Needed to de-stress, and this seemed like such a wonderful bad pun to pull ...
---
A Nest for Ravens.
---
"... obviously alright, since the Heliopaths haven't come around to pick him up," was the first thing he heard when he regained consciousness.
His eyes took a while to adjust to the light, finally pinning its level at 'dim' after the initial stinging pain of adjustment.
"Aw hell, not _again_," he blurted out even as his torso went from horizontal to vertical ... then back again as he was reminded just why one oughtn't do that sort of thing too fast after waking from a state of unconsciousness.
Still, he'd managed to take in the room with the few glances he'd been afforded before becoming light headed.
An ovoid chamber of around ten meters across, stone walls and floor - though he'd not needed to ascertain the latter since his back told him enough about that particular bit of the decor - plain and gray. No obvious door. The ceiling ... his eyes strayed across and up the wall ...
... and up ...
... and up ...
... well, damn.
And then there were the people, he remarked to himself as he sat up - much more carefully this time around.
"Took your damn time, didn't you?" came from a redhead to his left, leaning against the wall there and giving out equal measures of glare-oh-vision towards himself and the others around the chamber.
Redhead ... well, that was one way to describe her, if only because the other distinctive thing about the woman jumped out at him so much he wonedered whether he wasn't still suffering from the aftereffects of ... whatever had happened to him to bring him here.
You'd excuse him for not seeing a great many people with blue skin before. Arguably, he could say that he'd seen weirder before. There was the time with the Nuwisha and the 'ceremonial tobacco' ... eheh. Not quite this sort of weird, though.
And she wore ... tweed? Alright, no, he hadn't seen anything quite this odd lately.
"What're you making eyes at?" she turned up the glare. He raised his hands in protest.
"Peace, Lady Darkholme," said what he could tell was the only other man in the room.
Another oddity. Wore only a pair of boots and leather breeches, though not any sort of leather he'd seen before, and when he focused he could tell that there was a scent of Taint floating about the man. Though that was it, _about_. Much like the sort of signature he remembered reading from warriors who'd fought the Wyrmspawn for most of their life.
Then add to that the fact that the guy had pointed ears ...
'Oh, please don't let this be some sort of Fey prank. I really hate those.'
"Relax, darling," the woman who spoke now stood almost completely opposite this 'Darkholme' character. Short bleached blond hair, tight fitting leathers, a glint in her eyes that reminded him oddly of a magpie spirit he'd passed by in the Umbra a few years ago. "You'll never get out of here if you go and have a stroke, now will you?"
"Err ... where exactly is 'here', if I may be so bold as to ask?" he finally found his tongue.
"Well, it could be the feeding grounds for the Minister's Heliopath army, or the fortress the goblins are trying to deny they have on the dark side of the moon, or maybe ..." a blond girl who looked to be in her mid to late teens rambled, nodding to herself as she went on.
"You wouldn't know somebody by the name of Malkav or any of his Childer, would you?" he questioned. The last person he'd seen going off on that sort of tangent had been one of his Malkavian contacts.
"No, but they sound like terribly interesting people, I'm certain," the girl inclined her head and ...
... there was an odd sort of look to those eyes. An almost frightening sort of lucidity entirely at odds with her demanor.
"Yes, she's like that all the time," the last person in the room said, not looking up from where she sat, cloak wrapped around her and head bowed in what he assumed was meditation.
Now _there_ he could feel ... a lot of information from. The shadow of a Taint, the resonance of power that he didn't even need a ritual to pick up.
"... any idea what the hell is going on?" he asked, not directing it to anybody in particular. 'One could hope ...'
"Bah!" the blue skinned woman threw up her hands in frustration. "If we knew that, we wouldn't still be _in_ whatever this damnable place is!"
"Might I suggest decaf?"
"De-what?" she glanced in momentary confusion. The leather clad blonde at the other side of the room chuckled.
"So," the bleached blond woman started conversationally. "When are you from?"
'_When_ am I from?'
She noticed the puzzled expression, and inclined her head towards the still fuming Darkholme. "Note the clothes on miss high-strung? Last she checked it was the 1800s."
"Well, that's a bit of a long story," he hemmed.
"Aren't they _all_, darling?"
He sighed in long-suffering surrender. "2004, 2033, and 1995 ... or so I remember. But, err, different ones. If that make sense?"
"Alternate realities?" the cloak-wearing woman/girl's head snapped up.
'Creepy stare,' he stopped himself from wincing. "Well, my own was going bye-bye, so I figured I'd jump ship before it managed to go all the way, and somehow ended up more or less three decades in another future. Then I died. Or close enough for government work. Then I ... well, I think I got into something that was just a tad too much to handle with just excessive amounts of firepower, and got buried under a lot of ice before I woke up here. Name's Liam, by the way. Liam Crowley, but I go by Nevermore as much as I do by that. Corax shaman."
Suddenly, they were all looking at him.
"Corvus, the Sidhe," the Fey looking man stated.
"Raven Darkholme," Ms. Blue didn't _quite_ snip out.
"Raven," the cloaked one offered.
"Amanda Darrieux ... though some did call me The Raven as well, on occasion," the bottle blond nodded.
"Luna Lovegood," the one with the terribly sane eyes said, then added: "Ravenclaw House."
"I'm beginning to see a pattern here," Liam snarked darkly, a moment before _something_ sounded from way, way up, and sunlight started leaking down upon them ...
