Thursday, November 24, 2011

Riding with Nick Dwyer -/|\- Hope is Dead, Long Live Hope, (Somebody Set Them Up The Bomb)

Riding With Nick Dwyer

In that picture, I'm definitely the cat. He insist that I use one of those, giving me some nonsense about psychological warfare. I think it's a pointless gesture, but I will respect his opinion in this matter.

After he pulled me out of that hole in the ground, we rolled along in his car for a few miles without a word. We both just glanced at each other now and then, with no idea what to say.

You need to remember, I remember him as a weird, almost mechanical thing that I engaged in battles to the death with as some kind of Demon Samurai. Simply by conversing with each other, we "won the internet" by virtue of existing. Even after we came to this world in our respective fashions, war was what we knew.

You know what? I'm saving our conversation in the car for later. We didn't talk about anything particularly important.

That said, Nick wants to talk about Hope.



Hope is Dead, Long Live Hope, Somebody Set Them Up The Bomb

Two days of preparation, three cans of black paint, about five hundred dollars in miscellaneous small items (Tongue of Dog and Wing of Bat are out of season after all), and a whole lot of annoyed Sage and Ellen had lead to this moment.

She and I, sitting with the rest of the Hope-goers for a final lunch. The ill-fated Johnsons and that Ray guy among others. (did NOT get a chance to talk with him. Ah well.) Steele was present, Rivers was present (I should have talked to him too), Elliot was there with his pal Alex... damn it, I have to put another quarter in my Ellipses jar. Honestly, I didn't know a lot of the people there, and I didn't have time to talk to them either. I don't know the names of the dead. That worries the shit out of me. Shouldn't I be able to remember them? If we don't, who will?
I had finished drawing a little something in the same concoction I'd prepared around Hope for the last two days on the table we were eating on. I wasn't taking any chances. The attack could come at any time, and I didn't want to leave anyone in the lurch.

Ellen and I, sitting around these people, eating and chatting a little, having a good time. It didn't last very long. Ellen was curious, she'd never met anyone besides me who'd been "stalked" before. So when reality twisted and the first bodies hit the floor, I popped out a cigarette lighter I'd purchased for this moment, lit it, and threw it on the table. 

Ellen was a demon. She knows other demons. Stage one of this little fracas was to put us in a position where we could drop a whole mess of hell-hounds on Slendouche. Now, so you all know, proper Hell-Hounds are pack hunters. They're vicious. They come in large groups with flaming red eyes, an affinity for the hot stuff, and a tendency to breathe fire at people. And Ellen's Hell-hounds have tentacles. By all the gods, does EVERYTHING have to have tentacles these days? I suppose they're the new fashion accessory for the inhuman and murderous. 

At least that was the first part of the plan for keeping everyone safe for long enough to get them out of there. That's about the point when everything went to shit. The world changed, and suddenly that circle I'd set up on the table was aimed to ricochet off the wall, and summon those hounds in such a direction that they would literally warp into our reality from an angle that would involve exploding through my body.

There is exactly one reason I'm alive right now, and that's because Ellen is the fastest goddamn woman alive. Suddenly, I find myself being shoved away from the table, away from the terrified citizens of Hope, and away from the IT. through the doorway. The universe shifted, and when Ellen and I blinked, we were suddenly at the main entrance door to Hope, outside the house.

Ellen immediately blurted out, "What the fuck was that...there was nothing there! I couldn't see anything! And then...Christ Nick, it killed those two like they were made of tissue!"

I hadn't noticed. I was too busy trying to sucker-punch it with Hell Hounds, and then try to redirect said Hell Hounds from exploding through my body on the way to their target. And then I realized that somehow, Ellen COULDN'T see IT. But that wasn't our problem right now. Our problem was the fact that the house was shifting. It was no longer a single, stable physical location. The house had gone Eldritch, and going out the window could take you to the roof, the basement door could lead to the bathroom, and the bathroom door could lead you to the lunchroom. Everything was fucked. The people in Hope were going to get massacred at IT'S leisure. Well we couldn't have that, now could we?

Your turn, Ellen.

To understand the psychology of Nick Dwyer, one must first understand that he spent a lot of time watching Looney Tunes cartoons as a child. That is my only guess on the matter. What I know for sure is that at that moment he just wrote about, two of my loyal hounds arrived just behind us. They'd not ended up where they were supposed to be. And that was when Nick had them tear the door off it's hinges. He then dropped it lengthwise across their backs, and leaped on top. There is only one reason he wasn't instantly eaten alive, and that I think was the confusion of my brethren. No one had ever tried anything like that before, so they did not know how to go about destroying him for the insult yet. Rather than let them figure that out, I leaped on the door with him.

Nick shouted, "Keep the dimension's stable! We need to actually go straight!"

I did my best. It made sense. As one solid object, our small group had a far greater chance of maintaining cohesion and sticking together as we moved through the warped and twisted floors of hope.

What did not make sense, was him repeatedly shouting, "YAH MULE! YAH! YAH! YAH MULE! YAH!"

The Hell-hounds kept running. I think I heard one of them mutter about devouring his undoubtedly delicious spleen.
To avert this, I told Nick, "Stop demeaning them."

They slipped. I do not begrudge my comrades this. The door we were on fell off the bodies of the Hell Hounds as they charged into a broom closet. Based on my understanding of the flow of dimensions, that would take them back through a confusing chain or rooms that would eventually lead to the "Slender Man", dropping both of us to the floor.

Nick brushes off his clothes calmly as I got my bearings. I had my sword out from under my coat, and my hands were shaking. What was this madness? This was no war that I had ever known.

Nick says, "First priority! You grab Elaine I...need to go make this mess even MESSIER! And maybe hold the house intact so that everyone can actually get out of here the direct route."

I paused for a moment, feeling the world around us normalize as Nick started chanting something. He pulled out his new staff, and started stumbling around in an awkward circle. He was going to give them a way out, one way or the other.

Meanwhile, I had to get everyone out as best as I could, as fast as I could. I dived into a closet...taking me back to where Elaine and the others were. This is what happens when time and space get screwy. The door that takes you in one direction may actually take you somewhere else. Nick was maintaining a normal path to the door, but anyone who decided to take a detour would be in serious trouble if they didn't have the kind of senses he and I played around with.

The moment I arrived where we had been having a peaceful lunch previously, I saw Elaine get flung against the wall by thin air. I could feel the presence of this "Slender Man" there, but I could see nothing. Two people died instantly after that.

And that's when the Hell Hounds arrived, leaping onto his tentacles and biting down, hard.

I could feel the anger of all the beasts in that room surging through my skull. I started shoving people at the door. I tried to focus my energy and put some kind of barrier between it and them. I don't know if it worked. What I do know is that everyone I shoved out that door managed to make it to one of those cars from the regular walk that Nick had set up for them.

And after that, I insist, is Nick's story to tell.


I watched a redheaded gent pour gasoline on the grand piano. Fire was filling the house, exactly according to my plan. Everything else had gone cockeyed, but THAT had remained unaffected. I watched the flames lick the gasoline, and set the entire thing ablaze. I had spent two days preparing this trap. I wanted to appreciate it.

He saw me, and his green eyes sparkled. He was enjoying his work. I knew who this guy was, based on all the information I've put together recently: Writer.

