Does Reading Pollute Young Minds?

[channe]

"Fine," Agnieszka says, heaving a sigh. "If you really care about what I want to talk about, you'll go back to the militia barracks, re-read the plans I sent you by courier for the defense of the Derry gate, and meet me tonight in the tavern to tell me what you think. But since you're just here to be a total *bitch* to me, and you don't give a shit right now about plans or gates or Myrken Wood or anything else than ruining my afternoon..."

A pause. Why else would Renea be here, if not for the Book?

Perhaps she's not a traitor for Thessilane -- but, oh, if the Seven-and-one had a chance to escape, perhaps it escaped not only into Aleksei, but into Renea as well -- the thought arrests her voice completely, and she stares at the woman for a moment.

If it took Feul, it can take anyone, she thinks. Plan A, then.

"... whatever," she finishes, her eyes moving back to scan the street, before returning to Renea. "I'm waiting for my sister. She's late. I'm pissed."

[Caile]

Renea snorts and then just shakes her head and laughs. "I'm not an idiot Agnieszka. I know full well what's going on but what I can't figure out is why it's just you out here. I mean sure a fight between you and Glenn would probably end with you the victor, as long as he isn't possessed that is. Now Glenn and whoever he has in there with him? You'd be trounced. So where's your backup? Or are you just remarkably optimistic?" The last line was laced with dripping sarcasm, no one in Myrken could afford to be optimistic especially where demons were concerned.

Really it was just asking for trouble. If something went wrong with the book and further demons were unleashed they could just walk out of there, pat Agnie on the head and join up with the others for a nice Sunday brunch on the town. She understood why she was excluded from these festivities but they should have at least had someone else out here. She wasn't surprised that Agnie hadn't thought of that eventuality but she was a little stunned that Glenn hadn't thought that through.

[Vanidor]

The Book can only provide what it has within the pages, yet when Glenn requests this six-titted teahouse girl of his, an image IS provided. A monstrous creature, that, with six undulating breasts and a dozen arms that seem to end in knives. How the daemon is carrying a platter (of something or other) in the drawing is questionable. But there it is, on EVERY even numbered page in the remainder of the chapter. The rest, though? If the book had the names, it's quite possible it would attempt that as well. As it were, the stories and tales he desired WERE moving to occupy the odd side pages. At least until their time in this next section was complete. One would have to wonder if the book truly was sentient (and thus screwing with Glenn) or just... Silly.

Yet wouldn't that be a thing, if it truly were intelligent. To best the book and STILL utilise the enhancements and powers contained within. Wouldn't that be the ultimate expression of Glenn's intelligence. To see through the madness and chaos and devastation to truly bring about what the Book said it could provide. What harm was there in a little nudge against the proper people. A nudge to get one person to lay down his arms, so that another could embrace him as a brother ought too. And all without hidden daggers in their vests? How proper would that be, everyone in Myrken could just... get a long, and the madness would end. With all the ills of the world pressed beyond their borders.

[Glenn]

Sweat down his brow, a gleam in his eye, a curt laugh upon his lips. Could his skin turn black, it would not seem out of place, and wouldn't that be a sight for Niall to see with her hand upon him. "It likes it. I think it quite likes it." Pages were turned, words were read, information was processed. "The scariest thing about all of those breasts, Niall, is to imagine what they're used to rear. How many of such demon spawn would emerge from the netherregions of that doxy harlot that she needs SEVEN breasts. Perhaps she doesn't need that many but given the bladed hands, she loses a number in the wretched offspring's grasping." So scientific a mind, even in the midst of all this. Or perhaps it was the macabre that drove him. "The book has limits though." Idly put. "It can't draw upon my own imagination, THAT is for certain." Because otherwise, Niall would never be able to look at Agnie or Ariane the same way again.

But this was such the nudge, appealing to his ego, to what certainly had to be his fondest dreams. To his golden Myrken. "Peace, harmony in one land, a kingdom of philiosphers and artisans." As an aside, he whispered back to Niall, "I'd be king of course." Then the laugh upon his lips leapt right out and into the room. "I don't think that's what I want though. A few years ago certainly, but life has a way of changing you. We'd never be free, unless we were isolated completely, and if we were isolated, we'd never grow. We'd become stagnant and that's as good as dead. So things would be open, instead, but we'd be peaceful, stop fighting each other, no more hidden knives, but it's those hidden knives that keep us strong, the toil and the struggle." His gaze was still upon the book. He was reading and laughing and slowly, ever so slowly, rolling up his sleeve. Didn't it know? Lamai did: Glenn Burnie's gilded Myrken had spiders at every turn.

"Because we're either stagnant and dead, as good as the Ashfiend's zombie horde, lumbering through an unliving hell of mediocrity and pointlessness, or we're weak, our hearts full of harmony, well and good until the first second they come: the Baie, the Drow, the Fiends and Demons, the armies, and the dark gods, and..." A little bit of drool seemed to had formed upon his lips, replacing the laughter. "The accursed books that seeks to make puppets of us all."