And no, not another project. No idea what to do with this, or where to go with it. Just seemed like a fun diversion.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm
---
A Nest for Ravens.
---
"... obviously alright, since the Heliopaths haven't come around to pick him up," was the first thing he heard when he regained consciousness.
His eyes took a while to adjust to the light, finally pinning its level at 'dim' after the initial stinging pain of adjustment.
"Aw hell, not _again_," he blurted out even as his torso went from horizontal to vertical ... then back again as he was reminded just why one oughtn't do that sort of thing too fast after waking from a state of unconsciousness.
Still, he'd managed to take in the room with the few glances he'd been afforded before becoming light headed.
An ovoid chamber of around ten meters across, stone walls and floor - though he'd not needed to ascertain the latter since his back told him enough about that particular bit of the decor - plain and gray. No obvious door. The ceiling ... his eyes strayed across and up the wall ...
... and up ...
... and up ...
... well, damn.
And then there were the people, he remarked to himself as he sat up - much more carefully this time around.
"Took your damn time, didn't you?" came from a redhead to his left, leaning against the wall there and giving out equal measures of glare-oh-vision towards himself and the others around the chamber.
Redhead ... well, that was one way to describe her, if only because the other distinctive thing about the woman jumped out at him so much he wonedered whether he wasn't still suffering from the aftereffects of ... whatever had happened to him to bring him here.
You'd excuse him for not seeing a great many people with blue skin before. Arguably, he could say that he'd seen weirder before. There was the time with the Nuwisha and the 'ceremonial tobacco' ... eheh. Not quite this sort of weird, though.
And she wore ... tweed? Alright, no, he hadn't seen anything quite this odd lately.
"What're you making eyes at?" she turned up the glare. He raised his hands in protest.
"Peace, Lady Darkholme," said what he could tell was the only other man in the room.
Another oddity. Wore only a pair of boots and leather breeches, though not any sort of leather he'd seen before, and when he focused he could tell that there was a scent of Taint floating about the man. Though that was it, _about_. Much like the sort of signature he remembered reading from warriors who'd fought the Wyrmspawn for most of their life.
Then add to that the fact that the guy had pointed ears ...
'Oh, please don't let this be some sort of Fey prank. I really hate those.'
"Relax, darling," the woman who spoke now stood almost completely opposite this 'Darkholme' character. Short bleached blond hair, tight fitting leathers, a glint in her eyes that reminded him oddly of a magpie spirit he'd passed by in the Umbra a few years ago. "You'll never get out of here if you go and have a stroke, now will you?"
"Err ... where exactly is 'here', if I may be so bold as to ask?" he finally found his tongue.
"Well, it could be the feeding grounds for the Minister's Heliopath army, or the fortress the goblins are trying to deny they have on the dark side of the moon, or maybe ..." a blond girl who looked to be in her mid to late teens rambled, nodding to herself as she went on.
"You wouldn't know somebody by the name of Malkav or any of his Childer, would you?" he questioned. The last person he'd seen going off on that sort of tangent had been one of his Malkavian contacts.
"No, but they sound like terribly interesting people, I'm certain," the girl inclined her head and ...
... there was an odd sort of look to those eyes. An almost frightening sort of lucidity entirely at odds with her demanor.
"Yes, she's like that all the time," the last person in the room said, not looking up from where she sat, cloak wrapped around her and head bowed in what he assumed was meditation.
Now _there_ he could feel ... a lot of information from. The shadow of a Taint, the resonance of power that he didn't even need a ritual to pick up.
"... any idea what the hell is going on?" he asked, not directing it to anybody in particular. 'One could hope ...'
"Bah!" the blue skinned woman threw up her hands in frustration. "If we knew that, we wouldn't still be _in_ whatever this damnable place is!"
"Might I suggest decaf?"
"De-what?" she glanced in momentary confusion. The leather clad blonde at the other side of the room chuckled.
"So," the bleached blond woman started conversationally. "When are you from?"
'_When_ am I from?'
She noticed the puzzled expression, and inclined her head towards the still fuming Darkholme. "Note the clothes on miss high-strung? Last she checked it was the 1800s."
"Well, that's a bit of a long story," he hemmed.
"Aren't they _all_, darling?"
He sighed in long-suffering surrender. "2004, 2033, and 1995 ... or so I remember. But, err, different ones. If that make sense?"
"Alternate realities?" the cloak-wearing woman/girl's head snapped up.
'Creepy stare,' he stopped himself from wincing. "Well, my own was going bye-bye, so I figured I'd jump ship before it managed to go all the way, and somehow ended up more or less three decades in another future. Then I died. Or close enough for government work. Then I ... well, I think I got into something that was just a tad too much to handle with just excessive amounts of firepower, and got buried under a lot of ice before I woke up here. Name's Liam, by the way. Liam Crowley, but I go by Nevermore as much as I do by that. Corax shaman."
Suddenly, they were all looking at him.
"Corvus, the Sidhe," the Fey looking man stated.
"Raven Darkholme," Ms. Blue didn't _quite_ snip out.
"Raven," the cloaked one offered.
"Amanda Darrieux ... though some did call me The Raven as well, on occasion," the bottle blond nodded.
"Luna Lovegood," the one with the terribly sane eyes said, then added: "Ravenclaw House."
"I'm beginning to see a pattern here," Liam snarked darkly, a moment before _something_ sounded from way, way up, and sunlight started leaking down upon them ...
And no, not another project. No idea what to do with this, or where to go with it. Just seemed like a fun diversion.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm