Codexvmbra - Blog Posts

Ah! It's the fashion-forward fowl he met at work. She's surprised to find he's not just a pretty face, it seems.

"Certainly. In fact, I'm something of an expert. Between my magic and your axe, we could take on any of the challenges posed to us, I'm sure."

Engle looks over the candy corn axe in her hands, then at the man marveling over his book.

"You've used magic?" Engle asks. Maybe he could help her with one of her spells...

"Hell if I know. Call someone, perhaps? It is supposed to be a phone, is it not?"

Who would Maxwell even call...?

"I've been told I can pay with it, among other things." So far, everyone's been gracious enough to handle that process for him when he's wanted to make a purchase.

"I suppose the first step would be to understand what it is actually used for. You have one, too, yes?"

"What're you trying to do?" Brad's not the most social, and generally doesn't care about others, but...

He can emphasize with a fellow grumpy old man.

... ..... .......

This patron doesn't just look like an owl, she's as silent as one, too, it seems. Maxwell's tempted to make a snide comment about how inappropriate her combat attire is for a refined establishment like this one, but... no. She's an attentive member of his audience regardless of how out of place she is, and he will play the gracious host. He can't have his short temper reflecting poorly on his new place of work, after all.

How truly mortifying it would be to get fired from a job so easy a well-dressed Pig could do it.

"Good day," he says pleasantly, offering a shallow bow. "I appear to have caught your eye." That, more than anything, cools his urge to address her with snark; Maxwell does so love to be admired.

His smile and soft, inviting gaze are both the carefully crafted facades of a performer-- enough to make any average customer feel truly, wonderfully seen.

Whether they do the same for Engle, only time will tell.

"If there's anything I can help you with today, don't hesitate to ask. It's what I'm here for."

This place, the Faucher Lace House & Boutique, seems to have gathered quite the flock. Even a newcomer like herself can't help but notice the crowd.

Fashion and espionage are really more in Guin's department, but if Engle wants answers about her missing team, she'd have to fill in for the rest of them.

Between her combat boots and her tactical gear, she's not exactly dressed for a shopping trip. One of the models, a tall man, takes notice of her, and Engle looks right back at him.

Her gaze is unrelenting, and she breathes almost as minimally as a mannequin.

The question remains: which one of them is going to break first?

@codexvmbra

Maxwell of all people can relate. Even before the Codex Umbra was returned to him, when he was given a perfectly ordinary, perfectly useless book, he had kept the mundane tome tucked close to his heart in his inner jacket pocket as though it were the Codex itself. Familiarity can be a powerful thing.

"My offer stands. I assure you, I'm quite the expert when it comes to extracting the hidden meanings of books. So if you ever do wish to figure out why you have been given this one, you need only ask. ...but I won't be able to help if you aren't willing to let me take a look."

Maxwell drums his fingers over the cover of his own "mysterious book."

"Were you given anything else upon your arrival? Or allowed to keep anything else, I suppose I should say."

@codexvmbra

[📖] Girl held her book the way a child might keep a beloved toy close to them. It was clear she wasn't going to let anyone else get their hands on it. "I'm not sure why I have it...but I'm going to keep it." Even if she couldn't remember why it was important, she felt protective over it regardless.

Maxwell's stony expression softens into a smile, and then sharpens again, his grin all teeth.

Finally.

"Waiting for one to fall into my lap, rather."

As expected, his time here in Spirale has been nothing short of paradise. His mind has been blessedly devoid of Their whispers and demands, he has been provided with all the necessities and none of the dangers he offered his own captives, and he has even found his Codex returned to him for what he can only assume was good behavior.

He's happy. Content.

...bored.

That's the true price of peace, he's found. No risk means no reward, and no challenge means no satisfaction of beating it. He's thriving, yes, but is he living?

"Your move, my friend." He gestures grandly to the board. He has already set it up in anticipation of a game, and has placed himself on the side of Black.

"I have no timer with me, so please, don't rush. Consider your moves as carefully as you'd like."

"Do you require an explanation of how to play? I'd hate to begin on unequal footing."

@codexvmbra

The burning sun above brings heat to the Land of Burnt Umber; unseasonable warmth did nothing to deter the locals and the travelers from gathering around the caravans of one of the smaller desert towns. Merchants peddled their wares, speaking loud and enthusiastically to attract the attention of those preparing to embark into the shifting sands of the wilds.

Legato had been drawn to this place out of sheer curiosity. Some of the merchants had quite the collection of oddities and curios-- artifacts that seemed arcane in nature, or downright strange. Curiously, he inspects some of these stands, trying to avoid a conversation with a far too energetic young man who was hellbent on selling Legato a new water skin.