A long, deep exhale as he stopped reading, as he stared down at the book, a gurgle in his throat. "You see, we can never have peace and harmony, not without losing everything that matters. Life has shown me that. But no, no... we can have so much more. We can be so much more, not in spite of the chaos and horror, but because of it. Myrken has been waiting for years for me, to FORGE them, into a sword, a shield, armor. So..when the horrors come, when such as YOU come," Suddenly, without warning, his right fist struck down upon the open book, a brutal punch. "We." Another. "Will." Another, this one pressing the book down into the table with a lightning quick hand. "Be." And then one last punch, aimed with such precision, such measured geometry that the force was distributed so evenly, so that the binding was in very little danger of coming undone. Glenn Burnie was so good with books. He knew them as one might know his very own child. "ready."

That was apparently the end of the onslaught, for with naught but a wipe of his head, he was attempting to once more turn the now battered page. His voice was but a whisper, composure and control seemingly restored. "The next chapter then. Less festering whores, more humility. We haven't all day here."

[Jirai]

Because of Chaos and Horror. And doesn't Niall know all about that? Intimately. Speaking of intimately, it is a fortunate thing that she has her hand on his shoulder, for that slight tensing is the only warning she receives as he starts abusing the book. Fortunate warning, an instant in which to react, to strengthen her wards against that physical onslaught because really, Glenn Burnie, this isn't as easy as she makes it look. "Will you stop that?" She grouched irritably.

[Vanidor]

He requested the next chapter, and so here it was. A section that was, not that Glenn would really know, largely unchanged from when Aleksei had looked over it. The Codex. Whilst the first section of the book, as Glenn had read it, introduced the names and forms of the major daemonic deities once worshiped by those who first created this tome, this was different. Here instead are the names, not all of them true, of the servants and lesser daemon types that sought succor from the Four. Where the unnatural shape and scale of the daemon in question is known, a drawing of sorts accompanies the entry. Needless to say, this is the largest section of the tome. More than half of what remains is here. For good measure, and because the tome thought Glenn was mad, his six-titted woman topped every page in minute detail.

The Head-Thing that had impersonated Jons Feul was here. The manner in which it created it's simulacrum and various sundry copies. How to destroy it (holy fire works nice), and how to imprison it. There is a note that destruction only sends it back to it's home plane. A decade or two must pass before it can return, if at all. While terrifying and owning a natural cunning of sorts, they relish in chaos too much to be vindictive.

The Eight, in a manner, is also mentioned here. A greater daemon of sorts, the type of beast that would (if allowed to mature) lead armies of daemonic fodder in the field. It does so at the right hand of it's Immortal Master on the Plains of Blood, where others like it fight and die and are reborn in the unending rains of blood. All for the right to travel to the Material Plane and cause havoc and destruction. But the Eight was more of a combination of lesser entities, that 'evolved' into their final form. The host body did not always have to be willing. Just able and close to death and wanting to continue living. Enjoying combat helped make the union easier.

There are several entries tied to the Eight as well, the first being the weapon that the Entity utilised. A massive thing with a bronze head that always dripped fresh blood, and chains that eventually bound themselves to the body of the Host. A will of it's own the weapon has, driving the host to murder and desecrate and rape. To welcome battle as a brother. And to seek out whatever the Host once enjoyed and loved, and try to destroy it. Kharnagar the Ravager, bound to the Axe forever, and united with a fully matured Eight. It was something the author of the book did not seem to want to see happen.

Beyond these entries, and there are close to a thousand such (which fit quite well into the tome without making it seem OVER large), the Book does not tempt further. Not here. This is what the man wanted, was it not? A compliant and humble intelligent book that did the bidding of it's Master. And so it was. Filling the pages with line after line of horrific and terrible creatures, how to request their aid or return them to their place of rest. See. The Book could be good, could it not? There certainly was no reason to stop reading now, now that it was compliant and eager.

[Glenn]

Niall held on. Look at that. She hadn't left. She hadn't blasted him to dust. She wasn't even reading over his shoulder. He knew she was disciplined, but this was very impressive indeed.Too bad she was an intractable misanthrope. This book was more likable than she was. The thought made him laugh out loud. Niall could think it was her comment that did that, or that the six-titted thing remained on the page.

So he read, and sweated and stared and smirked and shook his head with another laugh. "This is ridiculous. Demons. As far as I can tell, demons are all meant to be created by some holy being, whether it is one or many. These are classifications, TYPES. Do you see Niall? Pages, and pages, and pages. So many. What sort of god needs this many variations. Some pissant constipated fool, that's who. What sort of dread dark god has this sort of time? This dearth of imagination. Oh, let's put a flanger there, and another there, and this one can piss acid or perhaps it ought to defecate out of its nose." A little pause, as if he hadn't made up that last one, as if it was a surefire sign of the constipation he had just mentioned a moment before.

