9697/Arrival From Darkness

Arrival From Darkness
Date of Scene:	18 January 2022
Location:	Shadowcrest Manor - Bristol Township
Synopsis:	Meeting and revelation, and spicy food to come. Fruitful meeting, indeed.
Cast of Characters:	Atrun Rai, Zatanna Zatara

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Atrun Rai has posed:
    He doesn't bother this time with subtlety. In a room off the library, the walls begin to vibrate with the raw arcane shudder of the forces he makes use of; space sunders, first in a long black slit in the empty air, then spreading into a perfect black triangle, point up. There is nothing on the other side. Just...cold...equally perfect darkness.

    And then Atrun-Rai steps out, and the portal seals shut behind him. No wound, no scar. Just a faint darkening in the local fabric of reality, one that is already fading away.

    He goes to look for the mistress of the house.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The mistress of the house nearly choked on her fresh croissant, scattering buttery crumbs down the front of her starched white shirt. The void portal that opened up was a cold wind up her back; the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She puts down her teacup with a click and rises, brushing curls of crust from her fashionable black jacket and pants.

A red enameled fingertip flicks away a fleck from her red-painted lips. With her raven-black hair in a long swooped side-part falling to her shoulders and her dramatic makeup she is a modern Veronica Lake at home in her Renaissance Library. Facing the door, she waits the visitor the portal has brought her.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    A knock at the door, then. Polite. Sharp. An announcement.

    "Zatanna Zatara," he calls, "It is I. Atrun-Rai visits, sister."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
How could it be anyone else, she tells herself at the resonant sound of his voice and goes to open the library door herself. She steps back and motions him into the room with an old world flourish of her hand. The room, as always is inviting. The large fireplace crackles with a freshly built fire that reflects golden on the spines of old books filling the floor to ceiling bookcases lining the walls of the room. The library has a complicated scent of woodsmoke, sandalwood, lemons from wood polish and roses from a big Chinese vase standing on a 17th century side table, part of a conversation group of settees and winged back chairs arranged around a hand knotted Oriental carpet.

"Come in. I've wondered how you've been. Can I offer you breakfast? Tea? Coffee?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    It is with a broad smile that she is greeted at the door; he enters without further word, or at least not right away, as he looks about the place with his hands tucked behind his back. No spear in his hand, that being left here for the League to use, and no breastplate - no sign at all that ever he was equipped for fighting. He is as he was in the beginning, the smiling, cheerful fellow.

    But of course, we know that something /else/ is happening.

    "You will forgive me, I hope," he says after a moment's entry and look about. "I know that I withdrew suddenly - I assure you that there is excellent reason for it, but I will have to explain myself. Which I shall." A beat. "Tea, please. That would be lovely."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna gestures for him to sit and goes to the table spread with her breakfast. The only sound in the vast room is the crackle of the fire a brief sharp pop as a log settles.

"Milk or sugar, Atrun-Rai? Have a croissant, the only ones better than these are in Paris." She puts one on a plate and places it with the tea on a table within reach of where he sits.

"Withdrew suddenly? That is one way to put it. Welcome back among us. I didn't have the opportunity to say anything to you during that meeting."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Just the tea, please," he says with a hand lifted in suplocation. "Thank you. And yes, it was a very interesting situation. I died, you know. Nigh obliterated in the expiry of Mikha'el's material projection. It took me a few days to return." He smirks. "And of course, by the time I had, it appears that you no longer need me. Which is all to the good."

    Atrun-Rai pauses for a long moment, taking up his cup and sipping his tea, not sitting yet. "I'm curious why nobody's ever actually asked me /how/ I got back. This time, of course, or the first. Are you not curious?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna finishes her croissant and brings her tea over to sit next to him. "It's some sense of misplaced respect for boundaries, I suppose." She sets down her tea, brushes back a lock of hair then looks at him intently, "Well, how did you get back?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "My patrons." His brows lift faintly. "Well. More specifically, my murderers, and now my jailers." Atrun-Rai takes another sip of tea. "I represent the totality of the Old Ones in the recent troubles, you see. They who someday seek to devour all of existence. Only, lucky us, they wish to preserve it at the moment. So they've sent me."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Your patrons," she echoes, with an abstracted look, remembering what she had seen in the Underworld when the Gods of Death were at war.

"Did they tell you this? Or is this a very educated guess? I mean to say, you're alive ergo there must be a reason for it."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I have always known." He takes another sip from his cup, nodding. "I hate them, but they've never allowed that to stop them - you see after I burned myself out sealing the rift beneath Lantala, they consumed me. A screaming, agonizing death, my soul and magical substance inverted as they did so. A complete, existential death...subsumed into the very substance of the Void. To be kept for safekeeping. For a rainy day, as they say in these modern days." He offers her a rueful smile after a moment's hollow pause. "They dispensed me back into this reality for the express purpose of ensuring that reality was preserved. Now, however, it appears that they are confident that whatever Sims' sacrifice is meant to be, it will offset things sufficiently that I am no longer needed on that front. Stars know that he's piled his throne of martyrdom up high enough to sit at the side of the Presence at this point."

    Another sip of tea; he starts to walk around the room, now, peering at the books, dark eyes flickering amongst titles. Nodding in aprecition as he does. "...there is another front in this. One that has nothing to do with the angels. Do you know what happens, sister, when all eyes are turned on a sudden disruption?"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The homo magi keeps any exclamations of horror to herself during his recital. "Decanted like a fine wine back into reality. I am sure the Archivist will be sufficient unto the day, I will help here and there as needed. Finer minds than mine have will help him. As to your question: when the cats are away, the mice will play."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He says nothing further about the Archivist - instead, he snaps the fingers of his free hand and nods. "Precisely. The Old Ones know that their mortal slaves and worshippers believe this to be the end of times. Human or otherwise, it matters not. They try to open gates to the Void, to bring in their masters - but their masters do /not/ wish to come. Reality must be preserved. So." He shrugs. "I have already put down a group of English cultists trying to bring the Great Mother through the ancient circles there. But She does not wish to be compelled, so I must be sent. There are many others...my work, as it were, is cut out for me."

