World Mechanics 5

Mor'ganth “Vengeful Death”

Creator Deity

Symbol: A stylized stake impaling a shattered circle

Home Plane: Material Plane

Alignment: Lawful neutral

Portfolio: vampires, redemption, order, vengeance, death, assassins

Worshipers: vampires, paladins, assassins

Cleric Alignments: must be lawful

Domains: Death, Inquisition, Law, Murder, Suffering, Redemption, Vengeance

Favored Weapon: natural weapon/soulknife/unarmed strike/racial weapon

Little is known of Mor'ganth's origins, but it is known he has defeated other deities and has absorbed ascended mortals, infernals and celestials into himself. He himself may have been a mortal once but on the subject he is silent, as is his retinue. His power is upheld and insured by the existence of fourteen holy champions that are each bound to a specific aspect of the deity.

Mor'ganth is worshipped by the Vampire Lords of Prior as their creator. All take the vow of the Codex Draconis upon their tenth year of life and many swear themselves as paladins. Mor'ganth invests a good deal of his attention to the living vampires and will always heed their prayers. His physical presence redoubts their faith. He has also stationed a six-armed avatar to stand guard over his 'children' at all times.

Mor'ganth pays little attention to the other races, charging his wards to protect them from the dark forces on Prior. It is not unheard of, though, for others to worship him and worthy individuals may find their prayers answered.

Dogma: Through clarity of thought, purity of mind, and suffering of the body, one can overcome weakness of the flesh. I offer redemption from the allure of temptation. Let my will strengthen your own. Accept destruction if you fail.

Great Balls of ...

“Fireball as a spell is a neat idea in fiction, but its practical application is tricky. Having fire as an element is a good start, but the evocative or force magic you need to make it more than a spell to roast marshmellows doesn't come naturally to fey.”

Michael sipped orange juice while lecturing. Magic consumes a lot of caloric energy and even demonstrating intuitive spells could leave one seriously depleted. “The magiir have the big booms necessary, but lack the essentia for elemental casting.”

“But that means Valerie...”

“Uncle Morgan did a blood transfusion with her to help cure her of a disease. A side effect of the transfusion is it granted her the ability to manipulate the element natural to him.”

“What if I try to make the fireball bigger?”

“It will be more voluminous, but no more dangerous.”

The youngster flexed his fingers frustratedly. “Part of being an adult,” Michael said patiently, “is accepting that everyone, including yourself, has shortcomings. I can't produce fire or electricity. And I never studied evocative magic. Your uncle may be able to teach you that, but be prepared for him to say no.”

Question Horizon

There comes a time when a non-human or demi-human is revealed for what he or she is. They catch you casting magic or they see your ears or you don't hide fast enough. And suddenly, this person is aware of a much larger world than just the physical one. So, suddenly, you're faced with a decision. Do you try to explain away what they've seen by using science fiction doublespeak? Or have you just taken on an acolyte? Sometimes you're lucky and they cobble together their own fantastic rationalization, but more likely they need an explanation, and not necessarily a rational one. Just something to keep them from thinking they're totally nuts.

Now, honestly, human minds run on emotion and logic. Most of their world runs this way, too. Magic is too chaotic to their way of thinking and violates most of their natural laws. Some of them can deal with its existence better than others. It's no big secret really that magic exists; we just don't discuss it openly because most humans would think we're crazy or worse. If someone point blank asked me if magic exists, I'd say yes. Whether they believed me is a separate question.

After the End

The world seemed dimmer than one would expect. The numbness and mental shock was understandable. Morgan had stopped counting bodies he'd left behind at around six thousand. That was early on the first day. Thirty days had now passed. Thirty days of people dropping dead or resisting, screaming and exploding at the mere sight of him. He smelled awful. The charnel smell of a fat-rendering plant would be more pleasant. His hands were so coated in blood and gore that it was cracking and flaking off in large chunks. He knelt by a stream and plunged his hands and face into the tannic waters. The wound on his hand ached and oozed. He could smell it putrifying.

