RP: Down the rabbit hole
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tutistempus_rpgDate: 31 December 2001
Characters: Godric Gryffindor, NPC security team, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Alicia Spinnet
Setting: Portal clearing, Command center
Content: PG
Status: Private : Open
He crouched, bow in hand, arrow notched and ready, the snow falling silently around him, but Godric was focused on the small deer grazing on grass that stuck up through the ankle-deep snow covering the land. His breath curled in white, gossamer wisps around him, Godric's gaze remained riveted to the creature who moved slowly forward, its body slowly coming clear of the cluster of trees that blocked his shot. His arm drew back, the slightest of movements in the most economical of manners born over years of practice, drawing taunt under his fingertips, and Godric held his breath, the tips of his fingers relaxing to loose the arrow. The whisper of air by his ear was the only indication that the arrow was flying, flying true, finding purchase deep in the chest of the deer, and it slumped into the white snow.
Rising from where he'd left an impression in the snow, Godric carefully padded through the snow to the deer, not wanting to disturb other deer in the area. If he could bring down another, they could be bleed out overnight and be sectioned for salt storage in the ground wells. Godric knelt beside the deer, checking for signs of life, but it had been a quick kill, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for their gift as he scanned the treeline for another. He spotted a large buck, not more than a hundred feet away, and he was moving just a short distance from his first kill, slipping another arrow against the bow without a sound, already lining up the shot in his minds' eye. In two days time, he would be meeting with the others in the central village for the continuing Yule feasts, and it was there that he would press his concerns with Helga and Rowena but now, his thoughts were on stocking the wells.
Godric rose slowly, turning the bow just the smallest bit to make a more accurate shot when he felt a disturbing tinge in the pit of his stomach, the feeling was a perversion of apparation, and the deer was forgotten in the dark whisper of awareness but he didn't have time to lower his bow when it happened. Everything around him went black, and Godric felt as if he'd taken a stun hex to the head. A feeling of dread cloaking him, the hint of random voices floated by in the abyss, and then there was a rush of air. He blinked and his eyes tried to focus in the new shadowed darkness, the weight of heated air pressing on him suddenly in the midst of shouting voices. Strange words assaulted his ears. When his vision focused, Godric tensed at the sight of five oddly dressed men pointing sticks or tubes at him - he could not make out what they were in the fell dark of the clearing, and his fingers tightening on the bow that was now pointed at one of them.
"Sweet Merlin, it can't be," Tory Biggles stated, shining his flashlight onto the strangers features before dropping it slightly. "Hold your fire. I... I know this sounds mental but I think this is Godric Gryffindor. I saw parchments with his likeness in school, and this bloke is a dead-ringer. Hey, Dorian, you're good with ancient runes. Try, um, a greeting."
Some of the words were familiar to him, but they were coarse and rough, as was the other man's manner of speaking. One of the darkly clothed men stepped forward, lifting his wand to which Godric immediately shifted his aim to that man but the wizard continued, sweeping his wand in a fluid motion that left golden symbols hanging in the air between them. Godric's head startled back and he automatically lowered his bow, unsheathing the arrow, as he read the golden message. "Who art thou?" he demanded in a his thickly accented version of old English, looking from one to the other. "I would parlay with your Elder!" Godric stated firmly, eying each man with distinct caution and distrust.
Each of the security team members looked from one to the other until the one called Dorian stepped forward and made an awkward bow-like motion before pointing to one of the Jeeps parked on the edge of the clearing. "We're the, um, security team for the portal, and um, we have a metal, um, horse, sir," he offered in a faltering, hesitant tone before lifting his wand again and more golden runes painted in the hanging air between them. Godric read them quickly, his eyebrow arching in clear question, his expression leaving no confusion as to his estimation that the man was crazy. Dorian shrugged at his comrades and walked over to the door of the Jeep, holding it open, and Godric could see a raised throne in the bizarre compartment. He approached it cautiously, raising his right hand and gesturing minutely, a flash of white engulfing the Jeep then receding. Satisfied, Godric hoisted himself into the seat, tucking his bow between his legs.
