Well, this Eric knew you in what was about a decade ago for you and a millennium or two for him, so he can't really trust what he remembers.
What you know about Haus is that he is probably the only indig (person indigenous to this world) who is in full and complete health, and that he thinks that the two of you have been sent by God to "fix what's broke", as he would put it. He's a street beggar, but no one has asked his story; he apparently knows and respects Father Casey, although whether he is/was Catholic or simply a beneficiary of Catholic charities no one has asked.
Eric takes the controls and spins it around like a demolition derby driver, speeding down the street toward the church. He seems annoyed by the lack of response he's getting from the vehicle, but it seems to be a pretty decent piece of equipment to your perceptions.
You pick up Haus and Father Casey, and Eric says, "Which way?"
"You'll want to pick up the Interstate north," Father Casey answers.
"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific than that," Eric says. "We're not from around here."
"Right. Sorry. Make a left at the light."
In this way you start picking your way through the rubble of the streets of Columbus, trying to find your way out of the city and north toward a chapel in the woods.
--M. J. Young
While I'm trying to keep a grip on my seat (double check that seat belt), I turn to Father Haus. "So what's your story? Why aren't you, you know, dying or messed up like everyone else here is?"
Might as well talk about something on the way there.
We seem to have a bit of confusion on the characters here.
Greg Haus is the beggar from the street; Eric healed him to test a healing skill, and brought him to full health. His reason for being healthy is that the "angel, or whatever he is, healed me."
Father Casey is as injured as anyone; he's just a tough old man. eighty percent of the human population of the earth was brought to death, and the other twenty percent was severely injured but still surviving. He falls into that twenty percent. He's in a lot of pain, and in any other circumstance would be in the hospital, but since he knows there are worse than he and he is able to do something for them, he's trying to do what he can do.
He's also interested in your story.
--M. J. Young
OOC: Got it.
IC: "Well, I was killed, at least I believe I was, and I woke up here in a place were apparently mutants and aliens are matter of fact. That might not make a lot of sense to you, but it doesn't make any to me either. I guess that means I'm not insane."
"Really?" Father Casey looks a bit perturbed. "I would not have expected anything like that at all."
"Nor should you," Eric says. "Ed and I are versers. It's kind of hard to explain, really, but in our worlds, scientists started experimenting with something we call Scriff, and companies started using it in things--mostly consumer electronics--before figuring out that it wasn't really safe. God apparently allowed that to happen; the result of it is that a few people, such as Ed and I, got infected with this substance, and now we don't age and we don't really die. We disintegrate in one universe and reintegrate in another.
"Personally, I think God needed a few good men--and women--to help out here and there as we are able. I don't think it fits my original theology, either. Most people who die go directly to God, I would guess; a few of us get the dirty work of going back to help. That doesn't make us angels, really; but we're not really mortal, anymore, either."
He pauses, trying to find a way around the debris of a collapsed building, then continues.
"I wouldn't let it rewrite your theology too drastically, if I were you, Father. It might be that there has never been anyone like us in this universe before this year, and maybe when we're gone it will never happen again. But you guys were well on your way to an ecological armageddon, and I think Ed and I and a few other people might have been sent to prevent it. Our efforts haven't exactly been completely positive to this point, but everyone's got their bad days."
--M. J. Young
Yeah. No bad day is complete until you accidentally kill off everybody on the planet. Then it's a bad day. Slowly poisoning the planet over the course of decades, now that's a crisis.
I'm having a hard time grasping what my rush is supposed to be. Not Godzilla, I know what the rush there was. Not right now, I know why we are on a time limit, or at least I think I do. I just don't understand why he feels the need to force people to do the right and moral thing. Most people I've met don't need coercion; they need reminders.
Besides, I don't age, which means I don't need to change the world overnight.
I jerk myself out my own musings. Time will do what time does. I've got my own theory as to what the scriff is, but it's close enough to Eric's defination for the time being to be irrelevant.
I mentally ready myself for the upcoming fight. I'm picturing something right out of DOOM.
