2013.04.21 - Museum Madness

Originally owned by Maurice Hercule, what is now known as the Castle Hercule is an ancient, gothic-style manor that houses an extensive collection of artistic and historical treasures collected by Maurice and his ancestors through many generations. As the last surviving member of his line, Maurice donated the Castle and the entire family collection to charity when he died. Shortly after his death, it was reopened as a museum and tourist attraction. As the Hercule family had a long history of fielding military men, much of the collection is centered around warfare. There are dozens of suits of armor that range from the bronze age to near-modern eras, with armaments, banners, and scenery to match. Paintings and sculptures capture images such as the Charge of the Light Brigade and King Leonidas of Sparta.
It's a quiet, tasteful place. Ryan has managed to dress appropriately, in a grey suit that's only slightly rumpled and a coat that covers him from neck to thigh. "I thought this would be a nice place to talk," he says to Hanna as he purchases tickets for them both. "Appropriate background. Besides, it's been a while since I've gotten out of my neighborhood."
He's been fairly quiet since their initial talk after they met. The guy has had a lot to think about. If you look closely, you can already see new wrinkles forming across his brow. Still, he smiles when he glances over at Hanna.
Hanna can not help but to feel sympathetic to Sean who has had a lot to take in. First he found out that he is a host to a warrior spirit that's almost older than mankind itself is and then he got a lot more dumped on him since then. A lot of weighty topics have been discussed since they first met with a lot of time spent in quiet conversations that went on until late at night. Over that course of time they also got to know each other better and even got to get a bit closer in the short span since they met
Dressed up herself to go along with the nice suit he is wearing, Hanna's wearing a light blue sundress and a dark violet sweater worn over it. Her height is added to slightly by the slightly-heeled shoes she has on, those black. "I haven't been to a museum in ages," she says with a smile. Her hand has been held in his the entire time and she gives his a soft squeeze, her face a light pink. "You look very handsome."
Ryan's been reluctant to let go of Hanna's hand, too. In fact, he's stayed pretty close to her since they first met, seeming to draw on her presence as an anchor during this confusing and intense transition. He gives her fingers and squeeze and smiles briefly. "Thanks. You look good, too."
Once they're through the turnstyle and they have a measure of privacy, he leans closer and speaks softly. "The more we talk about it, the more I remember. I know you're right and I still can't quite wrap my mind around it. I guess it'll all feel like a strange dream until I see my first monster. Then... Then it'll feel like a /really/ strange dream, I guess.
While the pair heads to a quiet place within the museum proper Hanna looks around, a flicker of recollection finding its way to her eyes when she looks at the armor, one suit of which has her closing her eyes as if unable to stand looking at it for very long. It triggers a memory of a much darker time for them - The Sage and The Warrior - a period of great loss for them. Thankfully it passes swiftly and she finds herself distracted by how he moves closer to her.
Trying to further insure their privacy, she tugs him over towards a little nook by a display of swords, morning stars and other similar weaponry, reaching up to play with his tie once they're tucked safely into their small corner. "It will take time for it to stop feeling like some kind of young-adult novel," she points out while grinning, her expression fond. Kind. "It gets better..." And of course he has to mention monsters. That gets her to sober a little. "Don't think too hard about it," she whispers intently. "Just prepare yourself for what might come."
Strategically placed signs point toward a central attraction. The preserved body of a Roman general and his honor guard. Arrayed around the scene like the spokes of a wheel are several hallways, each dedicated to a different historical period. Now that they've stopped in the Bronze and Iron Age corridor, there's a lot for Ryan to look at. Right now he's trying not to stare at Hanna, so he focuses on a rack of spears. Some are replicas, some are the real deal. Reverently, he reaches out and lays his palm against the glass that separates them from the weapons. "I imagined I'm as prepared as I can be," he says. "That's a doru. Those are pilum. A lancea. The xyston. I know these. All of them. Xyston's is my favorite."
