Chapter 1: Valencia's

"Hmm..."

Vidar was about one third of the way finished with the last part of the skyscraper. It was unclear if he was even listening to the conversation or if, entranced as he was, he even registered the conversation. Each repeated motion, identical in timing, fluidity, grace. One could almost feel the sublime relaxation. For Vidar, in spite of the alcohol, seemed truly passive.

"... not ready for that plunge yet."

Vidar looked up and fixed the Doctor Avel with a strange, knowing stare, his crimson lips curled into a funny grin. It boasted with certainty, Vidar knew something the good doctor did not. He fixated just long enough for Emil to meet his own green and golden eyes. As the light caught his face, Vidar's natural highlights were pronounced. His hair, brindle as it was, had stripes patterns of blue-black, yellow-gold, and copper-red. The pattern of which matched the severe symmetry of Vidar's face.

He was either highly mutated modern man, or more Neanderthal than anyone who had walked the face of the Earth for many aeons. The eyes, bright with intelligence, lacked all cruelty. They seemed kind, but very deeply sad. The young man did not even attempt to hide these emotions. Running his fingers through his beard, emulating the classic pose of the thinking man Vidar continued.

"Remember we are all brothers, and sisters. All plants, and rocks, trees, and creatures. We are all descended from The One Great Being. Who was always there before time moved to mark it, before words existed to name it."

Finished, Vidar began dissecting another cocktail onion.

Akari thanks Caley for the refill and tilts up her glass for a taste. She swallows and rolls her eyes with the food architect's words. Its not the first time over the centuries she has heard the propaganda on a One Greatest Deity who created everything.

Seeing that he had either dumbfounded or exasperated the room Vidar just chuckled and shook his head. He was sticking to his guns.

"What that means is that in a roomful of strangers, it is infinitely easy to spot the differences. But cohesion is only possible when one finds common ground. We are all unique creatures. But that is obvious. In that there are things that make us exceptional, of this I'm certain. But that doesn't help us work together. A meek wheelman, a snarky assassin, a verbose bounty hunter, some kind of direct biogeneticist, and a completely ordinary archeologist, where is our common ground?"

Avel sat back down in his leather chair and crossed his legs as the large man spoke. It would seem we have little in common at the moment, but I suspect someone else will soon be providing a unifying goal.. He slurped the martini before setting it on the table beside the chair. Barring that, there are still a few things that provide commonality between us, no matter if we do not all belong to the same metaphysical circles.. He cleared his throat, Given that we are all associates of finger quotes 'the Alliance'. Yes? No? pausing he looked around for agreement or opposition. We can all find common ground in opposition to the Church of the Apocalypse. Yes?

Akari takes another sip from her glass.

"So..is the enemy of my enemy my friend?" She utters the question long pondered by many over the millennia. "That is yet to be seen."

Rylani gives a chuckle at being called verbose as she finally orders another beer.

'Well one common thing is that the alliance is able to gather us with the promise of money.. or some kind of reward I guess. I will say while given we are very different in skills we would work be working together, I am no stranger to being gathered and told a job, and that those around me are the competition. It stops people slacking on the job if there is a chance someone will beat you to it.

'Still I more concerned on why it seems to be alliance associates rather than their actually members being gathered. Is it something they are willing to risk friend but not family for?

"I'm really just puzzled as to what these people need me for. I'm may be an expert on norse mythology, but my research well..." Dr. Tyrz waved his hand and screwed his face up, it wasn't a happy look. "When I began comparing Hittite civilization to Bronze Age Protonorse it wasn't well recieved."

My guess would be deniability, expendability or both... the Doctor responded to the Bounty Hunter, somewhat bemusedly. It's no secret that the war against the Church of the Apocalypse isn't going well at all. Indeed, why not use tangential assets in favor of more...trusted or reliable...operatives. Use the reserves, as it were, to avoid fatiguing your regular troops.
a sound strategy, it's what I'd do. . He popped an olive in his mouth and chewed as he regarded the others assembled.

