ZacksQuest
Indiscriminate Quest Taker
Prologue: Board Meeting
He could sense the hum of magic, feel it like a vibration beneath the skin, and he knew he was late to arrive. He adjusted his tie and cracked his neck before stepping out of the shadows that danced along the edges of the room and into the light.
Normally, only around five people were present for meetings, and the information discussed would be relayed to the rest; there simply was never the need to gather in one place. But right now the entire board of directors for Infernal Intervention were seated around that lacquered conference table and it made the Director uneasy. In the dim light of the room, macabre shadows danced across the faces of its members. Those faces, already masked in distrust, seemed twisted further in their wariness. Archmages and noted politicians at the table looked at gods with apprehension; the gods looked back at the mortals with the contempt and pity a millionaire would give a homeless man. A half-dragon, amber eyes one of the brightest sources of light in the room, broke the tense silence of the room with a contemptible huff of smoke from his slit nostrils and leaned back. The representative of the American Mythical Delegation looked at his contemporaries in England, Greece, Israel, China, and Russia, with eyes that scanned for intention, and they all were doing the same. There were only three truly calm members present: one, an imposing and firmly toned man with a slim face and shoulder-length russet hair, rubbing his chin in internal contemplation with a visibly mechanical hand of polished brass; the other, easily the tallest figure in the room with skin less white than chrome, with eyes of an ethereal blue and no visible pupils, who was looking on with almost bemused indifference; the last, a gnarled root of an old man, nary a speck of white or gray puff on his head, lined and wrinkled as if he had spent a thousand years immersed in water. This old man's eyes were white as if completely covered over by cataracts, but the eyes shifted and glared at the newcomer with an air of acceptance and peace.
And then, a few seconds after that first wizened representative noticed his arrival, all eyes were on the Director. He coughed and then said, "They received their dossiers and room assignments. They're getting acclimated while their test scenario is being set up."
A simple statement. Punctual. Factual. Trying very hard to avoid all the touchy subjects about the new team lineup. Unfortunately, all Hell broke loose anyways.
An elegant looking woman in a dress and shawl of black and red satin began the maelstrom. "My delegation would like to know why out of all the mage applicants you chose a wash-out evocator for your t-"
Her complaints were still being loudly sounded when a six-foot, blue-skinned brute of a man whose skin was a veritable array of white tattoos in circular patterns butted in with a guttural Germanic accent, "You allowed a notable proponent of monster discrimination onto this team! Regardless of any silvertongue representation, as a political move this is a step back-"
Yet another complaint from a woman with the head of a lioness, dark mane draping down in coiffed dreadlocks and adorned in simple white linens and gold, "Three members of this new team of yours are linked to an incident that took thousands of my followers, and now you expect me to accept them as task handlers-?"
Another board member, a woman in silver plate mail with long, braided hair like corn silk and blue eyes burning deep behind high cheekbones, slammed her ivory palm on the table and said, "Only two of these applicants had even a fucking day's worth of battlefield experience! Even the ones that look like they can put up a fight have a grand total of jack and shit in their files, how'm I supposed to trust that?"
Another one, the American delegate, said, "Given this lineup, we may need to renegotiate our portion of the funding for the next fiscal quarter." The other delegates looked to each other, and one or two nodded. More voices added on with chiding criticisms and claims of misplaced faith.
In the midst of this maelstrom, the gnarled old man raised a spindly, deeply tanned hand, and in that moment all chatter ceased. He didn't raise his voice or even speak but that simple gesture stopped the crowd of voices.
"Thank you, Chairman," said the director, bowing politely. He looked to the other two calm individuals, then at the rest of the convened council. "Your thoughts on the team, Sandalphon? Apollo?"
Apollo spoke first. The metallic fingers were drumming the table in front of him while the other was folded. "The Olympian Neonate had... no suitable applicants at this time. It is an odd lineup you and the Chairman have selected, but even if this little experiment of yours flounders in the water, there are still six other teams that have my confidence."
