[adamu]

"Heh," Al sniggered, "Good luck with the boss man.  Changes his features like his damned shorts."

[Mercy Merchant]

Robyn ignores Al quip and waits to see if ISaint will allow her to put her hands on his face.  "By the way, Al, you blew up my cello.  Fortunately, it was not the really old one, but still, that cost me a very pretty nuyen.  I will need to find a replacement for it."

[adamu]

"Whaaat? Warn't that jist some sorta metawhatsical reppersentation o' the real one? Hell, I lit off all o' that TNT the bossman done cooked up for me, an' here it safe an' sound back in my bag...But if it's a new fiddle ya need, well, cash ain't much of a problem, these days...."

[Mercy Merchant]

Robyn shakes her head,  "No Al, I am not asking you to replace it.  I can do that very well, myself and I actually have had an eye on a new one for a while now.  But thank you for offering."

She looks around at the others. "I have to say this has been a real event for me.  Thank you for asking me along.  I know that you are all going to split up and I hope that you will think of me if you ever need a hacker or physician in the future.  Or maybe just ask me along for some comedy relief or something.  I hope that I can reach out to each of you if I have a need.  Any of you are always welcome at my home here in Below or up in the Overworld."

[Jack_Spade]

Isaint shrugged and then realized that this wasn't necessarily enough communication for a blind woman - even one as extraordinary adept as Robyn:
"If you want to... Just to warn you, that fight took a lot more out of me than I thought, so I'm not looking my best right now, neither do I feel the best.

And don't worry. As I said I plan to come back to London. Maybe we can even find a boring job as personal security or private investigators. You know, mostly dull work with little chance of meeting Lorekeepers and wet dreams of Hentai animators."

He opened his mouth to speak further, but closed it again, falling silent. A very worried look had fallen on his tired eyes.

[Mercy Merchant]

Robyn looks closely at ISaint and sends him a message.  >>You must know by now that my natural senses are improved a good deal past normal and that I can tell that you are concerned.  Is it something about  me that disturbs you?<<

While she waits for an answer, she reaches her arms across the table and passes her hands along his facial features, planting every crack and crease into her memory, as well as his smell and the way he reacts to her touch.  She sits back in her seat. "Thank you very much."  She then turns to Rick, waiting to see if he will let her touch him.

[obidancer]

When one comes close to the brink of Death, simple food and a good pint of beer always taste delicious. Sure it wasn't the first time for Deckard. But usually only his own life is at risk, not the entire earth population. It was going to take some time to really feels and witness the repercussions of what just had happened. For now, his full attention would be on the food and beer. And as per his Mentor Spirit, he was making a feast of every plate around him.

It was with a mouth full that Deckard was taken aback when Robyn/Alyce was asking to touch him and ISaint. He quickly understood what exactly she meant and as she started with ISaint, he had enough time to finish chewing and swallowing before agreeing for her to do the same to him.

Her touch was soft; he had to swallow the knot in his throat. Vivid images of Cora, his deceased wife flashed in his mind as the touch reminded him how Cora liked to gently wake him up...

She was done, he was embarrassed.  So...  he tried to change the mood, there's a good chance we're still on the Wanted list up there. But between you and I, I'm quite eager to have the sun shine on my face for a few minutes. Not that it  does often in London, but you know what I mean... That said, I have a contact at Scotland Yard. I can check with him what our Status, and see if he could do anything about our files. Not sure he has the pull for much, but it's worth a try...

[Mercy Merchant]

Robyn finishes with Rick's face and sits back in her seat, nodding.  "Thank you, gentlemen.  And as it happens, I know more than a few people in the Overworld that might help us, including a couple at the New Yard.  They are not really close, mind, but we are on speaking terms and they might help.  My contacts with some AAAs are better and might be able to do more.  Just say the word and I can try."

"There is also the question of what to do with Yukika, Jackhammer, and Iris."