Of all the things he could have expected however, me dressed as Sherlock Holmes, complete with the oddly checkered hat and overcoat, was probably not one of them. I held up a magnifying glass, and shouted at Writer:

"ELEMENTARY, my dear Writer! Just remember: Fire is the devil's only friend, as the old song goes!"

How I ended up here, dressed as Sherlock Holmes during all of this, is a tale for another time.

Writer chuckled in response. "And this is indeed the day the music dies! I advise you to stay out of the sitting room, mon bon détective. The one with the piano. Unless you want to be knocked right off your feet!"
I slowly ambled in Writer's direction, twirling the magnifying glass in one hand, "Well... No angel born in hell, could break that Satan's spell...but I have to ask. What have you got against Pianos? That was a lovely instrument, damn it."

Honest question. I'm a music lover, don't you know?

"Oh, but think of how well it will burn!" Writer returns, as if the thought should be obvious. "Thank of the chaos, think of the wonderful havoc it'll cause! Think of the strings breaking and flying across the room, lashing out and destroying whoever and whatever is unlucky enough to get in their way. Think of the wonderful crash the body will make when its legs give way! Marvelous, marvelous! I'd stay and watch the show, but I'm afraid this area is... eu, beyond my control, and thus I have no intention of remaining. You do enjoy yourself though, Nick."

I just smiled. It's not every day that I actually get to gloat at somebody.

I actually laughed, "Oh you pyros are all the same. I suppose I'm here for a very specific reason though. I just wanted to thank you guys. You see, Writer, the mystical significance of fire as a purifying force has existed in cultures throughout the ages. By the same token, I also knew that anyone who wanted to destroy Hope would comically enough, purge it with fire. Which is why me and Ellen were up all night painting out the place into one giant circle of power. Effectively, Writer, we turned Hope into one giant purifying, banishing bomb on crack. And you just pulled the trigger. Don't worry, it won't kill your sick and twisted boss. We'd need a MUCH bigger circle for that. Thin Guy will spend about a week in hell...and then he'll be back, and BOY will he be pissed. But you know what? Now our friends have time to run. And boy do I feel bad for the proxies who'll wonder where the piss your boss is. Some of them might even think normally for a while! Now, that said, I think we should make our escape, shouldn't we?"


And there was a moment there when Writer's grin widened further, and seemed to extend to both of his ears, twisting and curling and distorting, showing off a full set of... sharpened teeth? Even those bright eyes seemed to grin now. He seemed completely and utterly pleased, giggling madly under his breath.And then he began to clap.

"Good show, sir, good show!" He giggled. The grin gradually died down."I'll be taking my leave now. You know how it is; things to do, lives to ruin and whatnot. Au revoir, mon petit chou~"

And he was gone.

When I walked out of Hope, and I could vaguely see a tentacle reaching toward me as the fire reached a certain point in the house. Symbols all across Hope all fired off, and the fire burned bright white.That super hot flame engulfed the tentacle, and pulled it back into the dying house. Me and Ellen hit the Slender Man with the biggest fucking bomb the two of us could pull together with two days of work. It was designed to purify anything in it's area, and then launch whatever was left right into the bowels of hell, the home of those Hell Hounds.

Ellen and I have been driving ever since.

Don't get your hopes up, people. He'll be back. We didn't kill a damn thing with that. And something like the Slender Man can HANDLE getting out of hell. But I'm pretty sure this one hurt him. I'm pretty sure that a lot of people are going to get a good, solid breather. Best case scenario is what I gloated to Writer about. Wouldn't it be fantastic, if proxies that don't have his voice in their heads started thinking for themselves again? If it jarred his process enough that people randomly stop getting stalked? How about that for a curtain call on the sanctuary known as Hope.

More likely it'll only help one or two people, and there won't be any change in the lives of anyone who is currently stalked. But that's the point: we have to have hope.

For all the bad shit that happened at noon today, I can say that Hope lives on in all of us. And the legend continues.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Tuesday and Wednesday

I was reading through some of the financial documents for "Club Suspect", as Nick referred to it, the other day. I was sitting in my car, flipping through them as I took some quick notes. Yes, THAT Club Suspect. Figuring out exactly which club it was had been something of a headache, but at the end of the day I made a guess based on the simple question: "Which one looks like it'd gotten a massive amount of mystical restructuring as of late."

What I found was a classic case of Shell Companies used for a Shell Game. You've seen them before, that old game where you hide the little ball under one of three cups, and then start spinning them around. At the end, you guess which one it's under. Except that if the guy running the Shell Game knows what he's doing, it won't be under any of them.

Getting the full documentation had cost a lot of money and time, and someone wasn't all that happy about it. So as I was walking with these documents, I had the unfortunate realization that yes, I was being followed. That or the guy in the brown coat talking to someone on the phone had needed to walk in a full circle around the block with me bringing us back to our point of origin. Oh deary me, a young, frail lady like myself being pursued on the streets of Buffalo. How terrifying.

I sidestepped into an alleyway, and pressed my back against the wall. And I waited. He was bigger than me by about a foot, and thick. Not fat thick, mind you. Muscle. It was obvious he was a tough guy, used to tough fights, brawling, shooting, you name it. So imagine his surprise when the knife-edge of my hand impacted against the side of his throat. That wasn't intended to hurt him mind you, just to stun him. Completely off balance, his breathing off by a mile, he didn't resist as I gently tugged him in my direction and pulled him across my body for a hip-throw. The big man collapsed on the ground in front of me, his ass facing me as I maintained control of his arm, and I stomped on that unfortunate ass, finishing his collapse to the ground.

Then I tweaked his arm. Just a little, just enough to let him know that he had no way of unlocking it from the hold, and that I could break it any time I wanted to.

This was old-school Jiu-jitsu my dear readers. You don't see very much of it anymore. But I learned from the best. We were quiet for a moment, he and I.

Then I asked, "Who do you work for?"

He said, grunting as I tweaked his arm a bit more to let him know of my intense displeasure:

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

I said, "So you're not going to tell me anything?"

He grunted in affirmation.

I stepped around his arm, careful not to break it by accident, and stomped on his head. He went limp. I stomped again with the same amount of force, just to be safe. Then I checked his pulse. He was fine. I checked his wallet. No identification at all, just a money clip flushed with fresh twenties. I took them, shoved them in my purse, and continued on my way. I continued down the dark, scary alleyway, confident that I was the meanest thing in there.

I exited out the other end of the alleyway, only to run into two other people that did not like me. And one of them had a gun pointed at me. I held up my hands, and the other one tasered me.

You know. Getting tasered is always something of a wakeup call. The lesson here: don't get cocky.

I spent the rest of Tuesday with a black bag over my head. I was thrown into a van, and bounced around like a sack of potatoes in the back of the damn thing. After that, standard procedure was followed. I was zip-tied to a bunch of piping in some kind of industrial area. I didn't know where I was, I couldn't see anything, the only reason I knew it was piping was because I could feel the cold metal on my wrists. I could feel it rising to the small of my back, and I knew that I had plastic zip-ties around my arms and legs on this pipe.

Finally, the bag on my head was pulled off.

I could see the golden rays of sunset out a door behind the person in front of me. That was a good detail to remember. Then my eyes met the old man in front of me. Here's a fact: you never want to go eye to eye with some practitioners. Seeing what lies behind their eyes is a terrifying thing. I saw conviction. I saw passion. I saw the aching void and the stars within. I felt it choking me, and I saw the thing that he desired most: to command and control each and every one of those burning stars that dared to shine in his night. I couldn't breathe.