Michael could not, would not, dare to think. The hollow, pale faces, carved sallower by fear and slow death haunted him, gnawed at him, crawled under his skin. The pain of the bodies racked by starvation ate his brain, gnawed on his consciousness, wormed through his innards. The horizon ceased to exist and a black ichor ran from his eyes, mingled with tears of horror. Where his hands touched the ground, the grass shriveled black and crackled into dust. The concept of millions dying slowly wrenched through him and drained away his sense of unanimity, of worldliness, of life.

Georg choked on his bile. The writhing sense of disgust within him was like acid etching away any thought of self. Pox and buboes had sprung up when he merely looked in the direction of living flesh. Sores and rashes and cracking, weeping black lesions from his breath. Where he moved, the plants went yellow and white or rusted brown. Birds spiralled out of the sky and horrible disfigurements of flesh and sinew and stalk gnawed into his eyeballs. The putrid smell of sickness and rivers of vomitus and mucus and effluvia clogged his nose and pores. Those who died quickly were lucky; many lingered on, crying to the heavens in pain and disjunction. Too many too sick and not a one could stand from infirmity.

Valerie hugged herself tightly. She was crying but had long run out of tears. The amount of bloodshed could have filled oceans. Men, women, children, animals – all fighting, all dying, without cease. She would walk near a town and suddenly fires and shouts and gunshots would ring out. Murder, mayhem, brawling, mauling. En masse and singly. With and without reason. She sat, untouched physically, but no one could walk away from the sea of carnage and be sane.

The other three had found each other by the time Morgan stumbled upon them. He could feel the trauma from quite a distance away. He had washed away as much of the signs of his damage as he could and walked up fairly clean. The three sat together but otherwise showed no recognition of anything outside their own painful realities. Morgan reached for his brother. Michael tried to speak, but only frantic gibberish came pouring out. Morgan understood. “I am sorry,” he whispered as he rendered him unconscious.

Morgan quickly did the same for the other two and transported everyone back to the “pre-apocolyptus.” If they continued being incapable of functioning, he would erase their memories of this. He silently ran a golden needle between his fingers and wondered at his own sanity.

Road Hazard

The mob must have mistaken him for someone else. What interest would they have in capturing him? They taped his mouth and manacled his wrists and ankles and threw him in a trunk after they'd sapped him. He awoke and felt the rough trunk liner against his cheek. Groggily, he considered calling his brother, but decided it wasn't necessary. As the car rode over a bumpy stretch of road, he painfully repositioned himself. It took several tries to get the tape off with his tongue. It wasn't completely clear, but off enough for him to start incanting. The first incant toughened his skin. The second shattered the steel handcuffs. The third rendered the car undriveable...

World OurStory

Charles habitually called both Morgan and Michael daddy. No one corrected him. It was too cute. No one disputed he would be the next baron, either. The two men jointly trained him for the role. One night, he climbed into a seat at a table where the two were discussing a diplomatic situation.

“There is no official positon and I haven't been instructed that we have one,” Michael commented. Morgan listened intently, drumming his fingers softly on the tabletop, a stylus perched between his middle and forefinger.

“In the long run, I think the accord will be useful. It the short term, it will incite riots, possibly a revolution,” Morgan responded.

“And that would be economically beneficial to foreign money?” Michael queried.

“It wouldn't look very nice, but insurrection is brewing either way. Let it happen. Let the air clear and then invest in actual progress.”

“I'd like to think there is some way to derail the revolution too.”

“Both sides are bloated self-serving ticks living off the blood of their subjects. They won't learn peace throuh any of these petty warlords.”

Charles had the enviable position in the household of being allowed to listen when the two were talking in Morgan's private study. There was no possibility of sneaking in or listening at the door as Morgan could always sense it. Charles leaned over into Michael's lap. “What are you talking about, Daddy?”

Morgan smirked as Charles's presence took Michael by surprise. “Oh! Eh...we were discussing world politics.”

“Yes, in the same way talking about bicycles is discussing renewable energy,” Morgan said snarkily.

Charles tried to read the papers in Michael's hand. “Africa?”