Sandalphon, the being with chrome skin and glowing blue eyes, spoke evenly, with little inflection in his voice. Every action and word was slow, calculated to remain as impartial and unbiased as the figure could. As the mouth of God, it was a rather important quality to have. "The Heavenly Host finds the lineup suitable. Penance is a fine crucible through which a true air of neutrality and justice can be born. Our pantheon would also like to offer our condolences to the tragedy that occurred in board member Sekhmet's territory, but emphasize the vast difference in administrations between the Knight Templar that perpetrated the event and the Knight Templar on the roster..."
Sekhmet visibly bristled, face curled up in a snarl of outrage. "The 'Templar on the roster', Archangel? You mean the oh-so-infamous Wrathful Saint? With a defense like that, our pantheon would like to offer advice on where you and your God can shove their condolences-"
"Enough." The first words to come from the Chairman turned the heat of Sekhmet's anger into a deathly chill.
"Yes, Chairman." Sekhmet sat back down.
"Your thoughts, Chairman?" the Director asked. Physically, he was sure of his safety, but having the hot lamp of scrutiny shoved into your face was never pleasant.
The Chairman closed his eyes, broke his leathery face with a smile, and he began to speak slowly and creakily. "I cannot give my thoughts free of bias. I chose every member of this new team myself; the man who you are deriding gave many of the same criticisms that you have now. These names and other names are intertwined in destiny; all their secrets and their loyalties will converge in one spot, and the outcome of that convergence will spell out salvation or our damnation."
From their faces, the general consensus of the rest of the board was confusion, slowly giving way to grimaces of resignation. The man spoke in such prophetic tongues that even the gods, who average in the tens of thousands of years old and know their way around a prophecy or two, found it hard to keep up with him. But he was Zarathustra, first human mage and high commander against the demons during their first uprising; Zarathustra, who stared directly into the stream of linear time and gained rudimentary knowledge of every event that has been or will be, could be trusted implicitly. So, thus sprach Zarathustra, the Council accepted it.
The Director's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pockets, turned it on, read the notification and had it back off and in his pocket in a second. "Their training simulation is ready. Would any of the board's members like to see how they fare in this little exercise?"
Apollo shrugged. "It'll be amusing at the very least," he muttered as he got up from his chair- then hunched over the desk in pain for a few seconds, before straightening himself up and going towards the boardroom doors.
Sandalphon nodded. "I would like to speak with some of the members of this new team."
Sekhmet shut her eyes for a second, then got up and headed in the same direction as Apollo. Her words were cool and level, but there was an undertone of steel betraying the anger beneath. "I would like some words with the djinn and the saint, as well."
The woman in plate mail with silk hair asked, "What mission is being simulated?"
The Director cocked an eyebrow and looked towards the woman. "The Deimos Insurrection of 2068. Board member Freya?"
Freya beamed. "I'd like to test their fighters. Could I fill in for whichever underpaid and underwhelming intern you have playing Deimos?"
The Director sighed. "I... fine, I don't see why not. Warp yourself to the room and take a look at the schematics. Just don't- don't go cutting any of our new recruits' limbs off."
Freya tutted. "Hey, I'm not Thor, you spear throwing ass. I hope you're not going to object if they get some cuts and bruises though. Pain is the best teaching tool there is, after all." With that and another grin, she snapped her fingers and vanished from the room.
Normally, only around five people were present for meetings, and the information discussed would be relayed to the rest; there simply was never the need to gather in one place. But right now the entire board of directors for Infernal Intervention were seated around that lacquered conference table and it made the Director uneasy. In the dim light of the room, macabre shadows danced across the faces of its members. Those faces, already masked in distrust, seemed twisted further in their wariness. Archmages and noted politicians at the table looked at gods with apprehension; the gods looked back at the mortals with the contempt and pity a millionaire would give a homeless man. A half-dragon, amber eyes one of the brightest sources of light in the room, broke the tense silence of the room with a contemptible huff of smoke from his slit nostrils and leaned back. The representative of the American Mythical Delegation looked at his contemporaries in England, Greece, Israel, China, and Russia, with eyes that scanned for intention, and they all were doing the same. There were only three truly calm members present: one, an imposing and firmly toned man with a slim face and shoulder-length russet hair, rubbing his chin in internal contemplation with a visibly mechanical hand of polished brass; the other, easily the tallest figure in the room with skin less white than chrome, with eyes of an ethereal blue and no visible pupils, who was looking on with almost bemused indifference; the last, a gnarled root of an old man, nary a speck of white or gray puff on his head, lined and wrinkled as if he had spent a thousand years immersed in water. This old man's eyes were white as if completely covered over by cataracts, but the eyes shifted and glared at the newcomer with an air of acceptance and peace.