Read: Plasma cannon or not, I'll probably be testing that "Immortality" bit, and that's presuming this whole isn't one crazy dream after all.
You ride for a few hours; then the machine sputters and rolls to a halt.
"Out of gas," Eric says. "I was thinking of filling it up, but I didn't really see any service stations along the highway that looked operational, and I hoped we'd make it."
"We nearly have," Father Casey says. "We're only maybe five miles out, maybe less. It's this exit right ahead, but they're a couple miles off the main road, of course. So I guess we walk from here. Can someone give me a hand out of this thing? I'm not so spritely as the rest of you."
"My fault, that," Eric says. "I should have attended to your condition sooner." He repeats the same thing he did with Greg Haus, and Father Casey smiles.
"Yes, that's much better, thanks. Apparently you're saints--at least, you seem to be working miracles."
You're all out of the vehicle in a minute, with Father Casey pointing the way up the road to an exit in the distance.
I see the four of you walking the rest of the way without incident, but if there's anything you need to add before we reach the monastery, now's the time.
--M. J. Young
I'm good. Five miles is about an hour if we are hustling, two if we pace ourselves, which would be the wiser of the two courses.
"Hope you got some water on you." I tell the other two. "You'll want it."
Neither of your local companions brought water, but Eric has a canteen that holds a gallon, and he shares it. Father Casey, the eldest, is slowest, but you manage the trip in about one and a half hours.
There are then some protocols, introductions to the Monsignor, who extends his hospitality in this difficult time. Many of the monks are out in the surrounding areas trying to help the wounded, and others are bedridden here, too wounded themselves to be much help to others.
"These two men," Father Casey explains, "seem to have been sent by God to do something about our world. They say they need to use the chapel to pray; they particularly said they needed a chapel in the woods, and I thought of you."
"Also," Eric adds, "I think it would be wise if your people withdrew from it, and found a place to pray nearby, perhaps in your dining room. There are spiritual forces of wickedness that are likely to array themselves against us, and we'll need the support, but I don't want anyone too close if it gets bad."
--M. J. Young
I just do some thnking about what I'm about to be facing. The walk has warmed me up, and I'm still getting ready inside. Demons, what do I know about them? Well, if I'm lucky they'll use something other than brute force; in fact, history has demonstrated that is usually the least desirable tactic to them. Usually they like to turn people against themselves. In Eric's case, they would probably appeal to his righteous fury. Not directly of course; if I were a demon, I'd give him a bit of inspiration that appeals along those lines. Inspiring him to do what he is going to do, but "improve" on the idea somehow.
So how would I appeal to someone like myself? What are my weak points? Pragmatic evil, for one. Machiavelli (OOC: I'm certain I mispelled that.) and I tend to see eye to eye on a few of the viewpoints I encountered that were attributed to him. In addition, I tend to be somewhat lazy; it's hard to motivate me into rushing on anything, even when it is in my interests to do so. I have some serious anger management issues, most of the time I curb it, but every once in a while my temper just gets the better of me, although the manifestation is subtle.
Of course, that's presuming they don't just use the DOOM approach. Under those conditions, I'll just shoot them. That's why I haven't given the issue much thought. I need to know my battleground first.
The elderly monk leads your foursome to the chapel. It is indeed very much a chapel in the woods--the five rows of pews with center aisle could squeeze forty people, maybe fifty if they were all slender, and the raised dais could be charitably described as rustic. It is some damaged from the disaster, but the monks have already made some simple repairs to it, and it is surprisingly intact all things considered.
As the head of the monastery retreats to organize his people for prayer, Father Casey and Greg Haus are standing in the back of the chapel.
"What should we do?" Haus asks.
Eric looks at you, and shrugs. "Whatever he says, I guess. I needed him to help me, so I guess he has you to help him."
--M. J. Young
I get to work. "If you two are staying for the ritual, barricade those doors. If anything wants to break in, they can find a way around it or spend a bit of time crashing it." I start moving the pews. "These should be set up as a maze work. Moving in a straight line should be difficult without moving them. Again, everything is about buying time. I'm going to be commanding the door side of the dias, Tadeusz will do his work behind me."