“There are areas of conflict in Africa. We were considering getting involved financially. The living conditions are deplorable in many areas and we think providing jobs will allow them to improve,” Michael exposited

“And, if we can covertly help create and back stable governments, they can owe us favors down the line,” Morgan added.

“Having someone owe us favors isn't as good as owing us money,” Charles theorized.

“Actually,” Michael said,” it's better than money. When someone owes us a favor, we keep track of it. We call on it when we truly need it. When money isn't enough or the proper way to deal with a situation, we have influence. There isn't a western nation that doesn't owe our family a favor or three. We've forgiven large debts in lieu of receiving favorable treatment or special conditions. And we have three hundred years worth to call on. And, if they ever change their minds about us, we can change our minds about the money they owe. Trust me that a couple hundred years of daily compounded interest can add up.”

“However,” Morgan added, “being worth several trillion on paper doesn't hurt either.”

Vengeful Death

Year 37: Georg was right. It took long weeks of bedrest in the infirmary for Morgan to recover well enough to breathe normally. He would request books from his library that Nicole and Krystie had to use a special key and password to unlock. He used his enchanted spectacles to read them. He took no notes but would chant things under his breath, sometimes passing out from reading.

After six weeks, Georg discovered him trying to pull the breathing tube out of his lungs. When he was freed of it, Georg put an oxygen feed in his nose. Hoarsely, Morgan said, “That made cantations challenging.”

“You shouldn't have needed to do them,” Georg chided.

“Maybe not, but it's natural for me to try. I'm an annoyingly hard-headed scafir, after all.”

Georg paused what he was doing. “Did you just crack a joke?”

Morgan smiled like a child just discovering something new. “Yes, I did. Is that not strange? For the first time in my life, my head is clear. No voices, no geases, no compulsions. Just me. I can think without interruption. It feels very... lonely. Too quiet.”

Georg smiled sunnily enough for Morgan to pick it up. “Let me get you some water. That gravelly voice doesn't suit you.”

Two months is a long time to nurse a grudge. It festered in Morgan's mind for three weeks, then he started plotting. He had time and quiet to plan and heal like never before. And he could triple check all his research, another luxury. Finally, he lay quiet, let the plan he etched out go dormant, and concentrated on his body healing. A peace and tranquility enveloped him as he realized that the torment and pain would be addressed and ended. Then this morning, Morgan realized he could breathe with regularity.

He fought the urge to regurgitate the first meal they brought him. Traditionally, any long period without eating angered his stomach. After muscling down the oatmeal and tea, he started to feel lively. He napped for a short while. He had been planning this long. There was no rush.

After lying awake for ten minutes to be sure he was alone, Morgan arose from the bed. He stood and found his legs rubbery. It took a few minutes before he felt steady enough to let go of the counter. He slowly reoriented himself to walking. The atrophy was minimal, but real. He took breaks as he needed them. The usual brisk pace he employed was now a tentative grope. Servants purposefully paid closer attention to their work when he came near. Finally, he found himself at the edge of the state rooms. He heard people milling about. “Help me,” he said. A maid dutifully wrapped a chintz throw around his waist while a young man took his arm and led him upstairs. Morgan thanked him and lay down. “Bring me a light meal,” he ordered. He was left alone.

~~~~~

Georg found Morgan soaking in a tub. “You're an amazing specimen,” he commented dryly.

“Healing is a luxury to me. I rarely get the time.”

“Well, now that you do, you should take all the time you need.”

Morgan sat up. “I never thought about what it would be like to just say no straight to someone's face. And now that I can, just having the choice is more liberating than actually making it.”

“Michael left you quite a gift.”

Morgan relaxed back, perfectly calm in his face, his voice was anguished. “I only wish he were here to benefit from it. I would so dearly like to talk to him now that my attention is... focused.”

~~~~~

Morgan had never learned portation magic and he'd buried his traveling cloak with his brother. But he knew deep inside he wouldn't need either. With the most humanizing factor in his life gone, there was very little humanity within him. A servant told him his brother's death mask had arrived. Morgan told him to have it placed next to his father's bust. Later, in his sitting room, he went in and ran his fingers over the new object. It was cold and inanimate and it was the last link he had to remember his brother viscerally. Michael's scent was fading from his usual seats and pillows.