[Jack_Spade]

"Give them the best care we can and hope their minds return. Somewhere sunny and warm. Preferably not with an AAA. I don't trust those guys to not abuse their current condition.
I know a nice monastery in South Tyrol who have a lot of experience with people harmed by spirits. I'll stop by there on my way to Rome."

to Robyn's private message he replied:
<<Nothing about you, don't you worry. For once I'm concerned about myself. The Nightmare had or has some connection to me that reminds me of a fellow that made a spirit pact - saved his life from a sudden violent death, but the spirit began siphoning his life force away. Died at 29 looking like 92.
It could have just been the close proximity to that eldrich being, but... let's say I've got some work to do before I'm save to work again.>>

"Regarding our problems with the law: I don't think they identified us, but it is good to get some reliable info. But leaving London for a while surely won't hurt."

[adamu]

Al was enjoying the satisfaction not only of a meal and beer, but also seeing a lot of annoyances quickly wrapped up. Looked like Isaint had just the recipe for their damaged comrades, and was going to see to it himself. Helluva leader.

And, like the others, he had his own people with ties to the constabulary. Tempting as it was in this sort of situation, however, reaching out to them put them at risk. No need to burn them if unnecessary, and he'd already burned his old IDs and gotten new ones the last time he'd been up.

He was a little curious how the Molepeople were going to react to their bio-nuking their favorite fake world. But here they were eating and drinking and mobs of hopped-up hippies had not attacked them...yet. Maybe the powers that be had done something with the lights.

So he would very shortly be going home to Spike and leaving this nightmare realm behind him forever (for the second time). Leaving only one more loose end....

She was smoking hot. And infuriating enough to be interesting. And she was a lot like the girl he'd known eight years ago. A lot like...but not the same. Though he wasn't sure how much of the change was her, and how much himself.

He would have to...get to?...needed to?...spend some time with her now. For a man that pretty much always knew exactly what he wanted, the mixed feelings her felt were difficult to manage....but that sort of thinking was annoying at best. He would take her out and...well, it wasn't as though anything could happen that he didn't want to have happen.

Right?

[Jack_Spade]

Illness Resist: 12d6t5 1
Fail

Logistics. Isaint didn't remember where he'd read it but he couldn't get it out of his head anymore: Amateurs discuss tactics but professional soldiers study logistics.
Isaint felt the truth of this line as he dismantled his current presence in the UK and got his gear stashed in the country side. The drone workshop now held Arthur, the Aeroquip and some of his weapons. The more illegal ones he had buried alongside the explosives a few miles outside Oxford, ready for his return.
The rented cottage was clean now - he even had repaired a few pieces that the landlord had promised he would take care off. The walls gleamed from the fresh coat of white paint and any trace of his occupation was gone. True, he wasn't exactly the type to hang pictures on the wall and care for potted plants, but in a way this had been home and now no longer was.

Everything was clean, the only thing to do was leave the key in the letterbox. He avoided looking into the hall mirror. Despite his best efforts there was still grey in his hair now, no matter how long he would grow them. Likewise his skin stayed pale and a bit waxy. Something was wrong but he had refused to do anything beyond a routine check up at the hospital. He still took the super antibiotics and whatever was ailing him, he was pretty sure that mundane medicine wouldn't have the answer. No, it was better go straight to the specialists.

It would be a long ride with the rented transporter, crossing the channel by ferry and driving through France and half the ADL with two heavily sedated runners in the two Valkyrie Modules. Even asleep Jackhammer looked slightly menacing while Iris looked deceptively serene. 'Sleeping beauty and the beast... I think i might have mixed up my fairy-tales a bit.'