With a roar, the vehicle started and Godric's grip on the seat tightened sharply, his spell had found no danger in the iron box but that didn't mean he was any more trusting of the strange device. He did, however, believe the wizard next to him had no ill will directed at him. Godric's head was spinning. Where was he? Was this all a dream? That had to be it. He'd been hit with a hex, clearly, and was dreaming. The iron box jostled as it moved down a dirt path and, after a few minutes, blazing lights from above illuminated castle gates opening before them. Godric's eyes widened when he regarded the tall structure that the box halted before. This was a castle befitting an Elder, he reasoned, growling when the entryway on his right side opened again and the Dorian wizard was standing there. He hopped to the dirt, slinging his bow over one shoulder in a clear motion - he would not tolerate being disarmed in this strange place, even if it was a dream.
Entering the dwelling, he found himself in a brightly-light gathering place with soft lounging couches covered in a strange, pale animal skin of some kind he had never seen before. Was this Elder so wealthy that he could covet all the albino creatures for their skins? Amazingly, it appeared so. Curious and curiouser.
"Welcome, I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, the leader of this expedition, and I'm told you..." Kingsley came into the room, having pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans quickly after being woken by the message from the Portal clearing security team. He hadn't truly believed them that Godric Gryffindor had come through the portal - it was clearly a New Years Eve joke of some kind. That is, until he laid eyes on the stranger standing in the Command Center. "Great Merlin's Ghost!" he exclaimed, looking to Dorian and back to Godric before breaking out in a loud laugh, shaking his head as he addressed them both. "All right, I give. You got me. That's a damned fine piece of glamor, Dor."
The other wizard raked a hand over his hair, glancing to Godric with a skeptical, resigned expression. "Err, no sir, honestly, this isn't a joke, sir. This fellow came out of the portal and Tory, he says its Godric Gryffindor but I don't know nothing about it, sir. I went to school in the States - Salem Academy, sir."
"What manner of trickery is this, good man, that you spake my name?" Godric demanded hotly in his native Gaelic. Was the other man invoking some manner of enchantment against him using his name? He raised his hand, preparing a protective spell in his thoughts, when he remembered that this was a dream. Could he be injured by this hex whilst in a dream? Godric had never heard of such a thing but, as Salazar was fond of pointing out, there were those who would think nothing of using magic for the purpose of harming others.
Kingsley frowned and glanced over to where Thomas was approaching him with a datapad, holding it out to him. He took it and looked down quickly, then up again just as quickly, unwilling to let this man out of his sight. The datapad was showing a rough translation using the biometric parameters of the modern-day Scottish language. “You said he spoke English,” he said, directing himself to Dorian who nodded hesitantly, then shrugged, holding his hands up to say ‘sort of’. Kingsley sighed. “Call over to the medical center, please. We’ll need a Healer to check him over and access the database. I want every image of Godric Gryffindor we have sent to this pad.”
“I spake English, Elder,” Godric informed him with a low growling tone. He was aware that the Elder was talking about him to the others in the room but he could not understand all the words being spoken. What was a ‘medical’? A ‘healer’? ‘a database’? It was gibberish to him. One of the other men broke away from the semi-circle and moved into a room in the back of the building but the Elder remained, steadfastly focused upon him and Godric’s posture lifted, his chin raised in defiance.
Setting the datapad on his hip, Kingsley seemed lost in thought for a moment, then he spoke. “What is your name? What are you called?” he asked.
“Godric. What address do you command, Elder?” he replied, his gaze narrowing slightly. What if this wasn’t the Elder? Had he inadvertently given prominent title to an underling?
“I command, as you say, all that you see,” Kingsley answered with a warm chuckle. “but you can address me as Kingsley, good sir.” His datapad beeped which made Godric startle back a step but Kingsley lifted it again and tapped it once, his own eyebrow arching sharply. “Can you describe – speak a picture – of what you were doing before arriving here, Godric?”