Fatigued by the conversations and the bustling of the crowd, he slips away, opting to find a quieter place to linger. In doing so, he comes upon a shady veranda attached to an old building, drenched in the shadows cast by the sun overhead. A break from the heat was welcome, but, something else tugged Legato's attention--

There sits a man dressed in rather dapper attire, face pale like marble. Before him, a small table, a chessboard placed upon it, and an empty seat longing to be occupied. Hmm.

Without a single word, the stoic man saunters forward, and claims the seat, golden eyes looking across the game board.

" Are you looking for an opponent? " Legato inquires calmly, the winds of the desert audible in the background.

"You don't think I could handle my own against Fae royalty?" He's joking, of course; whatever powers ruled over her version of Britain were undoubtedly on par with Them in terms of their command of magic-- and underlings. Maxwell would have been swallowed up and spit out and turned to dust in no time at all, he's sure.

"You assume correctly. I didn't even encounter true magic until I left the area entirely. My world was woefully devoid of the stuff. ...legends of your kind notwithstanding."

"Did you know any humans at all before your arrival here?"

@codexvmbra

● "Hmm... I suppose the legend behind the Baobhan sith comes from Scottish folklore, but I am a fairy that was born and raised in Britain." She'd been surprised to meet a human that heard her name and immediately drew the correlation between it and those legends. Was he perhaps from that part of the world?

"It wasn't really the Britain you seem to know, though. Unless your Britain was ruled by fairies? But I seriously doubt you'd be alive if that were the case, human."

How many times had he held this exact conversation with Higgsbury while they had been bickering over the construction of their makeshift portal? At least Herta is gracious enough to be able to admit the truth-- magic is science we don't understand yet and is therefore more impressive than anything some common chemist can cobble together, and all that.

"My condolences. I know the feeling." He had been intrigued to find his Codex returned to him, but it had turned out to be nothing more than a joke at his expense; the words and chants contained therein currently provide none of their previous power. Nothing more than markings on a page.

"And I look forward to watching you do so." What can he say? He's always found self-purported geniuses to be oh-so-fun to play with; they're so certain of their own abilities that they make the most amusing mistakes.

"How do you propose to begin your investigation? The Stars are, by all accounts, fully omnipotent in this realm."

@codexvmbra

✧ "I suppose this would qualify as "magic"." Herta mused at a curious question posed to her as she floated along. A man had asked her about her levitation. "But it could also be considered "science". Magic is merely science's ultimate form, as far as I see it." Its why she had no qualms with being considered a witch or a mage, even though she was technically a genius. The genius, in fact.

"I'd show you a little more, but those pesky Stars have had their way with my talents. My genius remains, and yet the laws that govern my abilities have been tampered with. A shame, but I do look forward to unraveling the mysteries of out captors."

What an apt observation. How refreshing it is to meet someone else who recognizes the value of looking one's best!

"Correct." He'll take it as a good sign that Lecter can read people well. That is his job, isn't it?

Maxwell, for his part, does not take a seat. Good, Doctor. You sit. Forever. For some reason, the idea of settling into a chair in this enclosed space is utterly appalling.

"..." How to begin? Being honest, vulnerable... it's certainly not something he's used to. But he expects he'll be asked to pay a pretty penny just to be here, so he might as well get something out of it.

"I expected that being cut off from the dangers of my 'home realm' would likewise sever their hold on me, but I find that I am experiencing just as many nightmares now as I did before."

If anything, the nightly visions seem to have only grown worse since his arrival. It's as though the Stars have tampered with his very ability to mentally recover from moments of distress; he doesn't think that's possible, but he supposes it would be foolish to assume that anything is beyond their capabilities. And since he can no longer rely on a dapper suit and natural confidence to reassure him and sooth his nerves, it seems appropriate that he seek outside guidance.

He does not intend to spend his vacation in paradise plagued by terror.

"So what do you think? Is that something you can fix?"

it's not often that hannibal encounters someone dressed as well as him. in fact, he's noticed how rare it is to find someone dawning a suit for the sake of it, undistracted from the need of any social gathering. the man in front of him - maxwell, his file tells him - is dressed as if he will attend a networking event right after therapy, and so hannibal immediately knows he'll have much fascinating to say.

" ah, looks like we both dressed up for the occasion, " he says with a polite but amused grin, observing maxwell enter the room from where he's sat. " come on in, maxwell. you don't look like the type to pursue a psychiatrist's opinion, if you don't mind me saying. what brings you here? "

@codexvmbra liked for a starter!