    He stops, then, turning around to face Zatanna. Cup in hand. "So. That is me. A human mind operating an unnatural body. Access to the secret glories of Atlyente's sorcery and the blasphemous magic of the Outer Darkness. A bit like a bowl of sweet olives laced with spoiled blood, perhaps, but I am firmly on the side of existence."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The image of rotted olives stops any facile comment from the magician. Two cool eyes watch him over the lip of the teacup she sips from. She puts the cup down, nodding to herself.

"Can you ever be restored to something completely human? Would you want to be?" Zatanna hides a shudder, remaining untouched on the surface. "So, the black winds of the void are at your beck and call - all in the service of reality and your masters? And you seek my help?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I do not enjoy the monstrosity that I have become," he replies, but shrugs. "All the same, it helps me save lives. That is far more important than anything that might have befallen me over the millennia. A good death is one that is not worried over, merely experienced in the process of pursuing the goal. My goal, and that of the Old Ones, are one in this moment. It is why they chose me." He chuckles. "They are not used to people wanting to /preserve/ things in their name. Sane people, especially. But if I could be restored? Someday? Certainly. This flesh grants tremendous abilities other than the magical, but it is not mine."

    At her last question, he offers her another shrug. "I seek only to explain myself and why I am not in Manhattan. I go where I am directed; I have no control in that, at least, though I am no direct slave to their demands otherwise. If I fight them overmuch, they will simply dissolve me. If you should wish to assist, of course, sister, your help would be /very/ much appreciated."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Sister? Do the old ones wish us to be family? Isn't cousin enough? The blood of Atlantis runs true in my line. I'm fortunate in that. And, being one of the fortunate, I use the treasure of magic to help others."

She looks away then back at him, "Only my conscience compels me, would the old ones allow my help?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Oh, they don't care." He chuckles, does Atrun-Rai, and takes a deep swallow from his cup now. Nearly finished "They allow me great autonomy. So long as the job gets done, etcetera etcetera." The Atlantean quirks a brow, then. "And 'sister' is merely a method of referring to another sorceror in my day, I mean nothing by it. Brothers and sisters of the science of the mind and the universe."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Why that sounds positively archaic. I know others that would hunt. Do you know our sister, Meggan then?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Forty-two thousand years," he points out. "Why, we never had even a television. How didst we survive, indeed." Atrun-Rai considers the woman now. "Well. How feel you of me now? I can feel you turning to marble from here."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The magician's nostrils flare and she snorts in amusement, "Do you call me calling on Meggan, Queen of Faerie, turning to marble? You scare me, to be quite frank. The void is a frightening place and you are one with it. There is no reason to let monsters roam. I'm not the only one who will help. I know plenty of others in Gotham."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    He's quiet for a moment. She has set a barb in him, though he does not mention it directly. "I am pleased to know it."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna's sense of others is keen. She looks sideways at him as she finishes her tea. "Are you? What have I said, Atrun-Rai? I was not calling /you/ a monster."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "No," he agrees, putting his empty cup upon the table. "But I am, nonetheless. Worry not, sister, I took no offense. At times, however, reality can be uncomfortable." However it might, indeed, need to be preserved.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
After a moment of silence which Zatanna does not fill with niceties, sure that at his age he has hd a surfeit of them, "Where do you sleep, brother?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
"The Void." he chuckles, gesturing about. "In a place, like this. But it is not healthy for pople from this reality to be nerar. It is...toxic, in a way. Corrosive. Just as I cannot stay in this plane for long before my presence starts to cause trouble."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"So that is what I feel. That edge of the Void that inhabits you." She shakes her head contemplating what it must be like.

"What does it feel like Atrun-Rai? Do you feel the small pleasures? Does food taste good? Do you enjoy the feel of sun on your skin?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I do," he replies. "But I will admit that this...flesh...that I am made from is somewhat dulled. Spiced drinks, strong flavors, these sensations penetrate more than they did - but this is not much different than when I wore the flesh of his realm." Atrun-Rai laughs. "I always did enjoy strong tastes. Aside from that? Mmm. It is...unusual. As if wearing another man's shoes - they fit, and at times better than perhaps my own might have served. But they aren't mine. And I am always aware of it."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Do you sleep? To get away from that feeling or does it persist even when you dream?" She flashes him a smile touched with mischief, "We will get you jars of peppers. I'll have the staff prepare you meals to your specifications, if you'd like." In a smaller voice, the smile gone, "I'm sorry that you are suffering."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "I can feel my tongue set aflame from here!" A laugh, barking and bright, and he offers her a new and brilliant smile, this one he truly means. "I thank you, sister, truly. And of course, I can still teach a great deal - the magic of my time is not tainted, simply some effects that cross barriers with my essence can produce unusual results. The magic itself, however, is entirely legitimate. As for the rest..." He shakes his head. "I do not see myself passing on /those/ secrets to many, if at all. Perhaps in emergencies."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
"Thank you, brother." His laughter carries no taint of the void. "Come to lunch tomorrow and we will set your tongue on fire. I promise. My chef can do anything."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Then I shall do so." A bow, the respectful mudra made before his heart. "Good evening. I thank you for your open mind, sister. We will get through this time of trials yet." And then he departs - taking his leave through the front door this time. At least until he gets down the property a tad, and the distant shudder of his passing into the Void once more can be felt with craning senses...