Shifting his stance, Godric folded his arms over his chest, feeling a thin line of sweat running down his back. This place was as warm as a cauldron and his leather-padded vest would have been warm enough without the fur-lined cloak he wore over it, yet to take off the cloak, uninvited, would be unseemly. “I felled a buck. I took aim upon another. A strange majick came over me. I felt a blackness, a fearsome dark. Such that it filled me head with… with… unspeakable… I will not spake the things I hear in the abyss. I have no sight then I am challenged by such as these,” he gestured to Dorian but fell silent.
“No, no, I don’t think we need to know what you, err, heard, not yet, at least. We do, however, need to make sure you are uninjured, Godric. That you cannot, err, injure us unintentionally,” Kingsley pointed out, waving his hand toward the sofas and then leading the way.
Following the dark skinned Elder, Godric eyed the sofa sceptically, watching the other man descend upon it but he pressed his palm flat against the strange surface first, jerking his hand back, then again, pressing his palm onto the cushion. Kingsley chuckled and gestured that he should sit, saying. “It won’t harm you. Please, sit. I’ve sent for a Healer – a,” Kingsley paused, tapping quickly on his pad, before continuing. “Chiurgeon – to, err, attend you.”
Godric nodded slowly, reaching up to unfasten his cloak, than draping it over the end of the surface. He unslung his bow and quiver, setting them against the base of the bench. It took one more wave of Kingsley’s hand, however, before he allowed himself to be seated. The bench was soft, without a full firmness against his bottom though it upheld him without an unsteady wavering which he expected. He ran his hand over the surface beside him, wondering what kind of animal it could have been fashioned from. He had no need of a Chiurgeon but the Elder had insisted upon an examination, so he would allow it.
Characters: Godric Gryffindor, NPC security team, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Alicia Spinnet
Setting: Portal clearing, Command center
Content: PG
Status: Private : Open
He crouched, bow in hand, arrow notched and ready, the snow falling silently around him, but Godric was focused on the small deer grazing on grass that stuck up through the ankle-deep snow covering the land. His breath curled in white, gossamer wisps around him, Godric's gaze remained riveted to the creature who moved slowly forward, its body slowly coming clear of the cluster of trees that blocked his shot. His arm drew back, the slightest of movements in the most economical of manners born over years of practice, drawing taunt under his fingertips, and Godric held his breath, the tips of his fingers relaxing to loose the arrow. The whisper of air by his ear was the only indication that the arrow was flying, flying true, finding purchase deep in the chest of the deer, and it slumped into the white snow.
Rising from where he'd left an impression in the snow, Godric carefully padded through the snow to the deer, not wanting to disturb other deer in the area. If he could bring down another, they could be bleed out overnight and be sectioned for salt storage in the ground wells. Godric knelt beside the deer, checking for signs of life, but it had been a quick kill, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for their gift as he scanned the treeline for another. He spotted a large buck, not more than a hundred feet away, and he was moving just a short distance from his first kill, slipping another arrow against the bow without a sound, already lining up the shot in his minds' eye. In two days time, he would be meeting with the others in the central village for the continuing Yule feasts, and it was there that he would press his concerns with Helga and Rowena but now, his thoughts were on stocking the wells.
Godric rose slowly, turning the bow just the smallest bit to make a more accurate shot when he felt a disturbing tinge in the pit of his stomach, the feeling was a perversion of apparation, and the deer was forgotten in the dark whisper of awareness but he didn't have time to lower his bow when it happened. Everything around him went black, and Godric felt as if he'd taken a stun hex to the head. A feeling of dread cloaking him, the hint of random voices floated by in the abyss, and then there was a rush of air. He blinked and his eyes tried to focus in the new shadowed darkness, the weight of heated air pressing on him suddenly in the midst of shouting voices. Strange words assaulted his ears. When his vision focused, Godric tensed at the sight of five oddly dressed men pointing sticks or tubes at him - he could not make out what they were in the fell dark of the clearing, and his fingers tightening on the bow that was now pointed at one of them.
"Sweet Merlin, it can't be," Tory Biggles stated, shining his flashlight onto the strangers features before dropping it slightly. "Hold your fire. I... I know this sounds mental but I think this is Godric Gryffindor. I saw parchments with his likeness in school, and this bloke is a dead-ringer. Hey, Dorian, you're good with ancient runes. Try, um, a greeting."