Maxwell has sympathy for the jittery machine; it's hard not to, when he's seen his own prized creations in various states of functionality much like this, busted up and broken down by overzealous survivors.

But.

"I would sooner take fashion advice from a well-dressed baboon than I would from someone sporting an outfit like yours, you clown. Try that again, and this time, don't presume to give me advice."

@codexvmbra

"Who're you goin'— going out to see, huh? Must be somebody real—ly special! Ha— ha!"

"It's alright. You don't have to tell me. But... I'd be willin' to give ya some f— f— fashion advice, if you'd lend me your ear."

Maxwell knows exactly what that means; he's too ugly to show his face.

He turns up his nose at the other man, considering snapping back that his features are just fine, thank you very much, but--

He sighs.

"No, I don't object."

This... could be fun, maybe. His would-be employer is certainly polite enough to "mask" his truthful appraisal with that line about mystery, and Max has always been intrigued by intrigue itself...

"I trust you'll find something suitably dashing for me to conceal myself with. What exactly would I be expected to do once you have me all dolled up?"

Cecil's eyes scan the figure from head to toe, lingering longest on his face. It's not...beautiful in the conventional sense, but it carries its own sense of dignity.

❛ For you, more than adequate. ❜

❛ You have a good silhouette, so your strength lies in your figure. I feel that you would benefit from an air of mystery, however— ❜ Here it was, his compromise:

❛ Do you object to wearing masks? ❜

"It would seem so." He's not shocked by any means, but he's still intrigued. Prior to his arrival in Spirale, Maxwell had been under the impression that there were only two realms-- the "real world," and the world of shadows. It's interesting to see that someone who appears so human could be from a different Earth entirely. One without Italy! Imagine that.

Maxwell arches a brow, skeptical and amused. Ah, yes, she's from a good mafia. How quaint.

"You don't need to pretty it up for me. In fact, I think the two of us could help each other if you were honest about your 'values.' It must be difficult to thrive here without the support network you're used to; maybe we're both in need of allies?"

"What is it you hope to accomplish in Spirale, exactly?"

@codexvmbra

◈ "Italy? I apologize. If that's a country, then I have never heard of it. I could only surmise our worlds are very different, good sir." The woman bowed apologetically. She'd been speaking to this man for a short while and her name had been given. Evidently it reminded him of a land from his own world.

"I am a daughter of the nation of Rinascita. The Montelli family is a well known one there, and I do believe you wouldn't be incorrect to refer to it as a "mafia" based on traditional definitions. But I assure you we value our bonds with the people far more than wealth and power."

{ isola starter call ! || @hewillnevervisit !}

"Oh, don't worry, pal. I always hold up my end of a deal."

Maxwell's sharp, toothy smile makes him look almost as fox-like as the Librarian himself. He's extended a blackened, claw-tipped hand, waiting for the other to shake on their trade.

Knowledge for knowledge.

Max has, as always, worded the terms of their arrangement such that he's not technically lying. He's promised the Librarian that, in return for teaching Max the secrets of his own studies, the magician will transcribe a portion of his Codex from memory for the Librarian to keep.

...Maxwell may have neglected to mention that the Codex Umbra is fully encrypted, but, hey, a little deciphering should be nothing for one so well-acquainted with books, right?

"So what do you say? Ready for a peek behind the curtain?"

This is Paradise. To hell with his Codex, to hell with his power!-- he has been gifted the only thing he truly wants right now, and the only thing They could never give him.

Charlie's safe. Jack's happy. Even Higgsbury is probably still at home, chugging away at his doomed experiments. It's as though William Carter never existed, and thus, neither has his long string of failures and regrets.

Maxwell is finally, for the first time ever, truly free.

He strolls into the amphitheater without a care in the world, meeting the stranger's glare with a smug, unbothered grin.

"Oh, dear, am I interrupting something? I didn't realize this space was reserved." It's not, he's sure, and he's in too good a mood to let one nasty look drive him out or goad him into a fight.

Instead, he plops down in a seat right next to the one who glared at him, beaming at the dancers on stage. This is what Charlie looks like right now, he bets-- she's found another performer to work with, and is having the time of her life. Unharmed, prosperous, sane.

"Bravi!" he calls out to the dancers on stage. Then, to the small group in the audience with him: "Friends of yours?"

The posse has set up shop at one of the amphitheaters in Archimedes Ward. Anne is practicing on stage with a few other dancers she's found, teaching them how to do the can-can.

The other three women sit around the theater. Pearl's reading a book about finances, Umbra is mending her bow and arrows, and Maria is tending to Mister Blue.

And there seems to be someone else who wandered in... Maria gives him the stink eye. Pearl and Umbra look over, and Anne seems too invested in her dancing to give more than a glance.

