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Keeping An Eye On Things

Cybil de Blanc

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"...And that is exactly what we need."

Her eyes gazed into the yellow orbs in the bowl, the seawater darkened by a lupine face, holding the priestess in its gaze. Despite its intense stare, it managed to give a fox-like smile, enjoying the news that it had been hearing from its minion. According to young Dahlia, the Arctic was in a state of tension - a queen was missing, a dispute over some minuscule islands had continents snapping at each other, and a nation had been destroyed by nuclear warfare. Not to mention, of course, that eccentric character that had picked up wandering the tundra. The land was tainted with misfortune, order's polar opposite creeping up into the snows of the north - just what the monster needed.

"Samhain approaches," growled the face, the voice rumbling through the sacred space, dedicated to him and him only. "This chaotic state of affairs is an excellent draw for my kind. Has my father had anything to do with it?"

"No, my Wolf King," said Dahlia, her voice airy, as if hypnotized. Going into the trance needed to communicate with the Otherworld was exhausting, and required complete attention to the matter at hand, unless she wanted to let something slip through and muddle the visions in her scrying bowl. "Although, I have heard that Loki has a new avatar, but it's not working very well for him. The Tintagylists said little of how their prisoner is doing; I don't think they completely realize what's going on."

"Then he is of no concern to me at this point," replied the face. "Splitting his consciousness is tiring, and even more so is moving it to a new host. We will let him deal with his host and those annoying Tintagylists; he's gotten quite the temper, so why irritate him? He's got a stronger hold on this world than I do, so I'll let him keep scheming. I'll be (censored) if I'll let him get in my way, though."

There was a great sigh in the temple-like area, and a cold wind rushed through the small space as a result. The faint light the lanterns emitted flickered, and for a moment, the place was mostly shadow. Then, the face closed its eyes contently, and the light returned.

"I tire of this," murmured the beast. "Why couldn't this backwater island have Loki as their leader's patron? Why Odin? That clever (censored) always seems to appear in the worst of places...I'm still surprised he hasn't found my sanctum yet."

"Fear not, Fenrir," said Dahlia. "With Queen Cybil missing, things will be much easier. The only reason the Tintagylian cult was found out was because they were so flashy about it; we are more subtle. You lead us, Wolf-Father - not some human who believes a simple pacifist to be a god. She might have gotten away from Hel, but she never got away from her own mistakes."

The face - Fenrir - chuckled. "Yes, yes. Hel had such a fit when that woman escaped Niflheim - I swear, Lyngvi was shaking for days. But enough of my sister; what of that Generalissimo fellow?"

"We hold him in the upper levels. It's cold enough there to knock a man unconscious without good winter clothing. A nice spray of cold water helps keep him nice and quiet, too."

"Bring him to me. I wish to speak with him."

"As you command, my Wolf King."

Edited by Cybil de Blanc
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It was too cold, too dark, too painful to remain conscious. . . much less focus on where he was, Generalissimo instead chose the less taxing option of self-reflection.

It started when Generalissimo was engaging in a search and rescue flight, maybe someone really didn’t want anyone finding Queen Cybil. That plane was shot down, it didn’t matter how, flying at less two hundred without engines with a hole through the starboard wing it was easier to focus on not falling out of the air than why one was falling out of the air. Crash-landing a flak-ridden C-130 wasn’t easy and Generalissimo didn’t land it, he hit an iceberg nearly head-on.

Walking away from something like that alive and unscathed wasn’t impossible, merely incredibly unlikely.

Whoever did the firing seemed the type to not leave witnesses

Pulling a rigid inflatable raft, enough arctic outer-wear not to instantly freeze, four days of provisions, and a survival kit from the wreckage Generalissimo set out into the barren ice.

Most anyone else would have been condemned to certain death in the icy wastelands of the north, but not the author of Generalissimo’s Saint Paul City Wasteland Survival Guide. Even so eight days latter Generallisimo was on the verge of death, fortunately a scavenging Polar Bear realized his plight, when the predator attacked it was shot dead. . leaving behind enough meat to last more than a week and enough fur to fashion a comfortable tent. In the following weeks the wayward head of state survived by hunting Polar Bears with his sidearm, when all available ammunition was expended the hunting continued at bayonet point.

When signs of human life were finally found Generalissimo stalked tracks and footprints for days until finally coming across people, while the details were still fuzzy, who promptly overcame and subdued him.

Whoever captured him hadn’t killed him, which meant they weren’t likely going to (yet).

Generalissimo occasionally tried to conceptualize his current surroundings, failing miserably each time.

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Footsteps rang throughout the cave-like area of the temple's prison. It was mostly empty, save for a few guards in the warmest of winter clothing. Fenrir was not a stupid creature; he knew very well that enemies, unlike what fiction might have said, were not to be left unattended and fully alert. Keeping Generalissimo in a state of survivable hypothermia - and surrounding him with the strongest of the followers as guards - was not overkill at all. It was merely reassurance that nothing would go belly-up.