Given that none of us appear to be in any competition with one another, I wouldn't be sure that analogy holds, Ms. Akari. he swallowed the olive as he spoke. None of us, by necessity, must be considered as mutually opposed. Perhaps a more apt analogy would be as strangers who find themselves in the same lifeboat.

It remains to be seen who wants us and for what purpose. It would be difficult to ascertain the usefulness of your research without knowing what knowledge would indeed be useful. the Doctor turned in his seat to reply to the hulking man at the table. In this day and age, things that once seemed outlandish may hold more truth than what we all mistook for reality not so long ago. Yes? No? he looked at the others as if for some kind of validation. The premise of your study isn't unsound.
The Hittite civilization broadly coincided with the European Bronze Age but the details would be in evidence to support your thesis.

Just as Dr. Avel finishes speaking, the curtained entrance to the VIP area ripples. A bouncer parts the red velvet, and three figures stride into the room. They are presumably the Alliance representatives, though members of the organization bear no distinguishing uniforms or insignia.

The Alliance is an international group that exists expressly for the purpose of battling the Church of Revelations. It functions as a loose coalition of governments, powerful individuals, and disparate secret societies that have united in a bid for self-preservation. Victory for Leviathan would mean the end of everything as intelligent beings understand it, and so the Alliance has succeeded in securing cooperation from factions, both mundane and supernatural, that would normally never work with one another. Among its impressive roster of members, the Alliance counts many free governments, military contractors, corporations, witch covens, ceremonial lodges, supernatural entities, and even several pantheons of gods. Not to mention the occasional angels and demons.

Two of the newly arrived individuals are dressed as though they've just stepped out of a meeting at a corporate boardroom. Each is sharply attired in the manner of a high-powered business professional. Both clearly put a lot of work into their appearance. One is a young woman, perhaps in her 20s or early 30s, with vaguely Slavic features. Her dark eyes study the room from behind a pair of stylish black-rimmed glasses, and her long dark hair is arranged in a bun with several loose strands hugging the sides of her face. Her light gray business suit is a form-fitting skirt with a white shirt, matching blazer, and Manolo Blahnik black pumps. Those of you who are fashion conscious can appreciate that she's wearing very Italian (and very upscale) brand names. From her perfect eyelashes to her well-manicured nails, the woman is flawlessly groomed, almost to an obsessive degree.

Likewise, the man standing at the woman's side is also young, Caucasian, and impeccably well-dressed. He is tall and slim with short blonde hair, blue eyes, a freshly-shaven face, and a two-piece tweed suit that looks obscenely expensive. The man is handsome in a very metrosexual kind of way. If you had to make a comparison, you could say that he has a passing resemblance to the Swedish actor Alexander Skarsgård.

The third individual, an African American gentleman, walks in last. Whereas the two yuppies plant themselves at the front of the room for all to see, the third man takes a more unassuming position leaning against the wall behind them, arms crossed at his chest. He's taller and more solidly built than the other two, and his attire is distinctly different. Instead of eye-catchingly expensive clothing, the man is dressed like a normal, everyday civilian: denim jeans, boots, and a fleece jacket with a hood. Still, something about his manner makes him seem anything but normal. His posture and bearing are those of someone with a military background, and the way his eyes scan the room indicate a persistent readiness for trouble. He studies each of you with the same wariness a person might give a stray dog of unknown temperament.

The woman waits a few seconds until she's certain that she has everyone's attention. A leather portfolio rests in the crook of her arm. The blond man is standing to her side and just slightly behind her. It's perhaps safe to assume that he's her subordinate or her bodyguard. The woman directs her gaze to the bartender and flicks her chin. Without saying a word, the bartender nods and abruptly leaves the VIP room.