@codexvmbra

"This is ridiculous!" Maxwell gripes, looming over the star-speckled girl to stare down at the corpse. "We can't even take a train in this blasted place without fearing for our lives?"

Not the first time death has set its hand on your shoulder in the compartment of a train, is it, Mr. Carter?

"That's it. I refuse to spend the rest of this trip looking over my shoulder waiting for a knife in my back. I suggest that the one responsible reveal themself now."

He raises his (perfectly average, perfectly powerless) book threateningly, fixing a cold glare on each of the other gathered guests.

Unsurprisingly, no one steps forward.

Then all hell breaks loose. Accusations fly, worried murmurings spread, weapons are raised and doors are locked. Some self-proclaimed investigator makes the tired-out suggestion that everyone pair up for safety, and before Maxwell can slip out to lock himself far, far away from all of this idiocy, he's paired off with the person closest to him-- the girl.

"...this won't prevent either of us from being murdered, so for your sake, I hope you're sharper than you look."

@codexvmbra

While most of the city had that sharp chill of cold due to the snow and the time of the year it was, it never seemed to be the same level of cold she was used to. So when she heard of an area even colder than the city, Mira felt the need to visit it, to feel even some semblance of normality, if she ever had such a thing.

That was what had her visiting the Twilight Tundra, albeit, she still isn't sure how it went from visiting the area to being on a train that went around the whole branch but that comes with exploring didn't it.

The size of the train car did have her feeling slight unease, reminding her a bit too much of the room she was stuck in on Adam ship. But, she doesn't get to think back to it too much until there's panicked screaming coming from the other side of the train car, people going on about a body on the floor and a murderer amongst everyone.

Like the others, it draws Mira over, to try and glance at the victim laying on the floor, an un-phased expression on her face when she catches sight as she blinks. While it is the first time she's seeing it personally, such a sight was common in the memories she'd see from various souls.

{ isola starter call ! || @astrallithid! }

Maxwell sits on a weather-worn stone, his jacket folded neatly over his lap and sweat gathering on his brow. His heart can't take this heat! Is this what summers are like for his pawns? If so, he counts himself lucky that he managed to escape before the season turned.

He sways, sight unfocused with the shimmering haze of heat rising off of the expanse of sand around him. He had wanted to come see the grand skeleton of the desert. It is quite impressive a sight, but not one worth passing out for. But he's here now, and he didn't exactly have the chance to whip up a chilled thermal stone for the trip.

...good lord. The Amazing Maxwell is going to die from exposure of all things.

As his breathing turns more labored, Max catches sight of another figure approaching the Bones of the Forgotten. He stands too quickly, hoping to wave them down, and collapses onto one knee. They appear to be a hearty sort (far more suited to traversing inhospitable climates than Max himself), and they're sure to be able to help-- if they're kind enough to stop and assist a stranger stranded in the sands, of course.

{ isola starter call ! || @ciphertone ! }

"Yes, yes, yes, I understand, knowledge comes at a price, my tiny mortal mind won't be able to contain it all. I'm not stupid, and I'm not new to this sort of thing, either."

He's been on both sides of the whole "cursed deal" situation, and if he can't handle himself at this point, then he deserves to go mad from whatever secrets are locked away in those tomes.

"My request is simple. I'd like to know what your organization has archived on the process of entering and leaving this dimension, and I'd like to know what my options are for using magic before my personal effects are returned to me. Now. Can you help me or not?"

{ isola starter call ! || @oriar ! }

Now that he knows he'll never get back to the Constant, there's a strange pull to return there. That's you in a nutshell, William Carter. Always chasing what you can't have.

He doesn't really want to go back, of course. Not to the Throne, and not to the life of a survivor.

But.

It's been so long since he's been in civilization-- really been in it, not crept shadow-like into the real world-- that he finds himself retreating to the semi-familiar isolation of the forest quite soon into his stay on the island. He's indulged himself nonstop in the finer things of society, and now he needs to pause and reset before all of these recent changes completely overwhelm him. He imagines that this forest, with its easy-to-find forageables and mundane fauna, will be a perfectly relaxing alternative to his own spider-infested woods.

He's wrong.

Maxwell tears through the forest, eyes wide and wild. He's seen-- something. Something tall and shaped like Them that made his skin crawl and his sanity fall in an instant. He doesn't know where he's going, just that he needs to get away, and he almost doesn't notice when another figure (human-sized, thank goodness) appears out of the mist in front of him.