And then, a few seconds after that first wizened representative noticed his arrival, all eyes were on the Director. He coughed and then said, "They received their dossiers and room assignments. They're getting acclimated while their test scenario is being set up."
A simple statement. Punctual. Factual. Trying very hard to avoid all the touchy subjects about the new team lineup. Unfortunately, all Hell broke loose anyways.
An elegant looking woman in a dress and shawl of black and red satin began the maelstrom. "My delegation would like to know why out of all the mage applicants you chose a wash-out evocator for your t-"
Her complaints were still being loudly sounded when a six-foot, blue-skinned brute of a man whose skin was a veritable array of white tattoos in circular patterns butted in with a guttural Germanic accent, "You allowed a notable proponent of monster discrimination onto this team! Regardless of any silvertongue representation, as a political move this is a step back-"
Yet another complaint from a woman with the head of a lioness, dark mane draping down in coiffed dreadlocks and adorned in simple white linens and gold, "Three members of this new team of yours are linked to an incident that took thousands of my followers, and now you expect me to accept them as task handlers-?"
Another board member, a woman in silver plate mail with long, braided hair like corn silk and blue eyes burning deep behind high cheekbones, slammed her ivory palm on the table and said, "Only two of these applicants had even a fucking day's worth of battlefield experience! Even the ones that look like they can put up a fight have a grand total of jack and shit in their files, how'm I supposed to trust that?"
Another one, the American delegate, said, "Given this lineup, we may need to renegotiate our portion of the funding for the next fiscal quarter." The other delegates looked to each other, and one or two nodded. More voices added on with chiding criticisms and claims of misplaced faith.
In the midst of this maelstrom, the gnarled old man raised a spindly, deeply tanned hand, and in that moment all chatter ceased. He didn't raise his voice or even speak but that simple gesture stopped the crowd of voices.
"Thank you, Chairman," said the director, bowing politely. He looked to the other two calm individuals, then at the rest of the convened council. "Your thoughts on the team, Sandalphon? Apollo?"
Apollo spoke first. The metallic fingers were drumming the table in front of him while the other was folded. "The Olympian Neonate had... no suitable applicants at this time. It is an odd lineup you and the Chairman have selected, but even if this little experiment of yours flounders in the water, there are still six other teams that have my confidence."
Sandalphon, the being with chrome skin and glowing blue eyes, spoke evenly, with little inflection in his voice. Every action and word was slow, calculated to remain as impartial and unbiased as the figure could. As the mouth of God, it was a rather important quality to have. "The Heavenly Host finds the lineup suitable. Penance is a fine crucible through which a true air of neutrality and justice can be born. Our pantheon would also like to offer our condolences to the tragedy that occurred in board member Sekhmet's territory, but emphasize the vast difference in administrations between the Knight Templar that perpetrated the event and the Knight Templar on the roster..."
Sekhmet visibly bristled, face curled up in a snarl of outrage. "The 'Templar on the roster', Archangel? You mean the oh-so-infamous Wrathful Saint? With a defense like that, our pantheon would like to offer advice on where you and your God can shove their condolences-"
"Enough." The first words to come from the Chairman turned the heat of Sekhmet's anger into a deathly chill.
"Yes, Chairman." Sekhmet sat back down.
"Your thoughts, Chairman?" the Director asked. Physically, he was sure of his safety, but having the hot lamp of scrutiny shoved into your face was never pleasant.