His contact assured him, that the documents for the special care transport where all in order, but he couldn't shake the latent nervousness about how wrong this could go. Fucking logistics again. Getting from A to B without alerting the Cops. Even though he had always tried to keep his nose relatively clean and stay under the radar he too had committed felonies and maybe even shed one or two hairs that could lead the authorities to this real SIN. This last gig in London was just the tip of the iceberg - a tip on that fucking Celedyr himself was now sitting and winking at him.
Isaint was still unsure if it was better that the Great Dragon had not succumbed to the Miasma or not. Being involved in the death of one of the great lizards would have had all kinds of negative consequences, maybe even another war, at any rate a lot of deaths. But that was why the dragons were dangerous: Not because they could eat people and do magic things. But because they were corrupters, accumulating power, controlling and making people dependent. There greatest trick was that they arranged their death to be as inconvenient as possible, so that the inconvenience of their continued involvement in the affairs of men seemed tolerable in comparison.

Yet for him personally this meant that keeping ties to his family and his old life was now a luxury he could no longer afford. He had called his eldest brother and explained the situation to him. Tim hadn't been happy - how could he - but he had understood... eventually. It was a simple plan, really. He'd meet his family for a last time and afterwards they would call the police on him and disown him. Isaint didn't like to think about the crime he supposedly would have committed - it was just too horrific - but it was the only way anyone investigating would believe that all ties to his family were irrevocably broken. After that it would be a simple matter to fake his death and have a certain hacker contact of Darren corrupting his records before they were archived again.

Expensive but not overly so. At least where money was concerned. It certainly wouldn't stop the dragon from finding him if he should set his mind on it, but it might just be enough inconvenience that Celedyr decided that he had more important things to do.

And anyway, the way he felt right now it might be better to say goodbye while he was able to do so. His parents had themselves already gone beyond the projected age for the homo robustus metatype, but sooner or later age would catch up with all of them.

With this gloomy thought he closed the front door, got into the transporter and set off towards the south of England to catch his ride with the ferryman. Fragging logistics. 

[Jack_Spade]

25 km away from Meran Isaint had stopped the car and taken the opportunity to enjoy the rising sun as well as the few ablutions a simple survival kit could offer.
He hadn't slept since the start of the drive from Munich. Instead he had used the meditation technique his mentor had taught him to keep fatigue at bay while the car steered itself for the most part.
Around him the fantastic panorama of the Alps stretched along the horizon until the view was lost in the early morning mist. The monastery was close now but out of sight in a small valley to the north-east.

A sheltered place with good people, ready to lent aid where it was needed but likewise ready to give you a slap to get you back on track if they felt it necessary. Isaint thought about his family, his mother and father in their small flat where they had raised four children, making sure they got a better education than they had gotten. They had sacrificed much for their children, but 10 grandchildren from three of their kids was a good return of investment. Isaint knew that they were disappointed about his life choices - insofar as he had told them what he did. He never had told them why or how he had lost the two loves of his life - the details were to gruesome, not to mention potentially dangerous for a retired machinist and a kindergarden teacher. In hindsight he probably should have told them a little bit more. It had been quite a shock to learn that their middle son had involved himself in illegal activities and now would have to say goodbye forever.
His mother had cried, while his father had kept his stoic face but avoided looking directly at him.
Michael, his younger brother had spoken his mind as always. "Stupid asshole" had been used in equal measure to "just don't get killed - I mean beside your plan to die in a fire".
But in the end they hadn't argued against it anymore. His brothers and sister because they had to think of their own families and his parents because... well, because Isaint had asked them to.

Isaint checked the time. About now the black sheriffs would be pulling a badly burned ork body from his rental car. Tim was the one who had made the police report that his brother Pankratius had threatened their parents and tried to kill him and his daughter. They said it was like he was possessed and that he probably had got a mana psychosis or some such. A dishonorable discharge from his family so to speak.

Isaint went back to the car to check the two valkyrie modules. Both patients were kept in an artificial coma during which the autodoc could care for their physical needs and where they would be free of dreams and nightmares. True oblivion - something in Isaint longed for that too. It would be easy, just walk to the edge of the street, climb over the fence and let gravity do its job. Isaint recognized the intrusive thought almost immediately and built his mental barriers back up, closing the breach he had opened by reminiscing about what he had just lost. There were people depending on him for protection. Taking the easy way out would let everyone down.

