Patrollogs
(Solomon's decursing attempt)
[Tue Feb 27 2024]
In the inner office of Inigo & Wilson PC
This was once a grand sitting room, now converted with equal grandeur to the office of one of the partners in the firm. Rich, dark wood paneling lines the walls, complementing the expansive, mirror-polished desk that's framed by a window behind. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves brimming with legal tomes and personal mementos flank one wall, while large windows on the opposite side offer a view of the New England town, bathing the room in natural light. The space is thoughtfully arranged, with a comfortable seating area for clients by the bookshelves and a small conference table near the western window.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
"I am not concerned about my strength," Solomon tells Alexander with humor. "We need a third, though."
Crossing to the seating, Solomon sets the bracelet on the table, arranging a trio of candles around it. "You have been well?" he says.
"There is something to peace," Solomon tells Alexander. He studies the bracelet. "I have had premonitions of doom, Mr. Murphy. Perhaps you will get your wish."
Solomon begins the ritual -- he lights the first candle, and then the second, and then the third, with a low chant. Then he looks up. "Prophecy is a damnable thing," he says. "I thought I knew the date of my death, Mr. Murphy," he says. "But it is one ending of many, is it not?"
Alexander moves opposite of Solomon as the ritual begins. "Hardly even. Feels like things seem to linger long after we kick the bucket," he replies.
"I do not kick buckets," Solomon tells Alexander, his eyes bright. There's a gesture with his hand, and smoke seems to start swirling in a spiral pattern over the amulet.
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
Alexander works to contain the energies of the ritual. He's diligent, careful yet also spontaneous and responsive as the ritual progresses, it might be obvious to see how far he's come. "No? Does the you who started this journey recognize the you now?" A knife goes flying out of his pocket to the artifact with a chuckle.
As a pentacle floats out of Solomon's jacket, the old sorcerer looks up. "I recognize me," he tells Alexander. "I recognize myself," he says. He reaches up, chanting, and he removes his glasses, red eyes burning. "It is you who will not recognize what you are," he says. "I realized young that you must make a choice: you must rule, Alexander, or you will be ruled."
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Alexander hmms. "I suppose I don't disagree," he admits it. "But then what kind of ruler will you be? Must you shed all care in pursuit of that power?" He sighs. "I believe so." His mirrored shades reflect the flash but he still winces.
At the flash, Solomon's voice rises in pitch, swirling the smoke now into some spiral. "I am what I am, Mr. Murphy. I will rule with cruelty and caprice, of course." He looks up. "But all the same, mine will be some human rule: there are worse, less human things."
"And there are better," Alexander remarks cooly. No real heat to his words. Solomon is an understood thing to him it seems. There's no great surprise in their disagreement. "But I don't suspect it will be me."
"One day, perhaps -- I can feel the magic in you," Solomon tells Alexander. As he chants, there is some wind that ripples through the room. "We are not so different, you and I," he tells the man.
Alexander nods softly. "I know, it has made me thoughtful. I won't deny it. What are we but perhaps a start and an end point?"
Alexander casts his hands naturally, trying to flow the energy of the spell work.
"I was never as naive as you." Solomon has some short laugh. "I was born to power," he says. "That is what it means to be Inigo."
A blast of force sends Alexander flying into Solomon.
"Perhaps then, I can count on that to save me." Alexander has a small playful smile. "I had to earn my strength, you started with it." He lets out a grunt as he is thrown into Solomon.
As Alexander strikes Solomon, the sorcerer staggers back. He grunts, pushing off him, and his voice rises in some effort to fill himself with power. "You say that," he says. "But -- off man, on the ritual -- but I find that those who do not expect to rule find themselves prisoners. Even sorcerers," he says.
Alexander groans and quickly climbs off Solomon. "Well," he says. "I work to at least be annoying enough to be worth making a deal with."
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike Solomon, sending him flying.
Then the lightning strikes -- there is a sizzle, as the couch topples over, and then he starts to rise, cursing. Solomon looks at the amulet, and his chant increases in volume.
"A bargain," Solomon rasps at Alexander. "What bargain do you seek, Mr. Murphy?"
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden bracelet is broken.