"And you." Down to the book. "You craven, cowardly thing. We were having at least something of a go of it, but now you're just rolled over," his voice softened again, "and there's power in that too, power in submissiveness. I was raised by monks, you collection of paper best used to wipe one's arse. Do you think I don't know the power of the beaten housewife. Of which you're a terrible example. This is a farce." There was a wild acidity to his voice.

Without the least bit of warning he turned to the second of last page, his finger running up and down the ridge of the bottom cover. "Mm. I think I've seen enough. Patterns and lies and truths and everything else. There's just one more thing I want to know, one more thing. Niall, I want to hear your opinion too, as I turn this last page." He began to turn it with a final lick of his lips. "What happens if I burn you to ashes? What happens then?"

[Jirai]

She held on. She hadn't killed him. Don't think she wasn't tempted, though. A demonic-possessed Glenn Burnie was actually kind of intriguing. Possessed by a book. It would be just perfect for Glenn Burnie, of all people. She was also somewhat tempted to read over his shoulder, which is precisely why she did no such thing. For one, she was busy enough with her task as it was and for two, well, Glenn Burnie might not be able to offer anything Niall wants, but a book like this? Possible. So, best not to look in the first place.

"I suspect it wouldn't appreciate that very much."

[channe]

"I can beat Glenn easily," she says, quickly, almost as if offended. "We had the same teacher. I know all of his moves." Interesting information, eh, Renea?

At any rate, Agnieszka folds after a few angry seconds, her face grumpy as ever. She reaches into a bag that's placed near one of the columns holding fast the entrance of the building and comes out with an apple, tossing it at Renea. "Gah, you're right. Here," she says. "Have an apple. We might be here for a while."

She pauses. "It's just me because it's explainable. What's not explainable is you sitting here, too. People are bound to question."

[Caile]

She knew that Agnie and Glenn had had the same teacher. She couldn't remember exactly where she'd heard it but there were a few that had mentioned it in passing, maybe even Glenn himself. The who wasn't quite as important as the what so she'd only filed away the important bit for later recall. So interesting yes, but new? Not so much. Renea caught the apple with a mild smile and took a large bite, crunchy and tart made for an ideal snack.

"Both of us anywhere is easily explainable. People are used to it, but if you're all that concerned we can always spar to allay suspicion." She shrugged as if it mattered little to her what people thought of what the two of them were doing outside the building. She wasn't going to leave either way.

[Vanidor]

It was too bad that Glenn was warded in the way that he was here and now with that particular question. For while the Book can, and was, reacting to his questions and what It already knew about the Governor, it could not impress certain feelings like it did before. Part of this was because of the lack of daemonic entity within it to unleash, another because of the wardings. But if it could, Glenn would feel the Book's general distaste at the mention of Fire. No fear, mind, just distaste. It had been burned before, and eventually came back. Someone always wanted to know more. Always.

However. There on that last page is a simple sigil. With lines that sworl and intersect and bend at angles that shouldn't exist (even on paper). Below it is a start with eight points, their rays of various lengths. At the center of the second symbol is an eye, that blinks and stares are Glenn, then seems to strain to see beyond him to Niall. Both symbols pulsate next, almost despite the protection of the wardings. They push against them, wanting to claw and eat and savour the rich, arrogant intelligence's just within Niall's sphere of protection.

This was the nature of the entities that make up the meat of that aethric realm. Insidious. Curious. Hateful. Murderous. Some wanted nothing more than to leech off of the lives of their hosts. Some made their hosts into creatures as hideous as themselves. Others, like the Book, simply wanted to spread their taint in whatever means were possible. And if none of those paths worked. Mortal flesh, and the souls within them, were quite tasty.

[Jirai]

Niall's defenses, in their normal configuration, were no more difficult to maintain than breathing, scarcely worthy of thought. Now, though, pushed out as they were to protect another as well as herself, they required more focus, a careful attention to detail. And, as the sigils on the book began their push, they require strengthening and repairs. She has been largely silent thus far (save for a few choice comments for Glenn Burnie's rants), but now there is a quiet, gutteral chant from the girl's scarred lips in her harsh, native tongue. Reinforcing the protections surrounding the two of them against the push of the book. For now, she remains steady enough.

[Glenn]

Niall's reaction wasn't ignored. He chose her for her power. He chose her because he initially thought she was illiterate (oh, like that was a huge stretch) and he chose her because she was a survivor. But he also chose her because he knew full well that she respected power, that she knew all the dangers and the perils in wielding it. The cost. She knew how little that cost was truly worth. Perhaps she even knew it better than he did, better than anyone in Myrken and THAT was saying a lot.