He almost sounds dazed, lost in thought and memory as he studies the spears. The tug on his tie brings him back to reality just in time for a small tremor to shake the building's foundation. There's a few seconds of silence, then a second, stronger tremor runs through the stone beneath their feet. Ryan cocks an eyebrow and glances at Hanna curiously. "Weird."
Hanna watches Ryan as he talks about the weapons, her own knowledge of them second-hand, things she had been taught about in the past during her time with him. There are mostly recognized by her although some of the more exotic spears are unknown, those being the ones she stares at the most. "I can see why you like it," she murmurs, her fingers still held curled about the silky material of his tie.
The first tremor is missed by her much like Ryan misses it although she notices the second and just a hair before him. "Maybe they're doing construction or something nearby," she offers, clearly confused.
"... this part of the country isn't prone to earthquakes, is it?"
"No," Ryan replies mildly. "It's not."
His eyes narrow as a third tremor shakes the building, this time from floor to ceiling. It's enough to send people staggering, and the museum's few patrons all start fleeing and screaming as soon as the rumbling stops.
They're making a lot of noise, but not enough to drown out the voice that echoes in Ryan's ears. "I SMELL A KINDRED SPIRIT," it booms. "A TRUE WARRIOR STANDS BEFORE ME. COME TO ME, WARRIOR."
Ryan waits a few seconds for the voice to fade. His eyes are wide and the whites are showing when he glances down at Hanna. Instinctively, he has wrapped himself around her as a shield against any debris that might fall. "Please tell me you heard that," he says.
"Oh yes, Ryan. I heard that," comes her reply from somewhere under him, Hanna's voice slightly muffled by how he is curled about her protectively. "I think that whole thing you were talking about earlier is coming true. Now it gets to seem like some kind of dream and I, for one," am hoping that we'll get out of this alive."
Not removing herself from him yet, Hanna starts to chant, her voice lifting so she can be heard. The same kind of chanting that could be heard when she was helping him during the brawl at the restaurant. While it continues a slight shimmering begins to form around them, a protective barrier meant to save them from the worst of what might happen. "Get yourself armed, Warrior," she intones then, her voice overlaid by another, now speaking in two voices together. "Gird your loins as well for the time to fight is upon you."
"Oh, my loins are ready. You'd better believe it." Ryan narrows his eyes, flips back his coat, and draws Durendal from where it's concealed high against his chest. The broken sword is short, but it's still sharp and it's deadly in ways that mere metal can't compete with.
Which isn't to say that he doesn't bring some steel to the equation. He pulls a revolver from the other side of his shoulder rig, a monster-sized weapon that he dug out of storage after meeting Hanna. 'THE JUDGE' is stenciled boldly across the barrel, and the term fits. It fires shotgun shells rather than conventional bullets.
"Tell you what, Big Spooky," Ryan calls as he straightens and separates from Hanna. "I'm pretty comfortable right here. Why don't you come to me?"
"AS YOU WISH," the voice replies. All around the building, the crash of glass breaking can be heard as suits of armor from various eras perk up, come to life, and smash free from their confinement. Each picks up a sword, a spear, or an axe and heads for the heroes' position at a steady-but-shambling pace.
"Do not stray too far, Warrior. My defensive magic can not protect you if you remove yourself from my person by a distance more than ten feet." Hanna rises on her feet and she seeks to move with him even as the fight is about to truly get under way.
The animated suits of armor has Hanna's attention but there's nothing she can do to stop them. She has to focus to keep the shield up and if she were to try and take care of the armor instead Sean will be unprotected.
"Don't worry. We're a team. We stay together." Ryan not only agrees, he takes a tone that most wouldn't dare to argue with. His defensive position is just a few feet in front of Hanna. From there, he can see up several of the spoke-shaped corridors simultaneously.
BLAM! The first shot from The Judge tears a fist-shaped hole in a Spartan breastplate, but doesn't take the phantom soldier down. In fact, the thing barely even staggered. It takes all five remaining rounds in the revolver's chamber to do enough damage to put just one of the armor-baddies on the floor for good.