He pressed the mask to his cheek and let the loneliness consume him. A sharp keening broke a profound silence. Tears carved a path down his face. When a familiar stabbing pain entered his mind, he did not ignore it. He placed the mask lovingly upon his brother's former seat and said to the ether, “I accept your summons.”

Scariel's schadenfreude was thick in the air. She was enjoying her surviving son's pain. He sensed no regret for murdering her good son. Steeling his mind, he said, “Yes, mother?”

“I told you,” she said, icily, “that you would be the death of your brother and look what has happened.”

Morgan turned his face downward, as was customary when speaking to a superior female. Respect was not his motive, though. He could feel his fangs sliding out.

“You could have saved hi-...” An incorporeal hand gripped her mind and shut off her speech.

“You,” he breathed, barely above a whisper. “You killed my brother. You killed my soul twin. You killed Michael.”

His mother was taken aback at being interrupted. Morgan had never spoken when she enforced her will over him. She still assumed a geas existed or was delusional enough to ignore that it didn't.

“I have suffered enormously because of you. Michael was the only comfort I had. And you took him from me, from everyone. You killed the one person who loved me.”

The tears came. His nose ran. It didn't matter. He didn't care. His voice wavered, but the steel edge remained. “And now mother, after all that I have borne under your servitude, this is something that will not go unanswered. I want revenge. But not simple revenge. I don't care about the torture or the deaths or the abandonment. This hurts far worse. Michael did not deserve this. And I can't let it go.”

“You're not soul twins. You have to be identical to be....”

Morgans knuckles cracked against Scariel's cheek. Scariel fell back and away, she tried to scramble away on the ground. He grabbed her ankle. “I believe this was how you did it once.”

He grabbed her by her nape and smacked her across the face. He felt bone give. She screamed loudly. “Shut up!” he shouted in her face. “You wouldn't let me scream when you did it, so shut it!”

She'll come to save me, she thought. Please, save me....

“Yes, call her,” Morgan said, regaining some composure. “Call her. I want you to know what you've done. I want you to experience what I am going through. I want you to know the pain” his voice dropped to a whisper, “of having your twin taken away.”

Scariel's eyes dilated with a fear. Morgan tugged at her soul, tasting it. No, please, no.... just kill me...

“And give you the coward's way out? No. Mother, I don't want justice here. I want retribution. I want you to suffer. I want revenge.”

He ran his hands down her leg. “Call her...”

No, Sethiel, don't...

Morgan disjointed her knee. A moment letter a bullet lodged in his spine. He twisted his hand around and drove a spike through her. “Come here,” he commanded.

Sethiel looked at him, shaking. “Come here,” he repeated. She stepped forward, numbly, unable to resist his will. When she stood at arm's length, he put a hand on her shoulder. “For thirty-seven years, I have borne your abuse. I have been used and tortured and desecrated mentally, physically, and spiritually. An enlightened man, like Michael, would forgive you and offer you redemption. But, I'm not Michael. I can't be like Michael. I am full of anger and hate and pain and suffering. I have been trained to devalue life and glory in its destruction. Michael was a good man. He could love. He could even love me.”

Morgan cried uncontrollably for a couple minutes, then clamped down harder. “But I don't have Michael anymore. I will never see him again. Never know the comfort or warmth of his presence. Whatever I am, I am now so much less. Sethiel, if you see him, tell him to pray for me, because I have nothing...”

Morgan decapitated her. “... to redeem me any longer.”

Scariel screamed in agony as her soul twin's life was taken by her son. Then, he started chanting. “Nooooooo! Noooooo! Nooo...”

Morgan felt a flash of euphoria, of potency, of a satiety unkown to most mortals as he drank Sethiel's soul. “My vengeance has been satisfied. But it's not over yet.”

He manifested a knife and cut a symbol into his blood-slicked palm. He took the carved out piece of flesh and shoved it in his mother's mouth. “Swallow it,” he ordered. When she only stared back at him in horror, he rode his will over hers and made her gulp it down. “Now, send me home.”