Once none of the club's staff are present, the well-dressed blonde man pulls a stick of white chalk from the breast pocket of his coat. He approaches one of the walls adjacent to the room's curtained entrance and begins drawing on the dark concrete. He sketches a large circle filled with an array of symbols, and does so with the practiced speed of someone who has performed this task hundreds of times. He repeats this activity on each wall corresponding to one of the four cardinal directions - north, south, east, west. All the while, you can hear the man mumbling what sounds like Latin. The smell of chalk dust wafts through the air.

As her companion does his duties, the woman stands quietly without explanation. She eyeballs anyone who looks like they might speak up or interfere with the task at hand. After several minutes of incessant drawing, the man finishes his work and returns to the woman's side. He removes a handkerchief from another pocket and begins rubbing the chalk from his now whitened fingertips.

"Good evening," says the woman. Her tone is dry and business-like. "Thank you for coming. I'm Nicolette Pope, and this is Luca. We are here on behalf of the Alliance." She neglects to introduce the third man leaning against the wall, though he doesn't seem to particularly care.

Ever the student of history, Vidar excelled in occult studies. He paid close attention to the ritual being performed marking it with his eidetic memory as a peculiarity and curio. It was odd to him to even see someone who by comparison was more superstitious than himself.

Instinctively he reached to his throat and produced a red metal amulet, it looked like an anchor but was decorated in various runes and staves. Mjolnir or at least a totem to Mjolnir. A like shield ring on his finger boasted a Tiwaz rune. Making a warding gesture was sufficient to relax him, when the bizarre behavior stopped. He attempted to replicate the sigil on a cocktail napkin.

"Doctor of Humanities Vidar Tyrz, though I can see my name in that dossier so I'm assuming you knew that. You look like a woman with answers. I can tell by the expensive cut of the suit. I suppose that makes him the functionary." Vidar gives a curt nod to the man adjacent. "And he's the muscle." To the man standing off to the side. "Which means this isn't some kind of joke by my colleagues and your benefactors truly believe I have something useful to your cause. Have I missed anything yet?"

Akari watches on with curiosity, ready to finally get down to the crux of things. She observes everything transpiring in the room around her. It was her way of it.

Carter has sat most of the conversation in silence, both studying his companions to be as well as feeling the odd man out. He nods at the newcomers, but neglects from introducing himself, they didn't ask for one and probably knew who he was anyway.

Rylani just gives a nod to the three as the enter, once again instinctively studying them and trying to figure them out.

The Doctor finished his second martini as Pope's assistant, Luca, drew the sigils on the walls of the lounge. As the process dragged on over the minutes, his slurping grew -perhaps intentionally- louder until the young man finished. He set the oversized glass down as Pope spoke, his blue eyes scanning the well dressed newcomers as well as those that had been invited here alongside him.

We're two martinis into a three martini lunch here, Ms. Pope. the Doctor dropped his olive back into his glass beside him as he leaned back into the leather chair and recrossed his legs. What exactly has -finger quotes- 'the Alliance' in mind for the lot of us? Hm? A little smash & grab? A heist? Exfiltration? Wetwork perhaps? His face betrayed a hint of enthusiasm at the prospect of getting back in the saddle, as it were, after being behind bars for so long.

As Vidar is the first to speak, Nicolette turns her attention to him. She briefly sizes him up before responding. "You are correct. We are aware of who you are. And no, this is no joke." She then motions to the man behind her and Luca. "That is Hayden Forrester. He is a captain in the United States Armed Forces. He is here representing the interests of the U.S. military."

Cpt. Forrester is still leaning with his back against the wall and his hands in his jacket pockets. He replies with a curt nod to all of you but otherwise doesn't respond.

When Dr. Avel speaks up, Nicolette swivels her head and glares at him. Though she doesn't strike any of you as a particularly warm person to begin with, something about her demeanor becomes extra icy when confronted by the doctor. Her eyes ever so slightly narrow as he makes his quips.