I gasped for air and he pressed my head back against the piping, bringing his face closer.

And then I remembered who I was.

He recoiled as my eyes narrowed, and he saw that little smile that I'd had just before I'd clip an angel's wings. The one I'd have whenever I had a chance to go to war with the thing that Nick Dwyer used to be. My eyes bored into his, and I could feel my sword somewhere, in my heart, slicing into the depths of that void.

I sometimes dream of cutting infinity. The concept is a paradox. A wonderful, beautiful, awful paradox. He stumbled backwards, surprised.

And then I saw behind him. There was darkness in the doorway. I must have had my eyes locked with him for at least twenty minutes. He pulled out a tape recorder, and started speaking to it. He told the tape recorder my life story, from birth in this world, to living in an Apocalyptic Cult dedicated to the destruction of the reality that you know, to the moment that our eyes met.

And I knew his name as he told my story to the tape: This was Mastermind.

Mastermind said, "Nicely done. Some people never fight their way out of my eyes. Sad too. You know, I could use someone with your strength in the world I will create. We need people like you. Would you like to discuss salary arrangements, or are you set on...well, who are you working with?"

I could breathe again, and I took the chance to do so. I kept my eyes pointed on his neck. I didn't want to meet that gaze twice. How did he not know who I was working for? Oh right, Perception Filters. Gods above and below, it's getting hard to keep track of who can see what at this point. Wait a minute though. Didn't he just see my entire history?

He cut me off before I could say anything: "Oh right! You're working with my little blue friend, Mr. Dwyer! Fantastic to know... you're quite good at the whole detective thing, aren't you? You probably understand my operation quite well at this point. I'm wondering what you think you'll accomplish with this knowledge, however."

I managed to say, "I don't know. I just don't know. I was just supposed to gather it."

He nodded, like a kindly uncle. He smiled, and said, "I'm very sorry to have you all tied up like this, but for the moment I think I'd like to have you where I can see you. I'm going to give the old recruitment drive another shot when I get back though! Don't you worry about that. I think I have a use for you...but for now, try to relax. My men are going to keep an eye on you. Good job whipping Stephens, incidentally. That boy is far too confident for his own good, I almost wish you'd have broken his arm..."

He trailed off, and walked toward the door. Then he stopped and held up a single finger.

He said, "Oh! Before I forget. There are at least six men with silenced submachine guns upstairs, and only one direction you can come out of this hole from. If you DID somehow got loose from your restraints, you'd find yourself being gunned down rather quickly. But if you relax and try to remain calm, I might upgrade you to a proper cell with a warm bed!"

He seemed happy with himself, and he started up the stairs.


Wednesday started, and I have to tell you, breaking the zip ties against the piping wasn't all that difficult. I was in some kind of substation for one utility or another, but the problem was exactly what Mastermind had said it would be: There were at least six men with guns looking in the direction of the only exit from the station the moment I tried to peek out the door.

One of them shouted at me, "Get back down there, damn it. Which shithead fucked up the ties?"

I didn't tell him that no one fucked up with the restraints and that I have a talent with that sort of thing. What I did was walk back down stairs and not get shot.

They tossed me a bagged lunch at some point during the day. It was quite nice of them. Tasty Drugged PB&J! I woke up later in the evening zip-tied to the piping again. There were twice as many zip ties. I was okay with this. I broke them, although it took much longer. This time, as I walked up the stairs to check on the guards, something unexpected happened.

The thick door to the substation opened, and one of the guards ran inside. He didn't even look at me. He just slammed the door shut and started trying to lock it. He looked horrified I took the opportunity to slam his face against the door twice and toss him down the stairs. Then I looked out the door. There was the figure of someone I drugged and tossed into a coffin not too long ago, holding a suitcase.

Nick waved, and said, "Sorry I'm late, I had to cause a bastard of a distraction."

I glanced at the briefcase. Then at his other hand, which was bleeding.

I asked, "Where'd the guards go?"

Nick said, "Four went to look into the reactivation of my cell phone in a strange house. One went to the bathroom where he was rudely ambushed. The last one was yours."

I said, "He looked terrified. What was he running from?"

Nick said, "You don't want to know."

I decided he was right.

It was strange being around him. Keep in mind, before this we'd only known each other as astral projections. In our minds, we were moving differently, reacting to the person we used to know. Except that we aren't those people anymore. Fate is a mysterious thing.

He drove me to where they were keeping my car. I'll write about that more tomorrow. It's been a very strange couple of days.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Fixing a Mess With A Bigger Mess -/|\- A Bigger Bang

Fixing a Mess With a Bigger Mess

Ellen's gotten herself into a bit of trouble. Similar to some certain dwarves, she got too greedy, and dug too dark and too deep. Rather than let her get herself served up as dinner as per the classic case of Balrog v. Moria, I decided it was time to apply my own particular brand of insanity to the situation at hand. Specifically in a manner that would allow me to achieve several goals all at once.

I broke into the New Morningstar's fine house. My goal was simple: sneak in, steal a certain suitcase full of world ending syringes from when Redlight was having his last gasp, get out. Now, I have had several conversations with Time Lord at this point, and I knew that the best way to help Ellen out was to get a whole lot of people looking in my direction all at once. That was where my old cell phone came into play. I plugged in the battery, and watched it power up. Mastermind wouldn't be willing to spend a whole lot of resources on it. Any idiot who could locate the phone with satellite tech would know that I wouldn't be stupid enough to plug the damn battery back in after all this time. But he'd send somebody, just to see what kind of trap I was springing.

And I only needed him to send out a couple people.

I cracked open a side window into New Morningstar's fine residence. You wouldn't think that this was the house of a mass murderer. In the act of climbing inside, I lost my footing, slammed my groin against the window sill, and fell inside. I landed on the corpse of the priest he'd been talking about killing the other day.

There is a smell, to the corpse of a man. Like rotting meat at the butcher's, until you turn your head and see the eyeless face of something that was once a man. In with the new boss, same as the old boss. I puked in the corner of the room, and then remembered what I was here to do.

The suitcase was easy enough to find. The one with Redlight's old apocalypse juice. I dropped my old cell phone into the closet it had once resided in. In another half hour or so, the New Morningstar would have some friends to deal with. May they murder his sorry ass and send it to the depths of hell.

I really, really wish I hadn't been busy running a rescue operation. I really want to hurt this son of a bitch. But after a few long, painful hours, I turned six vials of Redlight's Apocalypse Juice into plain water. There are still three vials out there though. I'm worried.


A Bigger Bang

Figuring out where Ellen would go in Philadelphia after she escaped while her guards were busy was pretty easy. As per some sticky notes from Time Lord, I left her a small stack of her OWN sticky notes.

I love it when a plan comes together. And I think you guys will too.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Something I Observed while Projecting

When some men dance, titans tremble. LinkLet me tell you a story of recent times. What happened before Mitch encountered Valtiel?

A Tall man in a black coat, with a red scarf draped around his shoulders was standing in the midst of a Chaotic Void. He appeared to be middle aged, with dark hair that was graying slightly. His Eyes were a deep Amber color, with slitted pupils. He smiled as his pursuer drew near. Again.