He went back to the car and started the engine. Wallowing in depression at the edge of a cliff was a past time you should avoid while you still suffered from a mysterious connection to a malevolent spirit.

And who knew? Maybe Father Antonio did know a cure - beside confessions and Ave Marias...   

[Jack_Spade]

Second month, this time with medicine for 1500 nuyen/month, reducing the threshold by one:
Sickness Resist: 12d6t5 3
Sympthoms under control




The heat was sweltering beneath the helmet as Isaint was speeding away from Milano, a new outfit securely bundled up in the saddle backs of his BMW bike. He had been really surprised that Father Antonio had kept it over all these years - and in top condition. But a look at the odometer had confirmed his suspicion, that the good father actually had been riding it regularly. That brought a grin to his face. The man had gotten older but still had kept that youthful attitude of wonder and excitement. Not a bad feature for a man of the cloth.

Going to Rome in the summer months wasn't the best idea, he knew, but Brother Grigori just happened to be holed up in the library of the Vatican, so that was where he would go now.
At least he felt a bit better now. He was able to change his appearance again without having to look old in each iteration. The three weeks had been like a vacation: Helping the fratres tend to the gardens, a bit of renovation, introducing Jackhammer and Iris to their new surroundings, attending mass and going to confession...

Father Antonio actually had asked for a pee-break and hit had gotten actually dark when they left the church. But he had felt better afterwards. Maybe he should ask Rick to come here too. His friend had looked as if he could use a bit of soul care himself.

But most of all he had meditated, keeping at bay the need to sleep while simultaneously preparing his body for the next level of initiation.

As for his malady... Antonio had deduced that it was something that leeched power from him through the astral. To counter it he had prepared a salve made from olives grown in the cloister and some other things he hadn't specified but Isaint suspected to be mountain flowers. With his third eye open he could see the warm aura of the poultice. The analogy Antonio made was that it was like freezing to death as your body can't hold your heat anymore. The salve was like an insulating layer of fat, reducing the heat loss. Only that he wasn't losing heat, but his life force.
Now he had three months worth of the stuff with him. And although Antonio hadn't said anything, Isaint had immediately transferred a tidy sum to the cloister.

Isaint figured that he would have to solve this problem before too long or there wouldn't be left enough of him to continue the treatment.

So now, after visiting an old acquaintance in the fashion industry for a new outfit that would allow him to enter the Vatican without looking like a mercenary or a bum, he would have to ask the help of one of the world's top exorcists to get his life back on track.

[Jack_Spade]

Rome, the eternal city at noon in summer was interesting. Isaint had been here only two times before and only during the winter months. He quickly suppressed the memory of his last visit. It had been ugly.
The hotel he had chosen was quite close to Vatican city, but that's where the benefits ended. The water was rationed and had a distinctly metallic taste to it. Isaint's latest acquisition, a small chem sniffer ring, had confirmed that somehow the landlord had managed to keep lead pipes over 15 decades. Air conditioning was non-functional and the small window seemed only to be able to let hot air in. Nevertheless, Isaint was satisfied with his choice: The price was reasonable, the door lock functional and the room quite defensible. He had checked in two days ago. Casing out the area, registering changes around, remembering quick exit strategies and developing new ones. Old habits died hard - especially if you had made some mafiosos really angry once upon a time.