"Well..." Ryan mutters to himself. "This is not awesome. Not... awesome."
His revolver is discarded in favor of a heavy shield, one that likely was intended to go with the Spartan armor he just destroyed. The thick sheet of bronze is heavy and covers most of his upper body, but he moves as if it's feather-light. "C'mon then," he roars, brandishing Durendal at the animated suits of armor. "C'mon!"
Obligingly, they march forward.
And that pretty much makes up Hanna's mind for her, the shield dropping for now. "Careful. I need to bind those armored assholes," is announced, the intermingling of voices no longer heard now. She puts her side firmly against his as she takes a deep breath in, her hands coming up towards the metallic figures as they zombie walk towards them.
"Time for you to find your feet frozen in place!" Over time the magically-enhanced suits are held fast, bound into immobility as if tied into place by invisible ropes. It isn't much but maybe he'll have time to deal with them.
He doesn't need much time. His armored jacket weighs at least fifteen pounds. The shield is another twenty, minimum. Compared to them, Durendal seems light as a feather. Ryan dances, dodges, and weaves, hacking through joints and cleaving tempered steel like butter. When he can, he uses the enormous shield as a bludgeon, crushing entire suits of armor with great, sweeping swings.
Once he's carved up a half-dozen suits, he pauses to look back at Hanna. "Hey. This isn't so bad. At least these guys don't have--urrrk!"
Up until now, he's been relying on the telltalle sounds of plate and chain to let him know when there's an opponent behind him. The WWI-era soldier has only a uniform, a steel helmet, and a rifle with a bayonet attached. A bayonet that's been thrust directly into Ryan's back.
The empty uniform is cleaved in halves, the in quarters before it hits the ground. The rifle and bayonet are tugged free with a grunt and tossed aside. "Just a scratch," he insists, his voice thick and husky. "Keep doing that voodoo that you do."
The attack is silent but Hanna isn't as a scream of anger and fear tears through her. Seeing Ryan pull the weapon free from his body and his following encouragement to continue helps her to steel her nerves and regain her resolve but there are tears she has standing in her eyes, the same tears that soon fall down her cheeks.
The focus of her spell widens as she steps forward, giving her Warrior time to recuperate while she strives to get more of their foes held within her binding spell. "Let me know if you need me," she calls out, afraid that he'll die before she can finish getting their targets removed from the equation.
Ryan is wounded and winded, but unwilling to surrender. Still, each strike comes slower than the last. Even bound in place, the bronze and steel enemies have dangerous strength and remarkable durability. Durendal's keen edge and his Spartan shield prove invaluable on more than one occasion.
When the final suit of armor is destroyed, Ryan kneels atop it and lets his shield THUNK heavily to the ground. As fit as he is, even he is gasping for breath as he wrenches his enchanted sword free. He leans on it while he stands, his hawkish eyes warily seeking more foes. "Are you okay?" he asks Hanna.
Hanna appears to be fine but doesn't answer at first even though she allows the magic spell to drop once it looks like the threat is over for now. "I am fine," she whispers but she sounds weary, like the spells that are sustained are taking a lot out of her. This is the first time she's done more than practice and she has yet to learn how to pace herself which she was told she'd have to.
Too bad she's having to learn it while actually in a fight.
"THE WARRIOR AND THE SAGE... WELL DONE, CHILDREN. BUT THE TIME FOR PLAY IS OVER." Once again, the booming voice fills the halls. Before the echoes have faded, a very brief hissing sound can be heard.
A pilum, one of the Roman javelins that Ryan was pointing out earlier, whistles through the air toward Hanna. The thrower is a cadaverous figure clad in ancient Roman armor, complete with general's plumes.
Desperately, Ryan flings himself toward the spear and stretches his body out flat. He swings his arm straight down, seeking to bat it aside, but the narrow head punches right through the scaled layer of armor under his jacket. Luckily, it hit him in the fleshy spot between the two bones in his forearm. Unfortunately, the pilum has a soft shaft that's designed to bend on impact, fouling enemy shields and making it virtually impossible to remove.