Some of the words were familiar to him, but they were coarse and rough, as was the other man's manner of speaking. One of the darkly clothed men stepped forward, lifting his wand to which Godric immediately shifted his aim to that man but the wizard continued, sweeping his wand in a fluid motion that left golden symbols hanging in the air between them. Godric's head startled back and he automatically lowered his bow, unsheathing the arrow, as he read the golden message. "Who art thou?" he demanded in a his thickly accented version of old English, looking from one to the other. "I would parlay with your Elder!" Godric stated firmly, eying each man with distinct caution and distrust.
Each of the security team members looked from one to the other until the one called Dorian stepped forward and made an awkward bow-like motion before pointing to one of the Jeeps parked on the edge of the clearing. "We're the, um, security team for the portal, and um, we have a metal, um, horse, sir," he offered in a faltering, hesitant tone before lifting his wand again and more golden runes painted in the hanging air between them. Godric read them quickly, his eyebrow arching in clear question, his expression leaving no confusion as to his estimation that the man was crazy. Dorian shrugged at his comrades and walked over to the door of the Jeep, holding it open, and Godric could see a raised throne in the bizarre compartment. He approached it cautiously, raising his right hand and gesturing minutely, a flash of white engulfing the Jeep then receding. Satisfied, Godric hoisted himself into the seat, tucking his bow between his legs.
With a roar, the vehicle started and Godric's grip on the seat tightened sharply, his spell had found no danger in the iron box but that didn't mean he was any more trusting of the strange device. He did, however, believe the wizard next to him had no ill will directed at him. Godric's head was spinning. Where was he? Was this all a dream? That had to be it. He'd been hit with a hex, clearly, and was dreaming. The iron box jostled as it moved down a dirt path and, after a few minutes, blazing lights from above illuminated castle gates opening before them. Godric's eyes widened when he regarded the tall structure that the box halted before. This was a castle befitting an Elder, he reasoned, growling when the entryway on his right side opened again and the Dorian wizard was standing there. He hopped to the dirt, slinging his bow over one shoulder in a clear motion - he would not tolerate being disarmed in this strange place, even if it was a dream.
Entering the dwelling, he found himself in a brightly-light gathering place with soft lounging couches covered in a strange, pale animal skin of some kind he had never seen before. Was this Elder so wealthy that he could covet all the albino creatures for their skins? Amazingly, it appeared so. Curious and curiouser.
"Welcome, I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, the leader of this expedition, and I'm told you..." Kingsley came into the room, having pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans quickly after being woken by the message from the Portal clearing security team. He hadn't truly believed them that Godric Gryffindor had come through the portal - it was clearly a New Years Eve joke of some kind. That is, until he laid eyes on the stranger standing in the Command Center. "Great Merlin's Ghost!" he exclaimed, looking to Dorian and back to Godric before breaking out in a loud laugh, shaking his head as he addressed them both. "All right, I give. You got me. That's a damned fine piece of glamor, Dor."
The other wizard raked a hand over his hair, glancing to Godric with a skeptical, resigned expression. "Err, no sir, honestly, this isn't a joke, sir. This fellow came out of the portal and Tory, he says its Godric Gryffindor but I don't know nothing about it, sir. I went to school in the States - Salem Academy, sir."
"What manner of trickery is this, good man, that you spake my name?" Godric demanded hotly in his native Gaelic. Was the other man invoking some manner of enchantment against him using his name? He raised his hand, preparing a protective spell in his thoughts, when he remembered that this was a dream. Could he be injured by this hex whilst in a dream? Godric had never heard of such a thing but, as Salazar was fond of pointing out, there were those who would think nothing of using magic for the purpose of harming others.
Kingsley frowned and glanced over to where Thomas was approaching him with a datapad, holding it out to him. He took it and looked down quickly, then up again just as quickly, unwilling to let this man out of his sight. The datapad was showing a rough translation using the biometric parameters of the modern-day Scottish language. “You said he spoke English,” he said, directing himself to Dorian who nodded hesitantly, then shrugged, holding his hands up to say ‘sort of’. Kingsley sighed. “Call over to the medical center, please. We’ll need a Healer to check him over and access the database. I want every image of Godric Gryffindor we have sent to this pad.”