As he disappeared, the bright sunny day on the Scafir homeworld continued on in its cheery manner.

Suicide by Execution

Year 38: “In light of all your confessions and the mitigating circumstances, you are sentenced to six consecutive life sentences with no possiblity of parole to be served at a maximum security federal penitentiary.”

The gavel smacked down and Morgan revisited thoughts of suicide. The cloying hopelessness was shrugged off as useless. Morgan focused on the minds populating the courtroom. Most were confused. He could pick out the family by their grief. There was someone in the back ... gloating? A glimmer of hope shone from that.

Later, he was ushered to an interrogation cell. He could smell cheap cologne and expensive food as someone walked into the area. “Well, sir, do you know who I am?”

“No,” Morgan stated. He sounded familiar, as if a used car commercial had walked in and struck up conversation. Not the most impressive prima facie.

“Well, son, I am Augustus Maximillian Finley. I hail from...”

“Stop it,” Morgan said pointedly. Michael might have had the patience for this game, but he couldn't bear it. And the name was familiar. “If I pretend to be impressed will you get to the point?”

“I don't like being interrupted, boy.”

No subtlety, this one. “Your name is a designator of identity, not an entitlement. Trust that I know the difference.... Yankee.” Morgan overstressed the the a to Yahnkee.

A double-barreled insult that definitely hit its mark, Morgan noted. “I don't think you want to make me angry...” Finley snarled.

“If you were someone important, you could not do more than I would be able to, anyway. My family name, correction, I have more influence than you could ever hope for, little man.”

“Oh, you think you're so important because your brother was a lord!”

Pride laden with envy, it was getting easier by the second. “My brother was a baron. You are a commoner. Dirt. Cheap. Commoner.”

If Finley had an agendum coming in, it was evaporating in the white hot rage. “Give one more reason, and I'll crucify you right now!” he bellowed.

Morgan paused for a second. “I was at the World Trade Center, Tower Two, 97th floor, on September 11th. I was carrying a briefcase.”

Finley took the bait like a trained dog. “So! It was you! You'll hang for this! The crowd will tear you to pieces.”

Listening to the politician storm out, Morgan could only smile. The guards pitied him. It didn't matter. In all likelihood, this would spiral out of control and he would be executed. Morgan hoped that any trial he faced would happen in private. They could even torture him if they liked. They couldn't be worse than Sethiel and her healing knife. Rest in peace, Sethiel, for your sister never will.

Death Will Not Part What We Have Made Whole

Year 201: From conception, we were soul mates. From the womb, we were friends. From birth, we were companions. The fourteen minutes we were separated was a world apart to us and our bond became indissoluble. When the person who gave us life tried to take yours, I protected you. When others would try to hurt me, you defended me. I shielded you from hatred. You kept me from injury. I have tolerated your heinous acts. You have forgiven me my egregious behaviour. Our lives and souls were intertwined. Then, the day beside the river happened. I gave you a kiss. You gave me life.