There's only one thing Ryan can do. He holds his injured arm straight out and swings Durendal with all his strength. His sword snips cleanly through the bent metal shaft of the pilum, making it possible for him to extract it. "Okay," he says, shaking blood from his fingertips as he retrieves his shield and stands back up. "Now I'm pissed off. Hanna, this is like a zombie, right? Go for the head? Because if not, I definitely have no idea how to kill this thing."
The tears flow faster when Ryan puts himself in bodily harm for her and comes away injured for his heroics but instead of fear she feels a surge of certainty, a sense of purpose behind what they're doing. Hanna moves away from Ryan after giving herself a second to touch his arm, her way of trying to assure her protector that she knows what she's doing.
"Trust me."
It is is something she normally wouldn't do but with Sean hurt she has no choice to pull out the proverbial big guns and put an end to it now. Hands suddenly raised above her head, she lifts her chin and closes her eyes as words in an old, long forgotten tongue erupts from her. The threat is forgotten now as she pours herself into the magic that now courses through her although it'll be several minutes before she will be able to unleash it upon the unseen adversary. Here is for hoping she can hit it.
"YOU ARE MORTAL," the things booms. "WEAK. RELIANT ON YOUR FLESH AND BONE AND BLOOD. ALREADY, YOU SPILL YOUR LIFE ON THE GROUND." It would seem that for the moment, the corpse isn't concerned by Hanna's chanting. It draws a spatha, the traditional infantry sword of late Roman forces. The weapons gives him a substantial edge on Ryan when it comes to reach. "NOW COME TO ME, AND I WILL SPILL THE REST."
Ryan glances over at Hanna. "Bastard sure does love the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?" he quips. "Let's shut him up."
With a Herculean show of effort, Ryan hurls the heavy bronze shield like a discus. Then he tosses in a surprise for good measure.
"BIG MISTAKE, LITTLE WARRIOR." The cadaver slices right through the shield, using his sword to split it neatly down the middle. He's so busy pontificating that he doesn't see Ryan's surprise. Durendal, hurled like a throwing knife, spins end over end and cleaves right through his Roman breastplate, also tearing a huge hole in his torso. From the hole, a purple, otherworldly energy escapes in gaseous wisps, only to disperse a few feet from the source. This slows the thing down and definitely makes it angry, but this fight is far from over.
And with the armor rend and the energy flowing through it that's her cue. Eyes opening, she unleashes her own energy in the form of a very large, very powerful bolt of lightning that seems to pour from the very heavens her voice was lifted to. It seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once and appears to hit its target as if some how guided.
If Sean looks he'll notice that nothing else is damaged from this brutal magical attack. That singular lightning bolt hits their enemy and nothing else.
The bolt seems to home on in Durendal, the magical sword serving as a sort of lighting rod and energy conduit.
The flash is intense. Blinding. By the time it's over, there's nothing left of the enemy but a pile of dust with Durendal at the center. The weapon still hums with energy.
Ryan turns toward Hanna and grins widely. "Cool!" he chortles. Despite his injuries, he seems in fine spirits. "Let's grab our gear and get out of here before the cops show up. This... could be hard to explain. Plus, I seriously need a band-aid."
The Sage, satisfied that this is over, lets Hanna regain the rest of her consciousness, content to return to waiting for the next time she is needed. Hanna sighs while her arms fall to either side of her body, her upper body trembling.
Sean is turned towards and she smiles, her hand held out for him to take. "Let's go back to my apartment," she suggests with a smile. "I can tend to your wounds and we can rest."
Bloodied but unbowed, Ryan retrieves his sword, and takes the Roman spatha for good measure. "To the victor go the spoils," he murmurs. Durendal is raised to his brow, saluting the fallen enemy.
"Okay," he agrees. "Let's go, before I bleed out and turn this place into a CSI's wet dream."
Category:Log