Let us take a moment to discuss a chaotic void, shall we? A nexus of destruction created to convert the energy of the dead into new life. This is not a place for the living, and not a place for the sane. There is nothing quite so disturbing as to see the process of life and death exchanging places without warning or reason.

After a moment, Nick walked into this place, smiling brightly, "Hi there Valty, you big mean son of a bitch you! How're you doing? Indoctrinated anyone interesting recently?"

Valtiel said, "Nick Dwyer. Don't you ever get tired? We have been doing this little dance for how long now?"

Nick said, "It's only been a few weeks. By my reckoning, hardly enough to count as one of my more ambitious projects."

He pulled out a notebook.

"You've caused a lot of trouble. You like Psychopaths, like Morningstar...but between the clown and the fop, I'm not sure where to start. So how would you like to get this started? Witty banter followed by the purging of your soul? Or would you prefer to skip to the pain? Some people like going out for lunch before this kind of thing, actually. What's your style?"

Valtiel said, "I suppose this is the part where I say something along the lines of 'your puny mortal mind cannot comprehend my powers" or something so Cliché. It's all Good Fun isn't it? But you really have become quite an inconvenience for me..."

Nick said, "I hate it when they say that. I'm not some petty conjuror of cheap tricks you know. I'm the Tolkien White Guy, there's one in every fantasy story. That makes me dangerous."

Nick here. Ellen can't see this. She stuck her boot in the proverbial hornet's nest, and now I'm going to run a bit of interference. Oh my lovely demotivational posters, how I missed you! What fun we will have together! :D

Valtiel extended his hand into the Chaotic Mass, revealing the one you know as Hakurei Ryuu, in a hotel room by herself.

Nick said, "Good picture. Have you ever thought of taking up a career as a color TV?"

He did not look amused anymore, however. In fact, he seemed ready for a fight.

Valtiel said, "Cifer always said you were something of a White Knight. So here's how this is going to work, Nick. You leave me alone, and I won't personally strangle the life out of your friend here. I normally don't bother with the hands on approach anymore... But as I said. An Inconvenience."

Valtiel's smile became twisted and distorted briefly before returning to normal

Nick’s eyes narrowed. He said, far calmer than I would have, "You think that I won't pile a mountain of skulls and let loose a river of blood in the name of vengeance if you do?"

Valtiel said, "I am willing to find out... How about you?"

Nick said, "You’ve got nine chances to end the world lying around. Do you really think I'm going to let that slide?"

Valtiel was amused: "Those things? This is about Redlight's Syringes?"

Valtiel shook his head with a sigh, still smiling.

Nick said, "Those and Val's location, and you've got a deal. Anything less, and the war starts."

Valtiel laughed. It was a very pleasant sounding laugh filled with friendliness and joy.

Valtiel said, "Why have you assumed that I have the Syringes. They are right where Cifer left them. As for Valerie..."

Valtiel pointed to Valerie inside the Chaotic Mass.

He said, "She's right here."

Nick said, "Now you're just being a dick."

Valtiel said, "I'm just telling you the quickest route to your dear friend."

Valtiel put his hand in the Mass further, reaching out and touching the back of Valerie's head briefly, pulling away quickly after.

Nick, I think, was stalling at that point. He said, "You can't just point at a picture of her and say 'Here'. Doesn't work that way."

Valtiel sighed once more

He said, "You are wasting my time Nick. I have an appointment with a dear friend of Cifer's in a few minutes. Valerie is right there."

Nick muttered a curse and walked through the hole.

Valtiel opened another exit within sight of Nick. It showed Mitch.

Nick said "What's your game, Valty?"

Valtiel simply smiled in response

Nick just gave Valtiel a blank expression. Valtiel walked through the exit he created near Mitch

Nick actually said, "Oh you son of a bitch."

He considered his options. For one, long, long moment. Then he muttered a curse and leapt into the hole that lead to Ryuu.

Was Nick actually, physically in this place between worlds? I can’t tell you. When this was happening, I was a passive observer elsewhere. My own life has gotten extremely complicated as of late, I can assure you.

And to my audience, I request no further riddles. I have too many in my everyday life as it is.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Pain and Perspective

Nick has made numerous posts where he's mentioned, "Okay, I need to tell you guys what happened." And he never tells you.

There is a reason for this. After and during World War I, there was a vast influx of great literature and poetry as soldiers tried to comprehend the madness of what they believed to be the last Great War in history. Art was the method for many to cope with things as they happened.

After World War II, it was many years before anyone wrote about their experiences in poetry or in fiction. I'm probably wrong about this, but I remember an English professor telling me about this at one point. His theory was that there were things in World War II so terrible, that trying to describe them was impossible for the people who lived through them. At that time, anyway. Some years later, they would write about it?

This is not a great metaphor. I just can't be sure about that fact. I'm pretty sure it's true though. In any case, Nick can't tell you this story, because it would kill him to do so. So while he's occupied, I will try and tell it.

At the point where Nick last left you all, I had recently intervened on his behalf against Rogue Nemesis. And then Rogue Wizard made the foolish error of letting Usurper out.

I've said my piece on what Nick is now. And on what he became. But he wasn't some kind of legendary destroyer at this point in his career. He was a tired, lonely little man trying desperately not to die. And I very much wanted him to survive.

To segue into my own past for a moment, I want you to consider the option of being born in a hole. From day one, in this underground bunker, you are told you must fight. Battle is your purpose, war is your domain, and you will fight to the death when you are told. This was not in some third world country. This was in the American Midwest. For as long as there have been people flinging their minds into the aether for understanding, there've been Demons there to manipulate them. I had been reincarnated in this place, and my duty was clear: ensure that the coming demon invasion during the 2003-2004 period would be a complete success. All throughout this time though, I have another pressing memory. I had lost an eye you see, once long ago. And I could remember the man who took it. I knew somehow that I would see him again, and I would sometimes tell the story of the swordsman who took it to the others. I wasn't the only one who'd incarnated with this group of people, but for the most part, they were a bunch of ordinary people who wanted to grasp for power. They did not understand why I wanted to find this one person so much. But my fellows who'd remembered their past life beyond our world understood completely.

To remember the Other Side of the Veil so fully is to remember a place that feels like perfect freedom. And to relive the past with an old enemy like that...there's nothing like it. Not even sex compares. Except maybe sex you've had with someone who'd been in one of those lives. The matched euphoria of a wonderful memory in the past matched with the euphoria of the present. It's a tickling sensation of Deja Vu and wondrous pleasure that I can't really describe.

Of course, the older people who'd incarnated here would tell you that you need to get beyond such memories and live your life in the present. They're right. But no such older, wiser people were with us in that bunker built by ancient and mad survivalists who'd found the path of the demon appealing.

When I felt "Nick's" presence as his mind found our war, I had to find him. So I projected to his nearest possible location. What I found was depressing. I had lived for projection and the unearthing of ancient secrets. "Nick Dwyer" had lived for video games and dreams. I had lived for War. He had lived for silliness. Had we done battle then it would not have been even close to fulfilling. It would have been like crushing a child. I was driven by my emotion back then, not by my reason. Reason would be something I would understand later.

And thus, I have explained why I saved him when I did. It was one of the smartest decisions I've ever made, when I think back on it. It had been made for all the wrong reasons, but what can you do?