“I spake English, Elder,” Godric informed him with a low growling tone. He was aware that the Elder was talking about him to the others in the room but he could not understand all the words being spoken. What was a ‘medical’? A ‘healer’? ‘a database’? It was gibberish to him. One of the other men broke away from the semi-circle and moved into a room in the back of the building but the Elder remained, steadfastly focused upon him and Godric’s posture lifted, his chin raised in defiance.
Setting the datapad on his hip, Kingsley seemed lost in thought for a moment, then he spoke. “What is your name? What are you called?” he asked.
“Godric. What address do you command, Elder?” he replied, his gaze narrowing slightly. What if this wasn’t the Elder? Had he inadvertently given prominent title to an underling?
“I command, as you say, all that you see,” Kingsley answered with a warm chuckle. “but you can address me as Kingsley, good sir.” His datapad beeped which made Godric startle back a step but Kingsley lifted it again and tapped it once, his own eyebrow arching sharply. “Can you describe – speak a picture – of what you were doing before arriving here, Godric?”
Shifting his stance, Godric folded his arms over his chest, feeling a thin line of sweat running down his back. This place was as warm as a cauldron and his leather-padded vest would have been warm enough without the fur-lined cloak he wore over it, yet to take off the cloak, uninvited, would be unseemly. “I felled a buck. I took aim upon another. A strange majick came over me. I felt a blackness, a fearsome dark. Such that it filled me head with… with… unspeakable… I will not spake the things I hear in the abyss. I have no sight then I am challenged by such as these,” he gestured to Dorian but fell silent.
“No, no, I don’t think we need to know what you, err, heard, not yet, at least. We do, however, need to make sure you are uninjured, Godric. That you cannot, err, injure us unintentionally,” Kingsley pointed out, waving his hand toward the sofas and then leading the way.
Following the dark skinned Elder, Godric eyed the sofa sceptically, watching the other man descend upon it but he pressed his palm flat against the strange surface first, jerking his hand back, then again, pressing his palm onto the cushion. Kingsley chuckled and gestured that he should sit, saying. “It won’t harm you. Please, sit. I’ve sent for a Healer – a,” Kingsley paused, tapping quickly on his pad, before continuing. “Chiurgeon – to, err, attend you.”
Godric nodded slowly, reaching up to unfasten his cloak, than draping it over the end of the surface. He unslung his bow and quiver, setting them against the base of the bench. It took one more wave of Kingsley’s hand, however, before he allowed himself to be seated. The bench was soft, without a full firmness against his bottom though it upheld him without an unsteady wavering which he expected. He ran his hand over the surface beside him, wondering what kind of animal it could have been fashioned from. He had no need of a Chiurgeon but the Elder had insisted upon an examination, so he would allow it.
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Date: 2013-01-11 03:06 pm (UTC)The 'Healer' let the blood drop from his finger onto the parchment. Finally, something very familiar to him was as simple as a bit of parchment. If Godric had doubted her abilities, those doubts lifted when she spelled his finger back to normal, and he drew it closer, examining the spot where he'd pricked the skin, finding no seam or mark. "My thanks, m'lady. I spake wrongly of thou. In garb of the royal house, you would outshine any so-named Queen," Godric stated gravely.
His attention, and the witch's, indeed the Elder as well, was focused on the parchment in her lap. Godric was not surprised by the appearance of words, the familial lines appearing and connecting many, many times though he could not decipher their meaning. This was a vast, great family and he looked for his own name in the webbing with great interest.
"He did. Just as you see him. Bow, sword, cloak. Almost put an arrow through Dorian," Kingsley murmured, glancing over to their guest. All that was missing was the Sorting Hat. He wondered if he could get the man to stand and hold the sword, like the portrait hanging in the Magical school down the lane. Kingsley moved closer, laying one hand on Alicia's shoulder. "We've suspected there are changes happening with the Portal but I need you to keep that to yourself. We don't need a panic." The final webbing of names stopped at the very top of the parchment and Kingsley felt the urge to have a stiff drink.