Dahlia was let through, the guards bowing their heads respectfully as she entered. Though she was no High Priestess - merely the assistant of the High Priestess, who was somewhere in Northanholde at the moment - Dahlia Scarborough was not one to be trifled with. The Wolf King had taken a liking to her, and communicated with her more than anyone, except the temple's true High Priestess. Before, he had barely recognized her presence, but had quickly changed his attitude when she proved to be an efficient scryer. She was his little snitch, the raven on his shoulder, whispering words into his ear about everything - it had seemed to make him stronger in the long run.

"Remove him from the cell, and get him sufficiently conscious. The Wolf-Father requests his presence," said Dahlia, glancing at the guards for a moment. She then glanced at Generalissimo, who was lying on his side in the cell.

"And make sure that he doesn't pull anything. He's known for having an ace up his sleeve."

- = = = -

Once Generalissimo had regained his senses, he would find himself gagged, shackled and bound, dragged along by his arms by two of the guards. They followed young Dahlia down a short hallway, lined with pictures of a giant black wolf, attacking what looked to be ancient Norse figures and generally running about the landscape. A few statues of the wolf also lined the hallways, four for each side, sitting patiently with what looked like chained legs. Beneath their feet, a mosaic that looked new, made of polished, cut stone; they depicted the same ferocious-looking wolf, running along with jaws open and teeth bared, headed towards a dimly-lit room at the end.

As the small group entered, Dahlia's voice softly commanded, "Light the lanterns." The two lanterns at the entrance were joined by several others scattered across the room, surrounding a rectangular, lowered part of the floor, held up in the four corners by concrete pillars. In the middle of the room, a statue of the Wolf King - Fenrir - stood, carved with the utmost care and standing on all fours, his legs bound by chains carved of stone - Gleipnir. His great face saw all in the area of worship, reflected in a medium-sized pool beneath him, icy and cold and flowing up from the sea itself. Above them all, there was another mosaic, depicting Fenrir's sons Hati and Sköll, chasing the sun and moon, circling their father sitting in the center, bound by his chains.

Edited by Cybil de Blanc
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Consciousness can often be a deceivingly overrated phenomenon

Bound, gagged, shackled, and bound. . . it was an unfortunately familiar experience.

It wasn’t as if Generalissimo hadn’t been kidnapped before but, unlike Lady Tintagyl, he didn’t make a habit of it.

Survivable hypothermia, steel shackles, and hardened chains. . . they were underestimating their captive. Escapology is a fine art of subtle manipulation; with enough determination, endurance, and time anyone with the right skills and physical abilities could eventually overcome this. Generalissimo had once freed himself from a straitjacket while handcuffed and tied chair in a room full of guards, escaping from physical confinement was easy - it was the guards that brought him down again. Generalissimo could easily emancipate himself from these restraints in forty seconds, forty seconds he didn’t have.

Taking a moment to note this room's Norse motif and Fenrir imagery Generalissimo’s eyes narrowed at the only conclusion he could make, if not gagged he would have had something say about it. Surrounded and hapless at the enemy's mercy things weren’t looking good – at least there weren’t any ninja this time around.

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Generalissimo was positioned before the pool of saltwater, able to see his own reflection in the murky water. The image of his face in the water was only a meter from the end of Fenrir's muzzle, as if the great wolf was about to swallow him whole. The small stool that Dahlia had been leaning over was gone, as well as her scrying bowl; Fenrir had enough energy to place his image in the pool at that point.

"Do not attempt anything," said Dahlia. "You are in the den of a god. If you dare defile this sacred area, you will be thrown into that pool in front of you. You may be a well-known escape artist, but not even mortals can escape the Underworld, and the Wolf King always enjoys a nice treat."

The woman then cleared her throat, and locked eyes with the statue of Fenrir. Slowly, her hands rose, one palm clasped over one fist, held to her mouth. Her eyes closed, and she breathed in deeply. All around them, the sentries standing guard over the chamber knelt on one knee, heads bowed and weapons put down.

"Wolf King," said the woman, "I summon you into this world, drawn to the place where your followers stand at the ready. Your fangs are sharp, you feet are swift, and the pathway is open to you. To you, I send blood, so that you may follow its scent to the Mortal World."

Dahlia's hands went to a hip pack at her side. Bits of moss and dried plants fell to the floor as she withdrew a curved knife, fashioned from the tusk of a walrus and the hilt made of blackened reindeer bone. In a swift, effortless fashion, wincing only slightly as she did so, she slashed open her palm.

"Let the waters of Amsvartnir not hold you back. Let it be that Gleipnir loosens, and you may come to your followers with the greatest of ease. Let Lyngvi be left behind, and let us gaze upon you."

She stretched out her arm, letting the blood run down her hand and fall into the brine. There was heavy silence, nothing but a slight plop as Dahlia offering mingled with the saltwater, becoming wisps of carmine that stretched out into the murky blue-black.