And now you're wondering: Usurper WAS who "Nick" was in his most recent lifetime. Why didn't I just attack after "Nick" let him out of his cage? I'll explain THAT after my next post.

Monday, October 10, 2011

We Were Bastards

The title says it all. We were a bunch of vicious bastards when it came to fighting. At the end of my last post, in the comments, I described one of the terrifying creatures that we captured and domesticated for our use.

During our first campaign against the Higher Planes and the Astral Plane of Earth, when we encountered our enemy's superior force, we unleashed all of those creatures I described, (We will refer to them as Shock Weapon A,) at the exact same time. All of them. Some were deployed much as you would deploy a landmine, others from the air, and some were just launched forward into their ranks. Enemy casualties were light, and we lost almost all of our Shock Weapon A's, but having never encountered us before and suddenly seeing a number of female troopers and officers ....well, you know. So after that battle, the Higher Planes reorganized to meet us with all of their female troopers and officers away from the front lines. Now, the reason this is important, is because Higher Planes armies tend to go for a utopian ideal of equality whenever they can, which means that the gender ratio is about 50/50. They basically rerouted about half their force away from us.

It was very stupid of them. In a massed army formation, Shock Weapon A is effectively useless as it can be easily overwhelmed. Attempts to implant its eggs in others end up being almost worthless, as it basically has to blind fire a very specific tentacle and hope to whatever it's mindlessness hopes for that it hit a female target in the right place before it dies. And AFTER it hits, any one of their medics could easily remove the Shock Weapon A spawn if they had their brains screwed on right. But the image of someone having that THING explode out of some woman's body was trapped into their minds. This was good terror. We'd changed their line of battle completely without ever losing a useful asset.

Because then, we attacked them with the entirety of our stock of Shock Weapon B. Shock Weapon B was a small, eel like creature that specifically targeted men. Specifically, it would go through a man's urethra for the massive protein creating stores inside their testicles. When it was done eating its way through, it would go through the target's body and out the nearest orifice to either find it's next victim, or go home if it was full. And keep in mind, their entire front line at this point was made of male troopers. And all of this was happening at the same time that we performed a conventional assault.

They beat us in the end. They even found spells that made them invisible to Shock Weapon A and B. But they couldn't destroy us, and they learned very quickly to respect our power. As I mentioned, we were complete bastards.

So how DID I end up as a human alive on Earth? The same way Nick did. He hasn't really talked about all of this, or if he did he spent a lot of time glossing it over.

One of the major criticisms of the concept of reincarnation that I have heard is the idea that if we all constantly reincarnate after death, with the sheer dramatic increase in the amount of humans and other life forms on earth, there's no way that you could make up the difference in the amount of souls. Too many "new" souls have come into play for a wide variety of souls constantly reincarnating to make sense. What I would say to them is that they fail to take into account the possibility that souls from OTHER places than Earth might jump back and forth. This is the reason that groups pop up with memories from other places, times, and worlds.

Before the 2002-2004 conflict that Nick and I were involved in, both sides determined that they needed an edge. Having people bound to the earthly plane of existence, and thus having a direct plug into the natural energy of the planet, and thus having a lot more firepower that they could deploy on the astral plane...seemed like a damn good idea. And it was. It was this decision that decided the way the war would end for both sides.

Nick is the Outlier. Most people from other worlds who reincarnated on earth did not become Shamans. They became Sorcerers, or other mystics whose sole desire was to garner power for themselves. They remembered the sheer amount of cosmic FORCE they could unleash in other worlds, and feel constrained by how little they can unleash in this one. I myself, am best described as a Mystic whose chief vocation is Sorcery. The majority of us are grasping for what we used to be. What we wish we could be again. We want to break free of this earthly shell called a "Body" and shake the pillars of heaven with our might.

Based on the notes that Nick left behind, I'd say that this lust for power is the majority of the reason we are where we are now.

The reason I'm saying all of this, is because while I previously believed that us Demons were the Lord and Lady Godking and Godqueens of Bastard/Bitch Conduct...reading Nick's notes has forced me to consider handing the crown to someone else.

We were bastards. They are worse.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Who Am I?

I want you to disregard everything you think you know about the world for a moment. Imagine a world that exists alongside, possibly above and below, but mostly parallel to this one. Forget what you learned in the Abrahamic Religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam) for a moment, and briefly ignore everything that modern science tells you. Except maybe String Theories. Those might help you.

I suppose the point I'm trying to get across is that this isn't about religion. You'll find your share of old men in robes spouting dogma, but religion doesn't cover it. This isn't about science and the people who think that everything can be quantified, proven, and tested with one hundred percent accuracy, although you'll find people who'll say that there are universal concepts you can get behind. This is about Magic. I'm not some goth chick who'll throw a "K" at the end of it to make it sound more mystical and dignified. There are hard and fast rules, but for the most part it's a crazy cosmic turkey-shoot of give and take and hit and run. Not necessarily in that order, but lets cut the pseudo-philosophical bullshit, shall we?

My story begins in deepest pits of hell. Not fire and brimstone, goat-men with pointy horns hell mind you, I mean an actual cosmic location that exists alongside the religious hell we all believe in. At the end of the day, the hell of religion is something that exists because all of us believe it exists. The hell I'm from exists because we fucking live there, and there's nothing metaphorical about it. It was somewhere in the great scheme of dimensions below the planet Earth, and a little to the south.

Some of the greatest warriors in history came from places where it should be impossible to survive. The Mongol Hordes came from a place in Mongolia where the ice consumed them from the moment they were born, and lived on horseback until the moment they died. They took over half the planet because at the end of the day, you can only live on nothing for so long before you'd kill to have SOMETHING.

And so it was with my people. We lived in a barren wasteland, where crops barely grew and there were monsters that would laugh if you shot them. How does anything survive in a place like that? I wonder sometimes. What I know for certain is that reality was not nearly so rigid as it is in this world. Magic flowed freely, and survival comes easier if you can flash fry something with your mind. There were never a lot of us, but the ones that survived were warriors beyond compare. We were versed in magic and the fighting arts, and the beasts of our world became our tools and weapons. We were what Nick has referred to throughout as "Demons."

People think of "Ivan the Terrible", the Russian Czar and conqueror whose alternating madness and genius transformed that nation into a force to be reckoned with, and they don't realize that "Terrible" is a bad translation into English. The proper translation is "Ivan the Awesome." Awesome is a much misused term in our day and age. It means to be filled with Great Awe at something. Awe relates to being overwhelmed with emotion, positively or negatively. This is why they mistranslated him as being Ivan the Terrible. English-speaking scholars from beyond Russia only remember his evil, but none of his good. They forget that often, old Ivan was quite Amazing.

I was a demon. And I was awesome.

Any questions? Because I'd like to move on and talk about how I ended up on earth as a human when I can.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Who is Nick Running From?

Simple question. I don't have an answer for it.

I've been tracking his movements over the last month or so. He's been posting on various blogs using a smartphone. None of the material he's posted relates to him or his situation, so there's no point in me linking to it.

Since he started running, Nick's been shadowed by several people who've been identified to civilian authorities as "Secret Service", "FBI", "Department of Homeland Security", and other such federal agencies. The supposed "Agent Fisk" I keep hearing about has nothing to do with this.