"What is the meaning of this?" Godric demanded, tapping the parchment where his name appeared. "I begot no child. Pardon, none that claim as such." He amended that, knowing it was possible he had a bastard or two out there somewhere. His gaze shifted from the dizzying spiderweb of names on the parchment up to meet the woman's. "Healer. If I were patron to this family, I would know it. There is some error here, is there not?"
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Date: 2013-01-11 05:41 pm (UTC)There, right there, written in blood on the parchment in her lap was the name she had partly feared, partly hoped to see: Godric Gryffindor. Kingsley's words confirmed her fears, and with those words the hopes that perhaps her mum had changed her mind and would somehow managed to make her way through the portal disappeared. Breathing in deeply, she blinked away the stinging in her eyes and banished her longing to the back of her mind. For now at least. "I won't tell," Alicia assured him, appreciation the comfort of his hand on her shoulder. Right now, her attention should be on the man, Godric, in front of her, who not only was here completely alone, but surrounded by unknown, from the people to the language.
"This," Alicia started when Godric rightfully reclaimed her attention, "is your family tree, and it provides us with the confirmation that you are indeed Godric Gryffindor." She pointed to his name, just as he had. "As I understand it, the Charm on the parchments shows everyone related to you by blood up until present day, which is the year 2001..." she checked her watch, pursing her lips when she saw the time. "2002," she corrected herself, and used her wand to write the runes to make Godric aware of the year. "Happy New Year," she sighed, then cleared her throat. "It seems that you have journeyed through time, and may I say..." swallowing down, she sent him a small smile, "it is truly an honour to meet you, Godric Gryffindor."
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Date: 2013-01-14 12:05 am (UTC)"Two thousand... two," Godric stated, looking up slowly to the Elder, his expression hardening into a guarded neutrality. Were these two trustworthy? The woman had healed his finger but that could be part of great trickery. No. There was something in her eyes just then, when she smiled at him, a real hint of humility, not guile. The Elder, his expression was guarded, but he expected that. No, the 'healer', she wore her emotions on her face. She trusted the Elder. "Ye did not bring me forth," he said firmly. "Ye can no send me home."
"No, we did not bring you here, Godric," Kingsley answered, moving to the other sofa where he picked up his datapad. He typed in a few words and sent off a message before he continued. "In light of these... revelations, I'm having a room set up here for Godric. Once we know more of his genetic status, I'll have a better idea of what... how to go forward from this."
no subject
Date: 2013-01-18 08:20 pm (UTC)Looking up at Kingsley she nodded in agreement then looked back to Godric. "You staying here," she gestured to the house they were in, "also gives us time to see if any of us are carrying any illnesses that can be dangerous to the other." How in Godric's name could she possibly being to explain to him about antibodies and genetically mutated virus and bacteria? No, best to keep it simple, at least while communicating with him in this broken form of English.
"So with your permission, I would like to cast some harmless Charms and Spells, as well as collect..." with a wave of her wand, she summoned a small vial and a small, flat plastic stick, "a little of your blood and a saliva sample... uhm... a little spit." She held up the two items for Godric to see. "Will you agree to that, please?"
no subject
Date: 2013-01-20 12:20 am (UTC)"Ye may cast thy spells," Godric agreed, eying the vial and stick she produced. He arched an eyebrow and glanced to the Elder who nodded again, giving his permission or agreement - Godric could not discern which. For now, he would go along with their requests, harmless as they appeared.
After the 'samples' were acquired, Godric sat back, addressing the Elder again. "As ye can no send me whence I came, what shall ye want of me?"
Kingsley seemed surprised by the question but he answered after a moment. "We'll talk about that tomorrow, Godric, but I have a feeling you might be a good teacher." He paused, looking over his shoulder and then back at Godric, asking. "Would you like something to drink? Some, err, mead or wine or something harder?"
Godric glanced over to the woman but didn't answer. His head was spinning and now the dark skinned Elder was now talking about something he'd only spoke to Salazar about. How could he know of such things? "That I would impose upon thy good will, the harder would bring more cheer then mead, Elder Kingsley."