I saw you dancing out the ocean
Our miracle lies in the path we have chosen together
Running fast along the sand
I enter into this with you knowing the true magic of love is not to avoid changes, but to navigate them successfully.
A spirit born of earth and water
Let us commit to the miracle of making each day work together.
Fire flying from your hands
I offer you my love and my support throughout all of our lives.
In the instant that you love someone
I commit myself to years of growth and sharing as I encourage you to move in new directions.
In the second that the hammer hits
I will strive to achieve my potential as God's creature and will celebrate your progress toward the same goal.
Reality runs up your spine
I give myself as I am and as I will be,
And the pieces finally fit
and I do it for all of life.
And all I ever needed was the One
Respecting each other, we commit to live our lives together for all the days to come.
Like freedom feels where wild horses run
I ask you to share this world with me, for good and ill.
When stars collide like you and I
Be my partner, and I will be yours.
No shadows block the sun
May be our days be long,
You're all I've ever needed
and may they be seasoned with love, understanding, and respect.
Baby you're the one
Now we stand together; may it always be so.
There are caravans we follow
I offer myself to you today.
Drunken nights in dark hotels
I will always love you, respect you, and be faithful to you.
When chances breathe between the silence
Come health, happiness, and prosperity, I will stand with you;
Where sex and love no longer gel
come illness, trouble, or poverty, I will stand with you.
For each man in his time is Cain
Take this as a sign of my love and commitment.
Until he walks along the beach
Today I join my life to yours as your friend, your lover, and your confidant.
And sees his future in the water
Let me be the shoulder you lean on, the rock on which you rest, the companion of your life.
A long lost heart within in his reach
With you I will walk my path from this day forward.
And all I ever needed was the One
I came here today to join my life to yours before the Apexis and the Acendents and the heavenly host.
Like freedom feels where wild horses run
In the presence of God, I pledge to be true to you, to respect you, and to grow with you through the years.
When stars collide like you and I
Times may pass; fortune may smile, trials may come;
No shadows block the sun
no matter what we may encounter together,
Oh, you're all I've ever needed
I vow here that this love will be my only love.
Ooh, baby you're the one.
I will make my home in your heart from this day forward.

Michael awoke and sat up in bed. The dream was unusually vivid. And the hollow ache that he didn't talk about was gone. He smiled to himself and invoked the deepest bond he ever knew.

There was still no answer.

He lay back down and a tear slowly welled at the corner of his eye. Then, when he was on the cusp of sleep again, a gentle caress in the mind warmed him. And a faint mental whisper, said over a link that crossed reality, could be heard. “...from this day forward...”

lyrics from "The One" by Taupin
vows modified from the Exchange of Rings during the Episcopal marriage ceremony

A Big Surprise

Claire sidled up to Morgan and tried to talk clearly. She was drunker than anyone else at the rehearsal dinner, Morgan thought. That took a hell of an effort considering Michael, Nicole, Nadine, and the groom were all heavy drinkers with reasons to overindulge tonight. “S'oooo, how are y'doin', 'night.”

Morgan walked on but Claire followed him. He turned around and asked, “What do you want? Is your stipend insufficient?”

She giggled inebriatedly. “No, 'm horny.”

“And you are chasing me for sex? I was not interested in you when we were married.”

“You c'd shange yr mine...”

“In that condition, no.”

“Ahkay, you dun haf to lay me. Jus' lemme blow you. 'kay?”

There was something about Claire's half-serious, half-teasing, fully inebriated state that tickled a humourous spot in Morgan's mind. His lip curled upwards. “Okay, but just that.”

He took her to a small side room where it was dark and no one was around. He sat in a chair and crossed his arms across his chest. She unfastened his bracers and unbuttoned his pants. Well, she tried to do that. She wasn't succeeding very well. Morgan held back the urge to giggle at her fumbling. “Do you need help down there?”

“Na, I got eh,” she slurred.

Morgan does not have a shred of homo sapiens in his DNA. As a result, he looks humanoid, but there are significant variances from a normal human. Most, like his magic abilities and mind reading, are not visible. Some, like his vaguely canine face, are cosmetic and also more subtle than if he had two heads or backwards arms. However, one major physical difference is that his penis is long, thin and prehensile. It resembles a flesh-colored garter snake when unaroused and a hairless monkey's tail when it is. Unlike human penii, it has muscles in it. So, he can grab things with it and manipulate objects. It isn't very big, only around two feet long when engorged, but it's definitely not normal.

When Claire finally managed to open his pants, he let it snake out and wrap around her wrist. She at first wasn't aware of it tickling her cheek but when the reality of it finally pierced the fog of insobriety, she screamed. She tried to back away. He cinched it and held her wrist. It shouldn't have taken her long to break free. It wasn't very strong but fright and alcohol kept impeding her efforts. Morgan eventually released her and she ran off banging into things as she went. He allowed himself a light chuckle as he heard her leaving.

He touched it with his hand and let it curl around his palm, stroking it with his thumb. He withdrew it into his pants and fastened them up and went to rejoin the company.