A friend of mine in the Philadelphia Police Department informed me point blank that I should stay the hell out of this. His exact words were:

"Ellen. You stare into the abyss, and the abyss stares back. And it isn't a hole, it's a mouth. Walk away."

That detective is quite the bibliophile. Sadly, I can't walk away. I've given up on tracking Nick. He'll show up again when he wants to. In the mean time: I can tell you the story of why we're here now. And that's what Time Lord has told me to do. I'll pick up where Nick left off, from my perspective.

Some of you may be friends with Nick Dwyer, the AmalgamationSage. Don't go looking for him. Don't make a scene trying to find him. This is only going to get worse.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

The Buffalo Interrogation

(This post took MUCH longer than I thought it would. Verifying it was a bitch. In the mean time I've been investigating a lead in Harrisburg.

I love your comments by the way, everyone. I just haven't had time to respond to them. I'll comment on the backlog when I can.

In any case, while I was investigating the situation in Buffalo, I ended up being pulled off the street by Green Lady and some of her friends. This is basically what I remember from the interview I had afterwards.

I was sitting in a dingy basement opposite of Green Lady, zip tied so I wasn't going anywhere, and tied to the chair. They weren't taking any chances.)

Green Lady: "Two knives, pepper spray...I'd say we were very lucky to get the drop on you. Your wallet says you are Ellen Knowles of New York. Ellen Knowles, you've been looking for information on a very narrow, and specific set of topics that very few people should be looking for. I'd like to ask you to stop."

Ellen: "You've had some practice at this. The Zip Ties are tight enough to hold, but not so tight as to cut off my circulation."

Green Lady: "Why are you asking all of these questions regarding the last year or so, anyway?"

Ellen: (In my best Godfather Impression) "They made me an offer I could not refuse."

Green Lady: "Who made you the offer?"

Ellen: "So it's you, versus a guy in a Red Mask, versus a bunch of secret agents of some kind. Some kind of shadow war over the fate of fucking Buffalo, a renowned shitstain across the panties of New York?"

Green Lady: "Do you want me to kill you?"

Ellen: "I'd like to know why. Don't cut my throat please?"

(We were quiet for a minute. I'm fairly certain she was seriously considering slitting my throat.)

Green Lady: "Well, since you ask nicely? It all comes back to a war a few years back. The Upstairs versus the Downstairs for the fate of the world. Traitors and spies and people like me in the middle trying to profit. The guys in the suits made it out ...effectively in control of the world. And nobody knew it at the time. And guys like Red Mask and the creature he represents want a piece for themselves. And I...find myself as one of the 'good guys' for the moment. The OLD good guys left some things laying around, and somebody has to keep them away from everything else."

Ellen: "Where does (Time Lord) fit into all of this?"

Green Lady: "He and his friends formed another faction in all of this. The 'old heroes, trying to stem the tides of darkness'. It's funny to think about. They don't matter any more. One way or the other their pieces are off the board. It's sad to think about, Ellen Knowles. The old heroes are gone and dead, and we all had a part in killing them. I did it out of greed, the Suits for ideology, and Red Mask out of fear."

(At this point, I noticed the glass of whiskey on the counter. Green Lady had been drinking, pretty heavily I'd say. My favorite kind of witness.)

Green Lady: "I have a brother you know. He stayed on the sidelines, except to help out this guy from Philadelphia. The War Without End and the Defiling Druid. What strange bedfellows ... how do I tell my brother that I killed his best friend?"

Ellen: "You killed him? How?"

Green Lady: "Mmm...Did a working that would completely rip reality apart, and let it loose on the hotel you visited a few hours ago. Then I dropped a ton of lava in this area without Veil. Then I reestablished the veil making everything look like it used to be as everything that was living burned to a crisp. We confirmed that (Mastermind), the slippery fucker, made it out. But The War Without End has ended. Nothing could have survived that."

(One of the unusual facets of the last of the Missing Hours posts, is that the actual amount of material covered doesn't cover more than the first five minutes of the last set of missing hours. It confused me greatly when I read it, and I'm surprised no one said anything. But to translate what she said in her above statement, Green Lady has basically said she sundered the Veil around the Hotel. Seeing as she had a thousand-odd murderous mantis with her at the time, and had dropped a whole lot of magical lava in an area that had nothing to defend against magic anymore, that basically meant that anything in that area would be burned to nothing and THEN hacked into a thousand pieces, not to mention the psychological effects of having the veil shattered in an area. There are still traces of the damage, as seen in entries like "Hotel Room." Except that NONE of this explains how Nick managed to reappear at his home, in his room, with his car, and... well, on the other hand, EVERYTHING is explained if Time Lord was nearby when the veil break occurred. The kind of power that people like Nick and Time Lord have on the other side of the veil is ridiculous. But Time Lord would have STILL needed a similar break to occur at Nick's House for any of this to make sense.

Believe me, I haven't even BEGUN to cover how insane this is. She literally shattered the veil in an area JUST to make sure that both Mastermind and Nick died. Risky, Ballsy, Dangerous, and there are a MILLION possible outcomes when you break the veil. Needless to say, I'm looking into it.)

Ellen: "...Huh."

Green Lady: "I need to go figure out how to dispose of you. I'll be back."

(After that, I got the fuck out of dodge. I'm not a smooth talker, I'm an escape artist. I'm about ninety percent certain she WOULD have killed me if I was still there when she got back. In any case, if I couldn't break a chair and slip out of the zip ties, I wouldn't have any right to have survived for this long. See you next time.)

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Tried to get away. Didn't take. -/|\- The Missing Hours: 14 - 7 -/|\- the Missing Hours: Final 6 hours

I tried to get away.

I'm not some hero, and I don't have a dog in this fight. When I started driving up to Buffalo to verify the leftover Missing Hour posts, I realized I wanted out. I wanted out right the hell now. Getting acquainted with "Nick" and his "Friends" (IE: You guys) and your blogs was possibly the creepiest thing I've dealt with in some time. Yes, I've heard stories of the "Fears" and similar entities. They're up there on the list of things you do not fuck with, and about 99.9% of people worldwide will never, ever have to worry about them. If you know about them, you don't even say their names out loud, in case doing so attracts their attention. Like I said though, for most people the Fears are purely academic.

Not for "Nick" though, and now I'm stuck in the middle of this.

I stopped for gas at the same gas station that the whole "Missing Hours" debacle began. I know this because when the guy was filling my tank, he said:

"I should go into Sticky Note delivery. More money well earned."

And he handed me the stack. The top sticky note said:

"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of running, would you?"

I reached into my glove box to pull out my lighter from when I smoked. On top of it was another sticky note that said:

"Read the damn stack."

That got my attention.

I said to the stack, "Well, I was thinking about it."

I tore off the top sticky, "Don't."

I said, "Look, it was nice to find out who he really was, but this is out of my league. I'm no hero."

I tore off the top sticky, "You want to watch Nick, me, and everyone else die? Go ahead."

"Fuck you."

"You are cute. I'll think about it."

"Go to hell you son of a bitch!"

I looked up at the guy who was pumping gas. He was giving me a weird look.

I said, "Haven't you ever seen someone talk to a bunch of sticky notes before?"

He shook his head slowly. I shut up, handed him his money, and tore off the top note to reveal the final message:

"Stay on the case. Or else."

I really hate Time Lord.