Alexanders Decursing Attempt 240301
(Solomon's decursing attempt)
[Tue Feb 27 2024]
In the inner office of Inigo & Wilson PC
This was once a grand sitting room, now converted with equal grandeur to the office of one of the partners in the firm. Rich, dark wood paneling lines the walls, complementing the expansive, mirror-polished desk that's framed by a window behind. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves brimming with legal tomes and personal mementos flank one wall, while large windows on the opposite side offer a view of the New England town, bathing the room in natural light. The space is thoughtfully arranged, with a comfortable seating area for clients by the bookshelves and a small conference table near the western window.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
"I am not concerned about my strength," Solomon tells Alexander with humor. "We need a third, though."
Crossing to the seating, Solomon sets the bracelet on the table, arranging a trio of candles around it. "You have been well?" he says.
"There is something to peace," Solomon tells Alexander. He studies the bracelet. "I have had premonitions of doom, Mr. Murphy. Perhaps you will get your wish."
Solomon begins the ritual -- he lights the first candle, and then the second, and then the third, with a low chant. Then he looks up. "Prophecy is a damnable thing," he says. "I thought I knew the date of my death, Mr. Murphy," he says. "But it is one ending of many, is it not?"
Alexander moves opposite of Solomon as the ritual begins. "Hardly even. Feels like things seem to linger long after we kick the bucket," he replies.
"I do not kick buckets," Solomon tells Alexander, his eyes bright. There's a gesture with his hand, and smoke seems to start swirling in a spiral pattern over the amulet.
All metal objects in the room are suddenly tugged violently towards the artifact.
Alexander works to contain the energies of the ritual. He's diligent, careful yet also spontaneous and responsive as the ritual progresses, it might be obvious to see how far he's come. "No? Does the you who started this journey recognize the you now?" A knife goes flying out of his pocket to the artifact with a chuckle.
As a pentacle floats out of Solomon's jacket, the old sorcerer looks up. "I recognize me," he tells Alexander. "I recognize myself," he says. He reaches up, chanting, and he removes his glasses, red eyes burning. "It is you who will not recognize what you are," he says. "I realized young that you must make a choice: you must rule, Alexander, or you will be ruled."
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Alexander hmms. "I suppose I don't disagree," he admits it. "But then what kind of ruler will you be? Must you shed all care in pursuit of that power?" He sighs. "I believe so." His mirrored shades reflect the flash but he still winces.
At the flash, Solomon's voice rises in pitch, swirling the smoke now into some spiral. "I am what I am, Mr. Murphy. I will rule with cruelty and caprice, of course." He looks up. "But all the same, mine will be some human rule: there are worse, less human things."
"And there are better," Alexander remarks cooly. No real heat to his words. Solomon is an understood thing to him it seems. There's no great surprise in their disagreement. "But I don't suspect it will be me."
"One day, perhaps -- I can feel the magic in you," Solomon tells Alexander. As he chants, there is some wind that ripples through the room. "We are not so different, you and I," he tells the man.
Alexander nods softly. "I know, it has made me thoughtful. I won't deny it. What are we but perhaps a start and an end point?"
Alexander casts his hands naturally, trying to flow the energy of the spell work.
"I was never as naive as you." Solomon has some short laugh. "I was born to power," he says. "That is what it means to be Inigo."
A blast of force sends Alexander flying into Solomon.
"Perhaps then, I can count on that to save me." Alexander has a small playful smile. "I had to earn my strength, you started with it." He lets out a grunt as he is thrown into Solomon.
As Alexander strikes Solomon, the sorcerer staggers back. He grunts, pushing off him, and his voice rises in some effort to fill himself with power. "You say that," he says. "But -- off man, on the ritual -- but I find that those who do not expect to rule find themselves prisoners. Even sorcerers," he says.
Alexander groans and quickly climbs off Solomon. "Well," he says. "I work to at least be annoying enough to be worth making a deal with."
An arc of lightning blasts out of the artifact to strike Solomon, sending him flying.
Then the lightning strikes -- there is a sizzle, as the couch topples over, and then he starts to rise, cursing. Solomon looks at the amulet, and his chant increases in volume.
"A bargain," Solomon rasps at Alexander. "What bargain do you seek, Mr. Murphy?"
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden bracelet is broken.