"If they have wings, teleport, or are incorporeal, I might have a hard time dealing with them, so any measures you can put into place to prevent such infilteration will help immensely. I can't kill what I can't delay."
I hate defensive operations. I usually succeed by driving back the enemy to the source and cutting them off, but I simply do not have the power to do that. Namely, it's me against the horde. I start setting up the pews in a zig-zag formation around the door. I don't want to stop all movement, just make it difficult as possible. I find myself wishing I had kept some explosive with me.
I don't have the heart to tell these guys I'm about to destroy their church defending Eric here.
Eric sets up a few things, and then stops.
"What time is it?" he asks.
"Don't look at me," Greg says. "I don't own a watch."
"Mine broke in the disaster," Father Casey says.
"Anyway," Eric says, "it's still daylight. I've been in such a hurry, I almost overlooked a critical point: for this spell to work, I've got to start about an hour before dawn.
"I guess that means we've got to find a way to make sure we're awake an hour before dawn, and then we all have to get some rest.
"Oh, Ed--I neglected to tell you this part. While I'm doing my part over here, you have to--this is going to sound pretty stupid, and if you're still thinking this is all a dream, it's going to make it seem more like a dream. The way this spell is designed, your job includes firing that Plasma Cannon into the sky repeatedly, until either it dies or I finish the ritual. The ritual will take about an hour. So you'll probably want to open a window and stand near it, so you don't have to blow a hole in the roof right away." He gives a somewhat sardonic smile.
"All right, everyone, let's get some rest." He takes off a few pieces of equipment and settles himself on the bare floor. "I'm setting my internal clock to wake me; hopefully it's adjusted itself to our location, and I'll be up at a good time."
The others look at each other and you.
"I'll see if the brothers can spare a bit of food and drink," Father Casey says.
"I'll give you a hand with it, if you like," Greg says.
--M. J. Young
Until...IT...dies...
Fantastic.
"Well, that sounds lovely." I get settled down for the sleep I can get until I'm needed. "Well, I can shoot the Old Ones until one us dies. Heck, I could probably look him in the eye with no ill effects. You can't destroy a pile of rubble."
"Anyhow, wake me up when we are almost ready. I've done all I can."
I'm getting some sleep until then. I want to be rested.
You awaken in darkness; Eric is prodding you.
"The brothers apparently have provided breakfast--we have bread, fruit, and juice. Father Casey and Haus are both asleep, but in about fifteen or twenty minutes I'm going to start the magic. I'll need you ready then. If you need them, you'd better wake them up."
--M. J. Young
Neither one has weapons, but I figure since I'm probably going to level this structure due to stray firepower, I might as well let them be awake to see it. Besides, the rules here are different. They might actually help out.
I wake them up and tell them to stay close to Tadeusz. "In addition, if you have any knowledge of dealing with demons, use it." Heck, they're ideas are as good as mine.
I get on the dias, and ready the clips, tapping them on the pews to settle the ammo. Last thing I need is for a jam or a misfire to occur in the middle of a firefight. I ready the plasma cannon and practice pulling it to my front quickly. It's not my first choice of weapon due to the charge time and the overheat, but it's got a punch, and it will make...it...go away.
I hope.
You get set up, and Eric gives the nod as he starts his ritual.
It is at this point that you're expected to start firing the big one out the window into the sky.
Father Casey has donned some sort of overlying vestment, and is praying aloud in Latin--Credo in unum deum, pater omnipotentum....
For a moment you see what appears to be a grey mist forming around the edges of the sanctuary, but it is pushed back and dispersed into nothingness.
Father Casey and Eric both continue their prayers.
--M. J. Young
Well, I start charging shots, but until I have a clear target, I'm not actually shooting anything. I don't know how much combat abuse this thing can take. I was either designed for a warrior wearing heat resistant armor of some kind, or just as likely it was authorized by someone who thought it would be an awesome weapon and ignored any field test results that contradicted his point of view. Like the fact that it could kill its shooter after a sustained firefight.