Incidentally, does anyone know what "-/|\-" means? "Nick" uses it for all his breaks between segments, and I still don't know what it means. In any case, here are the rest of the Missing Hours information, with edits where necessary. I did some poking about in Buffalo during the last week or so. Found a lot of things you wouldn't expect.

For those of you who need a refresher:

1st: 5 of the Missing 29 Hours
2nd: Hours 24 - 20
3rd: Hours 19 - 15

This took MUCH longer than I thought. There were complications. I'll explain later.


The Missing Hours: 14 - 7

Hours 14 to 7. I'd love to say some kind of action packed extravaganza occurred, but no. For the most part, me and Weaver spent that time trying to sleep. I was an arrogant fucker, wasn't I? We'd kicked Crouching Tiger the fuck out, I felt like I was some kind of badass. And I was tired and filled with the wrath of almost an entire day of migraine.

(Editor's note: Okay. Something is seriously wrong with this post, AND Hours 19 - 15. If this post was written during the time frame I had it in, then that would mean that Nick knew Crouching Tiger was referred to as Crouching Tiger. Crouching Tiger didn't actually appear on any of the blogs for at least two months after this incident. Maybe Nick just updated it when he reposted it? That seems unlike him somehow.)
I didn't sleep peacefully. I remember walking down the streets of Philadelphia with an old revolver and a leather duster with cowboy hat. The streets faded, and I was in The Desert again. The Desert faded, and I saw Tallsuit McMotherfucker. He faded, and I saw myself in the mirror. I looked like I did when my astral form was female briefly.

(Editor's note: This is obviously before he found out that it's always been Female. Except that it hasn't. That one is something of an odd story that you probably already are aware of.)

Me and this female me pointed our guns at each other. And suddenly I WAS her, and I shot the real me down. And now I was this woman walking along, and then I heard Weaver.

She said, "Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...Wake up!"

I woke up, and felt Weaver rushing me away from the bed. I complied as best I could, banging my head against the bedpost on my way out of it.

Weaver said, "Guys with guns outside. Lots of them!"

I said blearily, "The Police?"

"The police don't wear suits and carry submachine guns!"

That woke me up. We grabbed our stuff and ran for it.

(Editor's Note: Finding the hotel they stayed in wasn't hard. I just had to find the only hotel in town with a manager who'd had his brain brutally fucked in. "Nick" might not tell you this, but he's always been something of a joke with the mental manipulation aspect of things. Me, not so much. I checked room 215, I checked local police records, and I checked with the staff. Apparently, the US Secret Service was looking for counterfeiters. I believe that about as much as I believe in Santa Claus.)


The Missing Hours: The Final 6 Hours

There comes a moment, when you realize how absolutely fucked you are. Me and Weaver were running through a hallway, trying to come up with a way out, we heard the door to the outside of our motel room quietly open as we tried to vacate the fuck out, and then had the joy to round the corner to the stair well, where I saw a guy slowly starting to look up to the top of it as we started to go down it. Weaver was more alert than me, and smart enough to pull me out of his sight. So we were standing at the top of this stairwell in a crappy motel, effectively surrounded on all sides, completely unarmed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your hero, right before he decides to do something completely fucking stupid.

I whispered to Weaver, "Listen. I'll be back. TRUST me. Just remember to put some shell casings under your pillow. The Reinforcement Fairy comes to all little boys and little girls who have big fucking enemies that need a whuppin."

She had just enough time to say, "Whaaaaa-?"

Then I had leaped over the railing and onto the guy coming up the stairs. My weight, plus the impact of his head against the stairs, meant one unconscious gun-toting asshole. And then I was face-to-face with Mastermind.

(Editor's Note: The timing of this feels strange. The guy sits at the bottom of the stairwell looking up. Weaver pulls Nick out of his line of sight. WHY does stairwell guy wait so long? And how did he not hear any whispering? There's a Flatscreen TV near the Manager's Desk, which is near the Stairwell, which as near as I can tell the Manager watches pretty damn near all the time. It might have covered the noise? Distracted him while it was at it? That's my guess on the time lapse.)

He reached for his gun, I threw an elbow into his face and spun him around. Suddenly, we weren't fighting anymore. What was happening now was that I had a hostage in a chokehold as two other men in suits with guns in the lobby pointed them right at me. I don't even remember HOW I got him into that hold so quickly, but I did. I finished drawing Mastermind's gun from behind him, and jammed it into his side and said:

"One wrong move, and douchey gets it."

So. Picturing this scene: A bunch of suit wearing assholes with guns aiming at me and shouting for me to put my weapon down as I hold the key to this ENTIRE fucking thing hostage, as Weaver scampers down the stairs behind me.

I say to her, "You heard me. Get out of here."

She just gives me this look, taking a moment to marvel at the scene, and think about what action movie I had jumped out of. I have to admit, I was feeling nervous as hell, but pretty good about myself.

She started to say, "I'm not going to-"

I cut her off, "Shut up. Go."

(Editor's note: "Nick" does a shitty job of describing how this must have worked. Then again, like everything else saved on this blogger, this appears to be a first draft. After examining the Motel where this happened, Here's how things probably worked. If "Nick" was standing in the doorway to the stairwell, there would be a partition that would have kept the gunmen from seeing Weaver behind him. There was a back door just a little ways from said partition. "Nick" tried his best to keep everyone who showed up on this blog anonymous, but if Weaver is who I think she is, she's short enough, and "Nick" with a hostage is big enough, that their bodies could screen her until the point that she was about to exit out this back door. The gunmen couldn't have threatened her until AFTER she was gone. And gods know they must have been focused on "Nick.")

The Assholes start to point their guns at Weaver for a brief moment as she headed out the door, and tried to fire off a shot at them. I pointed MY gun at them for long enough to distract them, and then back at Mastermind.

Mastermind said, "Well, this is a surprising turn of events."

And I had just enough time to realize EXACTLY who Mastermind was. Having experienced that revelation again recently, I can tell you, it sucks doing it twice. There is only ONE reason I did not immediately jam the gun into him and unload the clip in the most violent and brutal fashion that I could manage.

The safety was on.

Mastermind stomped on my foot, pulled it out of my hand, and kicked me in the face. For an old guy, he's an awfully spry motherfucker.

And this is where the story should end. I should be shot dead or executed in a backroom by Mastermind and his goons. I shouldn't be talking to you now. But that's when I got lucky as fuck all.

Between the Jersey Devil, the Slender Man, and everything else I've run into over the years, this was bound to happen sooner or later. But the next thing I know, we're knee deep in Giant Mantis trying to pierce the Veil and tear us all to shreds. Mastermind's a canny operator, and loves him some Necromancy I think, because the spirits of the dead started swarming them. Mastermind's men formed up around us, and pulled out salt packets. In seconds, we were in a circle of protection.

And with that, Green Lady entered the room. You don't know her, because I haven't talked about her. You see, Green Man has a sister. And she is a manipulative, nasty, murderous bitch when she wants to be.

Her exact words were: "I'm here for what I'm owed, (Mastermind.)"

And then the world was an explosion of pain and light.

(Editor's note: I've been held up for so long because I was the Green Lady's prisoner for a few days. I'll tell you all about that in a little while. For now...lets say that he's not lying about how much of a bitch she is and leave it at that. She ripped the veil, time, and space a new one. My bet as to how "Nick" ended up back at his apartment? Because Time Lord was watching, and pulled his friend out of trouble. Beyond that, I'm still investigating.