"Dr. Emil Avel, is it?" The question seems unnecessary as she clearly knows who he is. The Rosicrucian shifts her body to face him fully. "Just so we are clear, doctor, I was strongly opposed to your release. I've read your file. However, my protestations were overruled by others in the Alliance who believe that your..." She pauses as she searches for the right word. "...expertise is of potential value to us. We'll see if that's the case."

Nicolette redirects her attention to the whole room. "Forgive the precautions," she says, motioning to the wards. "The nature of this assignment is highly sensitive, so we can't afford any eavesdropping." She hands her leather portfolio to Luca, who opens it and begins rifling through some papers. "Before I can brief you on the work, I must get your assurances that anything we discuss in this room will remain secret, and that you will not reveal, of your own free will, any of the following information. Even if you choose not to accept this assignment, you will be expected to maintain your secrecy in perpetuity. Do otherwise, and there will be consequences. Under Article 15 of the Alliance Accords, you will be deemed guilty of treason. Do you all accept these terms? If not, leave now."

"Sure I've signed NDAs before. Though one wonders why the secrecy. I don't really care for the current worldstate. So anything to do with improving it. I'm all for."

Vidar made some notes on the cocktail napkin. Regarding its similarities to his own Atlantean studies the correlation of geometries and distinct allusion to different species of giant were of particular interest to him. He found the ritual fascinating and attempted to fix a few of the errors in assumption that they posed.

"Never understood the assumption that nothing exists." He muttered under his breath adjusting the vector of the symbols. He had studied enough Prime, and Atlantean to know that Hermetic Esoterica was drawing on The Calculus. The problem being the western misunderstanding that Zero was a placeholder for nothing, instead of an introduction of uncertainty. He stood up and admired the physics of the Esoteric Ritual.

By obviating the idea of Zero, the geometries became trigonometry, each individual symbol was itself a frequency, a vibration which supposed where an absolute location was. It was a simple enough thing to fix a position, but that in turn changed the direction. "Ah physics is weird."

With a chuckle he turned his finding over to the man who inscribed them. "Hey wouldn't this be a better proof against observation. I've noticed mathematics has this funny need to say that nothing exists. But isn't that a logical fallacy? Nothing is not a thing right? What do you think about this?"

Anyone who could understand The Calculus could at least figure out some of the foundational precepts of High Athalian. The language itself being The Calculus had exacting definitions, for all existing things.

Forrester? Hm... the Doctor considered the plain clothed military officer behind the two Rosicrucians. I worked with a Dr. Forrester a couple of decades back through a think tank associated with the University of Minnesota. A multi-disciplinary study on the psychological effects of extended stays in deep space on astronauts. Something that will no doubt prove useful in the not too distant future... assuming the Church can be held in check or overcome. I wouldn't suppose you'd be related? No? Avel waited for a response but did not expect one. He figured Forrester for the silent type but wasn't willing to dismiss other possibilities. He was intrigued by the fact that the Captain chose to arrive in civilian attire instead of uniformed. Secrecy, no doubt.

Your objection to my presence is noted, Ms Pope. Fortunately, more...enlightened...minds prevailed. the Doctor returned her icy tone, somewhat amused to spar with her. Among the reasons I agreed to work with 'finger quotes' 'the Alliance' was not only my early release from prison but that under the banner of 'finger quotes' 'the Alliance' disparate groups of the hidden, the occult, the normal and the paranormal could work together in the effort to staunch the advance of the Church of the Apocalypse, turn the tide and defeat it.
Dismissing valuable assets based on preconceived notions of prejudice only aids the efforts of our common enemy. Would you agree this is true, Ms. Pope? Avel stood slowly out of his chair, the barest smirk curling the side of his mouth. He knew she was dangerous to provoke but he took a perverse thrill in it; this kind of behavior had cost him dearly before but he simply couldn't resist.
I am prepared to offer my services, should they be needed, and my secrecy so long as you and your representatives deal fairly and honestly with our Pentaverate here. Agreed? he crossed his hands in front of him as he spoke.