The Chairman closed his eyes, broke his leathery face with a smile, and he began to speak slowly and creakily. "I cannot give my thoughts free of bias. I chose every member of this new team myself; the man who you are deriding gave many of the same criticisms that you have now. These names and other names are intertwined in destiny; all their secrets and their loyalties will converge in one spot, and the outcome of that convergence will spell out salvation or our damnation."
From their faces, the general consensus of the rest of the board was confusion, slowly giving way to grimaces of resignation. The man spoke in such prophetic tongues that even the gods, who average in the tens of thousands of years old and know their way around a prophecy or two, found it hard to keep up with him. But he was Zarathustra, first human mage and high commander against the demons during their first uprising; Zarathustra, who stared directly into the stream of linear time and gained rudimentary knowledge of every event that has been or will be, could be trusted implicitly. So, thus sprach Zarathustra, the Council accepted it.
The Director's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pockets, turned it on, read the notification and had it back off and in his pocket in a second. "Their training simulation is ready. Would any of the board's members like to see how they fare in this little exercise?"
Apollo shrugged. "It'll be amusing at the very least," he muttered as he got up from his chair- then hunched over the desk in pain for a few seconds, before straightening himself up and going towards the boardroom doors.
Sandalphon nodded. "I would like to speak with some of the members of this new team."
Sekhmet shut her eyes for a second, then got up and headed in the same direction as Apollo. Her words were cool and level, but there was an undertone of steel betraying the anger beneath. "I would like some words with the djinn and the saint, as well."
The woman in plate mail with silk hair asked, "What mission is being simulated?"
The Director cocked an eyebrow and looked towards the woman. "The Deimos Insurrection of 2068. Board member Freya?"
Freya beamed. "I'd like to test their fighters. Could I fill in for whichever underpaid and underwhelming intern you have playing Deimos?"
The Director sighed. "I... fine, I don't see why not. Warp yourself to the room and take a look at the schematics. Just don't- don't go cutting any of our new recruits' limbs off."
Freya tutted. "Hey, I'm not Thor, you spear throwing ass. I hope you're not going to object if they get some cuts and bruises though. Pain is the best teaching tool there is, after all." With that and another grin, she snapped her fingers and vanished from the room.
CHARACTERS: Director Pallas, Chairman Zarathustra, Board-Member Apollo, Board-Member Freya, Board-Member Sekhmet, Board-Member Sandalphon, Board-Member Athugg-Mogg, Board-Member Saiorse ap Amwrest, Board-Member Michael Huntley
Infernal Intervention Headquarters: Living Quarters
The octagonal living quarters that were assigned to the brand new recruits of Team Ezec felt kind of like a hospital ward crossed with a college dorm. The Director, who handed them each a dossier and told them the rules of their living arrangements, said that they could customize the common room and sleeping quarters to their liking provided they didn't start knocking down walls; right now, though, everything felt sparse and sterile. There were wall hangings, potted plants, comfy couches and chairs, a mini-fridge with a decent number of snacks and drinks, a pinball machine and a wall-mounted TV which, if they checked, they would find were not working at the moment. The dormitories that connected to the common room had two beds, two dressers, and two nightstands on either side of the door; in an even-numbered team, everyone would have a roommate.
The Director hurried off to what he had called an "important board meeting", and after some vague rambling about how they'd be called to an "initiation" in about ten minutes, the team was left to their own devices. After unpacking their stuff in their assigned rooms, only thing the teammates could do, save admire wall art or gorge themselves on tangelos before the team was called, was talk to each other. Since they were going to be seeing a lot more on each other, and possibly relying on each other for their continued survival, it seemed the advantageous thing to do.
The Director hurried off to what he had called an "important board meeting", and after some vague rambling about how they'd be called to an "initiation" in about ten minutes, the team was left to their own devices. After unpacking their stuff in their assigned rooms, only thing the teammates could do, save admire wall art or gorge themselves on tangelos before the team was called, was talk to each other. Since they were going to be seeing a lot more on each other, and possibly relying on each other for their continued survival, it seemed the advantageous thing to do.
Characters: None | Location: IIHQ Common Area | Action: None (Currently) | Other Notes: None (Currently)
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