He'd just put on his new suit when he finally heard the knock on the door. He had been aware of her standing in front of it for a good five minutes. It was actually quite cute and if he hadn't been busy preparing for his meeting he would have put her out of her misery quite a bit sooner.
As he opened the door he made sure that his weapons where out of sight.
"Hello, what can I do for you?" The elf girl in the maid uniform was visibly shocked how swiftly he had opened the door.
"I... I... was just wondering..." Isaint noticed that she had changed her make up from when he had seen her in the morning. Quite a bit darker but not unskilled applied. she even wore white gloves. 'Shit, a teenager with a crush on me. Why does this happen to me now and not when I was a teenager myself?'
"The room is just fine, thanks for asking." Isaint replied with a bit of fake cheer. He had noticed the girl at breakfast this morning looking at him, but hadn't thought anything off it. 'It's always teenagers when I'm in Rome...'
"No, I, I was... I wanted to tell you..." She had chosen a rather wide open décolleté, he could even spot the beginnings of a tattoo that probably went down towards her sides. Roses he guessed. 'Now just wait a minute.' The hair on the back of his neck was standing up and he felt the familiar buzz. The reason why something like this didn't happen to me is, that I don't live in a fragging porno, that's why...'
"Do you like what you see?"

Isaint didn't bother with an answer and dived to the side - just in time as the girl was suddenly ramming her fist with an extended cyberspur at his face. He could smell the oily, bitter coating as it passed a mere centimeter in front of his nostrils.

Several things clicked at this moment into place.
1) No apparent 16 year old elf girl in a maid uniform was ever going to fall for him hard enough that she came to his room.
2) There wasn't a rose tattoo on this shapely body but a black snake intertwined with briar strands, winding around her down to her left calf.
3) This cybered up assassin had covered her spur in something nasty, with even a prick being enough to ko him.
4) His appointment with the exorcist had somehow been leaked to Fernando Bruno and he had sent a petite, face lifted killer elf after him.
5) If he didn't come up with a good idea right now he was going to be fucked...

The assassin moved with incredible speed and grace, like a ballet dancer on Kamikaze - which she probably was in addition to her cyberware. Isaint was dodging, but rapidly run out of room. 'Should have spend the extra cash for a larger room.'  He threw himself over the bed, trying to land a kick of his own, but she evaded easily. Without his strengthening prayer or his weapon focus he certainly was no match for the murder elf specialized in hand to hand combat. And he hadn't bothered to pack any of his guns or tasers for the short walk to the Vatican where the Swiss Guard certainly wouldn't have let him after finding a small weapons arsenal on him.
She was faster than him, blocking the door and the window, leaving him only the tiny bathroom to retreat. 
"There is no way out for you. I assure you it won't hurt. Just a tiny prick and it will be over."
"The only tiny prick is your boss. How about I double your fee and you leave?"
"How about I kill you and take whatever you have as a bonus?"
And she attacked - seamlessly, without a tell, launching herself across the room. Isaint was ready. He might not have her superhuman, drug enhanced agility, but he had very nearly the fastest reflexes a meta human could have without relying on some of the most expensive cyberware on the market. He caught her extended spur with the briefcase, closing it hard on her wrist while simultaneously pivoting around. She might have had the grace of the angel of death himself, but Isaint had her beat were poor mass was concerned: 50 odd kilos connected to roughly double that amount didn't stand a chance of resisting the pull: Isaint wrenched the would be assassin around, slinging her into the bathroom. With irritation the chivalrous part of his being noticed as her head collided with the door frame and took a small chunk out of the cheap, fake wood veneer. But he didn't let that slow him down. Still clasping the briefcase lid with his left hand, he grabbed her hair and began slamming her face into the washing basin. He only stopped when he felt no more resistance from her. He tasted blood on his lips and for a moment he didn't know if it was from her or if he had bitten his tongue.

With great gulps he sucked in the stale air of his room. It hadn't been more than 10 seconds from start to finish, but he felt like he just ran a marathon.
Just to be sure he took her pulse (none) before closing the still open exit door. He readjusted his trode net and sent a quick message to his contact: <<Brother Grigori I'm afraid someone got wind of me being back in Rome. I'll have to clean up a bit before I can meet you, so please excuse me when I'll be an hour late.>>

[Jack_Spade]

Isaint walked past the ambulances, sparing only a cursory glance. It seemed a young woman had jumped from the roof of the hotel and splattered on the cobblestones.

