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 Posted: Wed Sep 24, 2008 8:05 pm
The summoning process shall be documented here.
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Posted: Sat Oct 11, 2008 7:49 pm
Follow up to Devouring shall be documented here
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Posted: Tue Nov 11, 2008 7:04 pm
Follow up to 'Nomine Sanctus' shall be documented here
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Clarent...Clarent...She said its name would be 'Clarent'...
Claire sat on the hardwood floor of her living room staring at a slightly tattered piece of paper given to her by Hae-min. Her eyes trailed over slightly messy writing, mouthing the Latin with no noise coming out. She was told to summon it once she got home and that's what she was going to do. Claire rose and looked around her; her slightly burnt furniture pressed against the far walls out of the way. After summoning Ifrit she had made sure that if she ever had to do that again (she had hoped she never had to) that all of her valuables would be either in her room or as far away from the summoning area as possible.
....Okay. It was time.
"Te Gladi, Vos Gladias, trea Nomine Sancto, Albrot, Micheal, Jehova elico. Estote meum castellumque praesidium contra omnium hostes, conspicuusque nonconspicuus, in quisque magiceum opum. Nomeno Sancto Micheal, qui est in imperium magnum, et his alio nomine: Cados, Adonai, Elohi, Zena, Oth, Ochimanuel, Messiah, Gladi in omnium meum negotia regnas et in illus res quem me resistunt,...
"Vincite."
The moment the last word of the summon was spoken a noise like a fighter jet broke in the small apartment. Claire quickly raised her hands to her ears, all sounds but that screaming whine extinguished in an instant. She yelled out just as a shredding noise rose over the jet wail, her voice utterly lost. The young woman fell back as before her eyes the wall in front of her, blistered from her demon, tore open like a split seam on a well used coat.
She rose just as the split stopped spreading across the wall and was pulled to it by rapid, sucking winds that carried that jet scream. Claire gripped the edges and peered into the darkness beyond it. Squinting, she could make out the faintest glinting just an arm's length away.
"Is that...It?" She pulled her right arm away from the wall and reached in, slightly fearing what could be in the darkness, but knowing she had to get that glinting. It had to be the sword, Hae-min said that the words wouldn't summon anything else.
"Nngh..." She reached just a bit and her fingers brushed something cold. Just a bit more...Got it! Claire wrapped her shaking hand around what felt like a hilt with a bump in it and pulled. A metal on...Was it stone? sound rose above the wailing which was, oddly, becoming softer. With the wind trying to suck her in, Claire was having a hard time pulling the blade out. She gave a scream of frustration, fixed one of her feet on the wall and yanked.
The sword, Clarent, came free then and Claire fell back onto the floor, the blade raised above her head. Blinking because of her fall she could see it in greater detail; the blade colored gray with a red gem in the hilt. It measured about about twenty-five to thirty inches long. Its name was engraved onto its shiny blade, just under the hilt. Before the woman could look further the blade erupted into flames. She shrieked in surprise, but it died quickly as she watched it. No hot embers or ash or whatnot fell from it.
Claire rose to a sitting position while her wall reattached itself and appeared to have never been split at all. The blister was still there though. The woman was fully shaking now as the sword flared in her hand. So this was Clarent...Despite the fact she should be thinking about what this sword would be used to do, she couldn't help think about where it had come from.
From a stone...From a stone like...Excalibur...
Rubicante was finally returning from a few hours of drinking, though he wasn't hammered. In fact, he wasn't even buzzed. Most of his time at the bar he frequented in Hell was spent staring at a letter given to him by a demon that had left as soon as it landed on the table. He couldn't burn this letter, oh no, it was too important and hissing through his teeth he couldn't help but wonder how he had gotten into this mess. There were plenty of Ifrit in Hell, so why was he the one chosen to come up here? Ah well...No matter. He knew for a fact that there was no way come Hell or high water Claire could have the sword. Hah, the recluse with a demon slaying sword? He could keel over and laugh his stomach raw right now it was so funny. The fire demon reached for the door handle and let himself in. It was his house too for the time being, so ******** knocking.
"Claire? I'm ba-"
His eyes came to rest on the floor where his summoner sat with a great flaming blade in her hands. The fire attracted him, of course, but he stopped himself before he could be drawn to it like a fly to a zapper. He saw the name inscribed on the side.
"...Oh ********>
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Posted: Thu Nov 20, 2008 5:49 pm
Follow up to 'Elohim' shall be documented here
She lay on the floor of her apartment panting and sweating from the marathon she had just run. Claire, her hair sticking to her brow and part of her nape, felt as though her heart and lungs were on fire and going to explode. To her right was Rubicante, his eyes darting about the room and many times to the doors and windows as though expecting them to be filled with the glares of Named demons.
Claire watched her demon shudder once again before looking down at her. His expression towards her was blank, but his eyes showed shock, awe, and horror at what had just been done. The act just committed was probably the largest piece news ever to arrive in Hell in a long time, and by her, a human's, hand was it done.
The sword Clarent had been left in the body of Lilith and now that she was reasonably safe Claire wondered if she would ever see it again. She knew Rubicante was glad to be rid of it; the Ifrit had taken every opportunity to avoid the blade and even took refuge in his lamp many a time when it was in Claire's hand. There was a mutual silence between demon and summoner. Neither one would reiterate what had happened unless asked specifically by Lucifuge or the Mistress and no other.
Shakily the woman rose to her feet, a hand going to a stitch in her side that had appeared when fleeing the scene of the murder. She hobbled to the sink and turned the faucet on. Without a cup she turned and drank straight from the stream, purposely letting the water hit her reddened face. It cooled the girl, but also carried away the tears of the coming waves of grief over a terrible act she had committed. No self control, but boundless grief nonetheless.
It was all going to change...
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