Either way, I contribute a silent prayer of my own.
'God, win or lose, Thy Will be done.'
Then I get ready to shoot anything clearly out of place.
You keep watching, scanning all directions.
A movement catches your eye, and you turn toward it.
The lid of the baptismal font--a small free-standing basin of water on a stand--has risen into the air and is hovering above it.
--M. J. Young
"Gentlemen, is that your doing? And if not, is this a good thing?" I'm rather uncertain as to whether to fire or not. On the one hand, holy water might be a good thing. On the other hand, that lid could be a deadly projectile.
If I even hear the tone of concern, I'm shooting. I'm sifting my position so that when I fire the weapon (I'm pulling the Uzi for this one, packing up the plasma for now) there is no one behind the basin.
Besides, I still don't have a reliable target. Unless I shoot under the basin...
I'm clear that you are shooting the Uzi, but not clear concerning what you are targeting.
No one seems to know why the lid of the baptismal font rose into the air.
--M. J. Young
I set the Uzi to semi-auto, then I'm firing a single round under it, and then one above it. I figure I don't need to waste the whole clip on what might be air. Also, if I miss, it will make my companions very nervous. Like I said earlier, I will be moving so that if I hit nothing, I don't hit my allies.
Both of your shots embed themselves in the wall somewhere beyond the baptismal font.
The lid is quivering in the air.
--M. J. Young
"Hmph." I'm rather perturbed at this, but at least I understand the situation a little better. I move back to my position at the window. "Probably just a little trick on the part of the demonic forces to distract. Good job on their part. It worked on me."
I click the Uzi's safety on, and redraw the Plasma Cannon. (OOC: The operation of the weapon in my mind is something akin to the weapon from the movie Demolition Man, only bigger and with a shorter charge time. Correct me if I'm mistaken.)
I keep the corner of my eye on that basin, though. I'm not going to ignore that at any point. So yes, it's dividing my attention, and the only thing stopping me from blowing it up is that the shot from the cannon would probably blow a hole in the building too.
The lid now starts moving toward Eric; it is not moving very quickly, but it is moving rather directly.
--M. J. Young
Interesting. The force directing it can't throw it, but it can move and then drop. How distracting. But if ignored, fatal.
I quickly drop the plasma cannon and the backpack I'm wearing. I need speed, and those items will weigh me down. I jump up to the basin, and attempt to add my weight to the formula. Oh, and I make sure I end up in a position where I won't get crushed if this works. After all, if it can only move the item slowly and can't throw it, then carrying it like this must be an exertion.
Of course, I could be dead wrong.
For clarity, it is the lid that is in motion; the font itself is still on the floor. I'm assuming you're trying to jump onto the lid.
You set down the weapons and start running; the lid starts rising. You realize as you're about to make a dive atop it that it is too high, and so at the last minute you shift to trying to jump up and grab it with your hands--and you miss that, slamming into the communion rail and tumbling onto the slightly raised dais.
Looking up, you see the lid still rising but moving slowly in Eric's direction.
--M. J. Young
I roar in fury, run up to the railing and bound off of it, aiming to land on the basin. To be honest, if I can't do this, I really don't have any options. If I knock Eric out of the way, the ritual is over. I won't have time to run back to my bag and shoot it out of the air, and standing under it as it drops in some misguided attempt to stop it is out of the question; I'd be crushed flat.
You launch yourself up off the railing and land lying on your chest atop this lid; it is still floating in the air, but has stopped its motion toward Eric. You are hovering about eight feet above the dias.
--M. J. Young
Apparently, I don't think as far ahead as I would like to believe. Now that I'm up here, now what do I do?
I grin. "Let's shake things up a bit." I stand up, check my balance, and jump up and down on the lid. It should come crashing down if I haven't completely misjudged the situation. The landing will be a bit rough, but I've taken worse.
You jump on the lid, and it flattens and starts to dent into a bowl.