So as the page changed and she reacted accordingly, Glenn realized that it's time to end this. "That's your final gambit then? A caged beast that just happens to be a one trick pony. Oh, your one trick is ANYTHING I could ever possibly want, so it's a good trick, but in this case, unfortunately, a bit limited. Still, you've been so helpful, I feel like I can't just leave without giving something back. So please do one last thing for me."

Pen and ink were pulled out of some artfully hidden part of his clothes. The ink was mixed with blood. WHOSE blood was a very good question. It was amazing how far a drop of Catch's could go, especially interspersed with that of others. And then it was amazing how willing certain members of the clergy would be to bless anything the Governor put in front of them. Glenn would never deny the magical power of belief. That's all holy magic was, belief driven power, and he found the most eager cleric he could to perform the ritual. Holy ink. The things he could write with this.

"I'm out of pages though, so I hope you don't mind if I use the inside of your back cover." It was an area where the creature seemed to have less control. The smile that Burnie flashed was downright manic once again as he got to work with the strange silver ink. "You made us such a nice eye to look at it with after all.

"So, as I said, monks. A monastery to teach its ardents economics, societal control, herd mentality, so much more; that gathered the brightest it could find and then ground them to dust so that they could be rebuilt." He continued to write, but was careful to make sure Niall would not lose contact with him. He wasn't in any rush, however, despite her straining. "So to begin, they would quest their brilliant young charges to solve a simple math problem, what I am writing for you now. It's called, and I think you'll like this, the infernal algorithm.

"It's said that a monk of the order, way back before they realized that only through controlling the societal desire for sin could you truly manage it, back when it was a rather normal monastery.. well, in the process of his studies, as but a young acolyte of fifteen, our monk friend came across the algorithm. There were an infinite number of potential solutions for it, but each ended in an endless recurring loop. The more advanced the potential solution, the more likely it seemed to be the one. At the last moment, at the last digit that needed to fall into place, it would fall back to the loop once more. Every time a pattern emerged, it would be shattered right before a proof could be generalized. The monk spent eighty years of his life working upon it. Then, as he had reached the sage, hale age of ninety-five, he finally found it, a proof to explain the breaking of the patterns. All he needed was one, final iteration, one of thousands. There was no reason why it wouldn't work, but of course, it didn't, and as he calculated that last number and it revealed itself to him as just a little wrong, his heart broke and he died on the spot."

Burnie's pen returned from whence it came, the ink all used up. Two fingers slipped to the edge of the book's cover, to where he had just written and he stared directly down at the eye. "So here is my final gift to you, to you and good ol' six-tits, something to remember me by. Something far less kind than fire and fists, my last request to you who know everything, who can fit any puzzle piece into your design: solve the equation." With a dramatic shove of his hand, he attempted to shut the book once more, to close the equation he had written right upon the eye in the center of the last page.

[Vanidor]

The walls rattle and shudder, perhaps even bleed as Glenn puts his pen to this last task. Faces start to emerge from the wood, hands grasping and clawing at the protective bubble that wards the Map-Maker turned Governor and his mage from their wraith. Phlegmy spoor drizzles from the rafters, hissing as it hits the unprotected ground and coalescing into pools of ocher gelatin.

All this as Glenn writes his formula, his theorem and equation. The book accepts it, though not quite as willingly as it had been before. But, it was a book. And while it had a tenuous will of its own, it could not STOP anyone from adding to it whatever they wished. As it cursed others, this was it's own curse. To always seek new entries. But this. This is knowledge it does not know what to do with. But it will try to solve it, at least until the chaotic mind inside decides to fake it. It WAS a creature of chaos, after all. But that would be... decades in coming.

Still. The book froths as the entry is made. It really did NOT like it when things were written into that inside cover. That was for the EYE for Chaos' sake. It can only hope to break Niall's concentration with vibration and oddity. Yet, here it is done. And it FIGHTS Glenn in his attempt to close. How does a book have such strength!?

Yet, in the end, it closes. And there is a flash of energy with the closure that will permeate the room. The meetinghouse. It is tainted, yes, but it is without the force of will behind it that the book so enjoyed. That the Head-Thing was born from. That the Eight and all of its constituent parts longed for. It simply. Stinks. Like a mass grave in the heat of the sun, and an offal pit were mixed into one fragrant mess. It is the Tome's last, and useless, gesture as it settles in to contemplate the equation.

For good measure, it leaves behind the mess it had created in the room as well. If it were to be stuck with an unsolvable puzzle, at the least it will leave behind the residue of its displeasure.

[Jirai]

Glenn Burnie really was an ass, wasn't he? Sorry, book, someone should have mentioned that fact to you. The girl's chanting fell off into silence (though she by no means lowered her wards quite yet), and she glanced about the room. "...Looks like you've got a bit of a mess to clean up." She observed drily.