So far, there are three factions in all of this: The Proxies, Mastermind, and Green Lady. I'll have something more concrete for you soon. After I've healed up a little.)

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Now I know the score

It took me a while to understand who exactly "Nick" is. When I did, I nearly peed my pants. After all these years, definite and obvious proof of his continued existence. To explain how I know him would take far too long for tonight. Lets stick to the basics however.

If you divided one year in seven, then one seventh of every year I've lived for the past eight odd years was spent trying to piece together who exactly this man was. He has listed in his fanciful passages such nicknames as "The War Without end", "The Weapon that Walks", and "The Man In Blue." Although, It was actually "The Woman In Blue", although that was what he was when I met him. This is my first real lead in a long time.

Allow me to add the following to the list: "The Blue Death", "The Abomination", and my personal favorite, "The End." On some occasions, he has been referred to as "Oh God, It's Her, Run!"

During the nine year period that "Nick" has been in operation, after year one there has been a one hundred mile area in which the vast majority of NEB (Negative Energy Beings) (AKA: "Demons") will not operate. No one has even been certain if "Nick" has been alive for the last 8 years (until very recently, a moment that was actually transcribed by "Nick".) In any case, he's sneakier than he'd admit, and no one could actually be sure if he was there. Nobody wanted to find out either. No one ever sat down and said, "Stay exactly one hundred miles from this place at all times", it just sort of happened. These are the precautions you have to take, even with the supposedly dead.

I watched him die. They broadcasted his death across time and space, to anyone who had the senses to feel it.

It didn't take.

This is the guy I injected full of drugs and tossed in a coffin. He'll get a kick out of it when he finds out who gave him the knockout drugs.

Now that I've got all that out of the way, I'm going to start editing and posting information he left behind. I don't think all of this makes sense. Then again, I have started receiving $100 a day, apparently to handle this stuff. I'm not a writer. I'm a detective. So I'm going to earn that pay by fact checking where I can, even if it's just my own experience I'm checking it by. There's always something you can do to verify information, and I'll find a way to make it happen.

My name is Ellen Noir. In this blog, I was referred to as The Samurai. I've shown up a few times on this blog prior to now in the "Past" sections. I never thought I'd see someone else right about that stuff. Now you get to read about it all from my perspective.

This is going to suck.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

What Happened The Other Day

I think the first thing I should tell you is that I'm not "Nick". That out of the way, maybe the rest of this will get easier. Probably not though.

Lets start with the important things, shall we?
  • I'm not a "Proxy."
  • I'm not a Mortal Enemy of some kind of the writer taunting him.
  • I'm not replacing "Nick" as the blogger. I'm supplementing him in this current situation.
  • "Nick" is not dead.
  • Do not come pouring out of the woodwork to declare that you will kill me, that you are superior to me, and that you represent some kind of god. I'm aware of the existence of the "Fears", and the Slender Man is just another one of them. They are not gods. Be insane somewhere else.
  • I'm not a nice person. I apologize for everything I'm going to tell you.

That said, you're all wondering about where "Nick" is. On Saturday, someone named Spencer decided to make a deliver from Philadelphia to New Mexico. Your "Sage" Ryuu reported on what she thought happened, and what she learned from "Nick's" roommates.

I'm keeping "Nick's" habit of linking items of note. It's a good habit. Cuts down on confusion.

All of this said, I am not a writer. I'm an accountant. This isn't something I want to be doing, but I don't have a choice in the matter.

On Friday, I received a phone call. I am assuming it was from the man you call "Time Lord." He mentioned a number of illegal things I've done over the years, and that evidence of them was stored somewhere regarding them. He in fact, listed ALL of the illegal things I've done over the years. Then he told me what I needed to do for him to keep my life.

1: Go to the location of "Nick Dwyer." Inject him with my knockout drugs of choice, load him into a cheap, light, inexpensive coffin (conveniently located at a nearby Mortuary for pickup.) Do so within a VERY narrow period of time.

2: Transport said coffin to a specific street corner.

This is where a snag in the plan happened. Namely that whoever was attacking "Nick's" house. Unmarked cars, unmarked men in suits, lots of guns, and they tried to lock down the area. I made it through, I dropped off the coffin, I nearly killed two people, and I got out. This was problematic, but according to Time Lord, "An acceptable amount of Risk."

I am not happy.

3: Edit items currently on the blog "Records of an Impossibility", use a password that I'm not placing on the open internet, Present them after I have some kind of revelation (Gods only knew what he meant by that), and have fun. Oh, and edit them and add my own notes. Also: Apparently, the men in suits will not see these due to a perception filter. I hate perception filters.

If you have questions about me, I may answer them. I have familiarized myself with SOME of "Nick's" reading material, but not all of it. If you would like to know where "Nick" is, I can't tell you. What I can tell you is that he is very much alive, and if what Spencer said is true he is very capable of walking out of that coffin and continuing on with his life. I will point out however, that you people are NOT my responsibility, and that this isn't my problem. I'm just doing my time until this "Time Lord" says our deal is through. As per why I am not simply posting this as "AmalgamationSage", lets be honest with ourselves. It wouldn't be respectful, as I am not actually this "Nick Dwyer."

As per why I'm writing his name entirely in quotations, it's because that's about as appropriate a name for him as calling a toaster Clarice. I don't know WHAT it is that it reminded me of, besides a loaded gun, but his spiritual form is familiar to me. It's confusing.

Like I said before, I'll answer questions if you'd like. In the mean time, it appears there's a VAST stack of posts that I've been ordered to read through that "Nick" never posted. I've got a lot of reading to do.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Dear Redlight: An Open Letter

Dear Redlight,

We had an enlightening conversation last time. Meeting you in person showed me many things, about you, what you are, and how you operate. It also gave me incredibly useful information regarding The Tree. Don't worry, I still intend to destroy or eliminate that tree, the abomination that it is. After all, I'm one of the very few people equipped to do so, and there are those syringes to worry about.

That said, you've probably noticed something rather terrifying as of late. Namely the fact that you're out of bodies.. You see, people form sympathetic connections between each other over time. Love, hate, like, dislike, and everything inbetween. It is through connections like these that old sayings such as the "red string of fate" are formed, or the idea of a bond between two people that can cross all distances in time and space. You had developed several very special connections with a number of specific people. We will refer to these as your unfortunate "Redlit" proxies. As you well know, those connections have very quickly been disappearing as of late.

When I was out finding Nessa the other day, I did some cutting. When I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep, I did some cutting. And right now as I type this and think of how to properly state my feelings, I'm doing some cutting. In a very short period of time, you will be out of bodies. There are maybe one or two that I will not be able to cut at this point. I'm not particularly worried about this though. One more body just won't take you very far.

After all, beyond the people you've already worked with, thanks to the proper cuts, you will no longer be able to "Redlight" anyone else ever again. Savor the time you have in your next body, because it's your last. Your stale, static eternity is over.

Don't worry though. As I previously said, I will be taking care of that tree. And I would strongly suggest not giving people injections of the Tree Juice. The results may surprise you.

In short: Scissors beat Paper.

Sincerely Yours,
Nick Dwyer, Amalgamation Sage, The Crazy Beastmaster