On the fourth hit, it suddenly drops. You are falling toward the floor, from a position of standing eight feet in the air.
--M. J. Young
I get ready to roll with the impact. After all, this was part of the plan.
"Great fun." Presuming an eight foot fall doesn't break me up (highly improbable, but something I can't ignore), I proceed back to the window, picking up all my new weaponry as I move. Likely things have changed and probably not for the better.
I ready the plasma cannon to shoot "it" again.
Ed, do you have experience at this "rolling with the fall" process? I know that this is something they teach in parachuting, and in some martial arts and acrobatics training, and it's a skill; the question from my perspective is whether this is something at which you already have some level of skill, or something you're about to teach yourself in the face of necessity.
If you have done it, practiced it, or been taught the technique, give me an idea of your level of skill. I'm guessing amateur, but it could be a high amateur.
--M. J. Young
OOC: Got on the receiving end of a healthy dose of violence when I was younger. Had to learn how to reduce an impact from falls and punches. Also studied a few judo manuals to further such techniques.
You time it wrong, and come down hard atop your left arm. It's not broken, but it's throbbing right at the moment, and will certainly bruise up badly.
You pick yourself up and collect your weapons.
A heavy wooden chair on the dais, maybe six to eight yards from where Eric is standing, suddenly falls over; it then lies still, as if dropped.
Eric continues his ritual.
--M. J. Young
I fire a shot into the sky, right where Eric said to fire, then I turn to the chair. Obviously, I'm about to end up in a fistfight with a chair of all things.
"Hey!" I shout out to anyone who can answer right now. "Something is in here, or they can see in here. I need to know what I'm fighting, or this mission is a failure." This is not an empty statement on my part. If I don't know my foe's limits, which are apparently different from my expectations, this fight is already over, because this enemy is testing me. And I know I'm failing.
I'm looking around for anything out of place. My arm hurts, but I'll get over it. Bad landings happen. Clearly I'm out of practice.
The biggest frustration about this is that I don't really know what this enemy can do. After all, I wasn't informed. Guess the presumption was that I would just KNOW. Note to self: If I live through this, ask very pointed rude questions whenever possible.
The others stare at each other for a moment, and then the priest seems to realize that he's the nearest you've got to an expert.
"I'm only guessing," he says, "but I would guess that for whatever reason the enemy cannot enter here--it is, after all, holy ground in the midst of holy ground, and I have been praying for God's protection all this time, which probably keeps it at bay. It thus is struggling to get hold of anything it can to use as a weapon. But as I say, it's a guess. I've never paid much attention to demonology; I always thought that the real battles were fought on the streets, among the poor and downtrodden."
Haus shrugs. "It's a better guess than I could make."
--M. J. Young
It will do. Also gives me an incentive not to level the church and challenge the demons to fight me headlong. Call it a thought of frustration.
I quickly stride over to the chair and grab it. "I'm just curious, demon. How many of these can you grab before you run out of strength? I get the impression that dias I crashed cost you."
You realize that you've actually gotten through well over an hour of the ritual now; and whether it is your defiance or the enemy's own uncertainty, the room remains quiet but for Father Casey's praying and Eric's ritual. It is tense, but the tension is mostly because you don't know what to expect next, or when it will come.
--M. J. Young
Suits me either way. I rest a moment; a kneeling, intense hybrid between prayer and preparation. I focus my thoughts. Anything that keeps me ready works for me. I keep the arm that got hurt in motion, getting myself used to the pain, so that if I need the arm, I won't care that it hurts to move it.
Yeah, I'll probably feel it tomorrow. I might not. I only need it to work without a hitch tonight. I continue gathering my inner fire, that resentment against an enemy who has the nerve to threaten me or my allies. I remind myself they are working on a clock, and the more I successfully resist, the weaker they are. I let myself know this demon is ignorant worm food.
I may be having an unnerving effect on anyone paying attention to me, because I'm kinda getting in touch with my inner psychopath right now. A controlled variation of such, but a very primal and visceral mindset nevertheless.