectacularly gruesome and pointless fashion for no tangible benefit. Nonetheless, I have no combat magic to speak of, as I am not a Warden, and think that attempting to save the world by punching people is an exercise in futility, so I cannot actually help you if you do go out there, and I cannot stop you from doing so. Well done, you've proven you don't need my permission to kill yourself."

He looks at his watch. It's an old fashioned gold-timepiece with actual clockwork. "Half a minute left. The front door is over there."

Dee
The banging on the door comes up a notch. It's going to give way soon.

Mortimer Liniquist steps forward, swallowing as he does. "Look, I know what it can be like not to trust people, but the fact is, Dee's being an idiot. Maybe you got some plan, right, and you don't seem the type to help-out for charity. But if you wanted to hurt us, you wouldn't have to lift a finger, because four guys with guns are more then we can deal with. And so even if we're headed for somewhere bad, still better then death. So I'll trust you." With that he steps through the portal.
Next up is Clarence, a low level practitioner, a, very environmentally conscious, something of a hippy decades late, and with some actual talent for empathetic spells. "I'd know if you were lying. And you haven't. So that's good enough for me." She follows Mort. The rest follow through pretty quick after that, no even saying anything for the most part. A few stay behind, but only for the sake of trying to talk Dee into going as well. Mostly because they don't buy Dee's insistence that he can somehow stop them.
"Come on, man." Tyrone looks like the media's idea of a scary black guy, but he's nothing like that, he's comfortably middle-class and learned how to play the guitar from you. "This ain't a movie."
"You're not making sense." Darla agrees. "Come on. You'll die."

The banging increases as the door continues to splinter, and finally shatters. The church is an excellent defense, it saps on them, draining their powers at a steady rate and prevents them using their salient powers, not that any of them had much use for their powers. But they're big, strong, and dangerous even brought down to not much more then average folks. And they still have guns.
They are almost completely through when the door gives way, and a big, blond and bearded man with scars across his cheeks and a shotgun sawn down enough to hit even if pointed in the wrong direction steps through, eyes glowing red. He steps into the church, pauses to spit, then points it up at the massive image of Jesus and pulls the trigger, sending the sculpture crashing down onto the alter.
Then he turns to look at the lot of you.

Cowl
The man in black Robes steps in front of Dee. He holds up his hand, fingers splayed, palm thrust forward, intoning a series of rolling syllables in some ancient, near-forgotten language, and all the creatures trying to force their way simply dissolved into a rank, organic sludge. Their guns clatter on the floor, and their clothes seem vaguely obscene, sticking fabric bulging with fluid and mixed in the pile.

He turns sharply and glares at you behind his hood. The effect is chilling. "I just killed five people. They didn't get a choice, they're just puppets for him to play with, they can't disobey him. You did. If you'd just done what I told you to, I wouldn't have had to get even more blood on my hands. Happy?"

Before you can answer, he walks over to the portal, and begins to strain as he takes control of it again. Tyrone and Darla step through, giving you looks as if to say sorry. Then you're all alone, your feet are sticky, and the man in black is still concentrating.