He makes a valiant effort to skid to a stop before he runs into them, but doesn't quite succeed; Maxwell slams into the stranger, toppling them both to the ground in a heap of limbs and disturbed leaves.

He scrambles to untangle himself, his gaze darting feverishly back and forth around the misty clearing.

"It's-- there--! It's coming, They're coming--! What are you waiting for, get up!"

"Please, Charlie, be gentle!"

He knows how pathetic he sounds, how hypocritical it is of him to beg for mercy when it's his fault she's trapped in the darkness in the first place. But he can't help it; he's terrified, stumbling over roots and grasping hands as he tries in vain to outrun the night itself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! What kind of idiot wastes their torch during dusk?

The dead kind.

He had been nervous, that's all. Winter's just around the corner and he had been doing one last resource rush before the warmth of Autumn fled for good. So many puppets up at once had sent his head spinning and shadows crawling in the corners of his vision and he hadn't been able to take the dim light of the setting sun. The puppets are gone now, abandoned along with their resources (what a god damned waste), leaving Maxwell with no light, no means to make another, and just enough clarity of mind for regret.

It's over. Charlie won't be gentle (she never is), and Max will be lucky if the others ever find his corpse in the upcoming snowstorms, much less bother to bring him back to life.

No. No, he refuses to die like this. This is still his world, and he must have something up his sleeve--

In the momentary glow of a firefly cluster, Maxwell holds the Codex aloft, murmurs to himself, and summons her.

@radiosent -- !

{ isola starter call ! || @allhesaid ! }

Max clearly isn't the only one in this world who gets a sick sort of comfort out of watching other people suffer. He's entitled to it, as far as he's concerned; after what he's been through, it's only right that he gets to enjoy himself at someone else's expense. It's what They did to him it's what They're doing to Charlie right now and he can pass that pain along as much as he wants to, thank you very much.

(He thinks about the wave of Hounds that came three days before the completion of the portal. The fear in Wilson's eyes hadn't sparked any sort of joy that time, not like it did before. It's a lot harder to want to see someone hurt when they're sacrificing their safety to keep you alive. When they sacrificed everything to give you back your life in the first place--)

But these wannabe gladiators aren't Wilson, and Maxwell doesn't owe them a single thing. Besides, they volunteered for this, probably. All of the fun of watching people get hurt, none of the nagging guilt and regret for his past actions. What could be better!

He waves over his server, his eyes never leaving the fight.

"A Clover Club, please. Two, actually."

"Not a fan?"

THE GUY jumpscare!!! Maxwell leans over from behind the Afterborn, observing the statue over their head.

"I don't know, I think it lends the place a certain grandiosity. It gets the crowds excited before they even step foot in the tent. But--!"

He straightens up, tapping long, clawed fingers on the stranger's shoulder.

"--everyone's a critic."

This young man is clearly passing through town (but not in the direction of the Capital if he knows what's good for him). Maxwell is somewhat surprised by their reaction to a statue of their King, but this happens sometimes with magicfolk from far away; it can take a moment for that natural connection to sink in, and for them to realize just at whom they're looking.

"Where are you from, kid? They don't teach you history out in the settlements?"

( for @codexvmbra )

Glitz ! Glamour ! This town's got it all, and it ain't even the final destination !

The Afterborn secure the straps of his backpack ( adorned with patches, faded marker drawings, and keychains, of course ) as he takes a look around the settlement. White glowing eyes match the circus of lightbulbs and neon, advertising food, fun, and anything else you could need in this final pit stop before the Capital.

Ever the sort for whimsy and bringing fantasy and fun to life, William was naturally drawn to the promise of a magic show. He had heard of those, seen a picture or two along his travels but had never had the opportunity to see a REAL one before. Making a bee line for the tent promising a grand show, he slowed as they were met with . . . interesting decor.

Ain't this the guy from the advertisements ? William thought before— ❝ Why the fuck wouldja have statues of yourself ? ❞ they wondered aloud.

{ isola starter call ! || @corporatevalue ! }

This is unacceptable. Yes, maybe losing his puppets is the price he's expected to pay for protection from Them, but-- but-- the creators of this world could at least give him a replacement for his servants! Dropping him into the middle of an unfamiliar realm with nothing but the shirt on his back and a mockery of his Codex in his hand? It's unfair! It's criminal!

It's exactly what he deserves, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

...or tolerate it.

"Enough of this beating around the bush. I've made it very clear what I'm looking for, and if that means aligning myself against whatever passes for law enforcement around here, then so be it." How much more direct can he be? He wants something powerful, magical or otherwise, and he couldn't give less of a damn how Ms. Jenson has sourced it.

"So I'll say this one more time; let's talk about your real big-ticket items."