He had already packed and paid for his room. One way or the other his stay in Rome was going to be short. Reaching the wall that separated Rome from the Vatican he kept walking until he reached a small ungarded door. He knocked three times and waited. A burly Swiss Guard opened - not one of the ones with the colorful suit, but one of the suit wearing ones - and gave him a critical once over.
In heavily accented Italian Isaint said: "I've got an appointment with Brother Grigori." The man nodded and stepped aside to allow Isaint access.
"Take off your shoes, mantle, belt and all weapons, foci and other gear you carry."
Isaint shrugged and began to disarm, leaving even the jacket behind. The guard twitched his nose once when he smelled the salve with which Isaint had covered his upper body, but didn't comment. It didn't smell bad as such but distinctly reminded of a potpourri someone had dropped into olive oil.

Barefoot and only covered with shirt and trousers he  made his way into a small chapel. It was dark inside except for the spot around the altar where the sun's rays were focused through a large glass lens in the ceiling. For a moment Isaint wondered if there was a mirror up there that was adjusted to bring sunlight inside at any time of day. He was pretty certain that this chapel hadn't existed 20 years before or he would have read about it. Just outside the circle of sunshine he could make out a person in a hooded monk's robe, but the glare made it impossible to see it clearly.
"Brother Grigori. I greet you. It's been a while."
"Pankratius."
A pause followed until Grigori said: "How long do you intend to stand there? Get your ass over to the altar and stand in the light."
Isaint did as he was told, noticing that the light felt quite hot compared to the coolness of the room. The salve began to get very viscous, soaking through his shirt and amplifying the smell.
"Good, at least you aren't a vampire - yet."
"I don't think I'd turn into a vampire. My kind turn into hairy cannibal mages."
"You know nothing. Everyone can turn into a Sanguis Ducte."
"I may not be a vampire, but this spot is quite hot..."
"Stay there regardless, or rather get on the altar. I need the light to see what I'm dealing with."
With a suppressed sigh, Isaint followed the instructions. The sandstone was uncomfortably hot and Isaint felt distinctively like an egg in a pan.
"A quite remarkable story you've told me. Demon possession is becoming a lot more common than it was." Grigori finally had stepped into the light and Isaint was able to see the bearded face of the old Romanian. One of his eyes was covered with a patch and his face was crisscrossed with faint, silvery scars. Isaint also saw the wooden crucifix in the left and the silver dagger in the right hand.
"This might hurt a little, try to keep still."
Isaint wanted to speak but the old man had moved the dagger with amazing speed and precision, leaving short, shallow cut along his forearm, blood began to trickle slowly down onto the altar.
"Are you sure you are still a Catholic and not an Aztec priest?"
"Quit your blathering, I've got to concentrate. Hm, yes. There it is."
Isaint kept still and resigned to his fate while his blood and sweat soaked the altar.
"Get up and clean yourself a bit. You look and smell like a piglet."
"So what is it? Father Antonio said I was getting drained of life from afar."
"Antonio might know his weeds, but he should shut up about more complicated things. You definitely have been touched by a strong demon. I think he forged a partial lifebond with you. That's how he could find you and follow you to that meta plane."
"I thought you had to be willing to enter such a pact?"
"Did I say anything about a pact? It's a bond and a subtle one at that. You aren't losing life exactly. It's more like your... well the Chinese would call it Chi... is short circuited . Just enough to allow that demon to use you as a beacon. Once that thing goes back to hell that should be gone as well."
"I'm not sure if the think can return to it's metaplane. As I told you, it got caught by a swarm of mana eating bacteria."
"Hm, that might be a problem. They could have inherited the link. Interesting though. I'll have to study that. No matter how bad you feel, you probably won't die from it. Probably. Just keep using that disgusting ointment until I contact you. And now get out of here, I have to take care of the one who betrayed your return to Bruno. Vada con dio."