The water suddenly spouted and bubbled violently, as if an explosion had gone off somewhere below. It roiled and foamed, like the jaws of some beast, before a great wind swept through the temple. Lanterns flickered on and off, shadows dancing across the floor as an animalistic cut through the chamber -


And for the briefest moment, there was pitch black in the chamber, before the bubbles in the pool parted, and Generalissimo found himself staring at the face of a great, black wolf. It appeared as a reflection of the statue in the pool, but it looked real, and its eyes glowed a pale yellow that lit up the saltwater. It was now the only source of light in the room.

"Greetings, Generalissimo," growled the monstrosity, although its lips never moved, Dahlia removing the gag from Generalissimo's mouth as it spoke. "I hope you weren't too badly injured by my followers. However, I do not take lightly to explorers such as yourself looking around where you're not supposed to. You would have put my den in danger; they were forced to act for the sake of the den."

There was a great snort, and the pool rippled wildly from where Fenrir's nose was.

"But perhaps this is a good thing. I was looking for people such as yourself."

Suddenly, Dahlia, would try and grab the back of Generalissimo's head, and push it into the pool below. The reflection of Fenrir would now be one of open jaws, which would reach forward and clamp down on Generalissimo's head with an almighty snap and a splash of water.

- = = = -

Generalissimo would find himself in a black space, staring back at Fenrir, who was as tall as two draft horses perched on top of each other. Fading into view would be all of Generalissimo's memories, starting with the most recent - his time on the Arctic ice. They came together like a college, fading and wobbling, appearing and reappearing. Fenrir's eyes gazed at them all, and he nodded.

"Ahhhhhh," said the Wolf King. "You are a fine hunter, Generalissimo, much like myself. You probably thought it would be inevitable to find the Queen, but you are far too optimistic. The Arctic has probably swallowed her whole, and you can't do a thing about it."

The images faded, and then, memories further back were seen - press conferences on Generalissimo's Observation, meetings with his government, and the like. Fenrir snorted.

"And you begin to unravel how Midgard works," said Fenrir. "It's quite incredible how chaos can unravel the smallest of things, such as the flow of time. What would you say if I told you why every nation's time differs so? Why you christened the birth of a child months ago, and yet, in her homeland, she is already a fine young woman?"

Edited by Cybil de Blanc
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Wait, this wasn’t Kaiser Marten’s inner sanctum? Generalissimo had always believed the Kaiser participating in inner circles of most any obviously Norse sect, assuming this was some religious order. . . Unless Kaiser Martens was somehow a literal wolf.

Wolf !?!?!?! He was staring down at an actual #@$% talking wolf, it was more than a little startling

The priestess –Generalissimo assumed she was a priestess- had called it the Wolf King, which could mean anything at this point.

Even Generalissimo’s ‘slightly’ twisted logic dictated wolves didn’t usually talk. With the insane Timey-Wimey-Ball that is geography-based temporal physics, reality is often entirely unrealistic. Generalissimo was old enough to remember a time when mecha roamed the earth, multiple entities could share the same physical space, and a war fought for a nation of sentient dolphins – a talking wolf shouldn’t be much more than a slight curiosity.

It could still easily be nothing more than smoke and mirrors. . . Reality is perception, and slight the slightest direction of that perception can make one’s reality – something any good politician learned early on. A logical construction of this determined a possibility of hallucinogen juxtaposed with holographic wolf images reflected through the statue onto a reflective basin complimented by an advanced sound system.

Anything pertaining to his past could merely be a series of stress-induced flashbacks, which was better than the alternative in a scientific construction. If these images were intentionally projected it meant someone was following him for a disturbingly long time

– someone other than either Martens or the Dark Hand, who were always following him anyway. . . it made a made a surprising amount of sense. Well known escape artist? That was privileged information, the wolf knew what was known only to Kiska and dead Ninja, of course they might actually have had Kiska this whole time - Generalissimo wouldn’t put it past them.

If it was really a wolf or not didn’t actually matter, Generalissimo’s captors wanted to talk, and he had oblige them. When in doubt use what little you can glean from your surroundings, filter it through some wild mass guessing, maximize your external confidence, add in a little crazy, and directing the conversation from a position of strength, “Far too optimistic? Of course I’m going to find the queen, it’s inevitable because I’m the main character, it’s inevitable because I believe in the people who believe in me - it’s inevitable because I’m Generalissimo, Generalissimo of Procinctia! ! !

You say the Arctic has probably swallowed her whole, but would you resort to such measures to stop me if there wasn’t anything to find?

I know she could likely survive because I sent her a signed copy of Generalissimo’s Saint Paul City Wasteland Survival Guide the day of her coronation, a book containing more than enough practical survival information to not die out here; available from Procinctia Printing Press for $20, a text for all discernable wasteland survivors, act now and you can get a copy of the limited edition Generalissimo missing-in-the-Arctic commemorative edition.

I haven’t been wandering as aimlessly as you think, now that I’m here I have my first real lead, because you obviously know something comrade wolf.”

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"And you begin to unravel how Midgard works," said Fenrir. "It's quite incredible how chaos can unravel the smallest of things, such as the flow of time. What would you say if I told you why every nation's time differs so? Why you christened the birth of a child months ago, and yet, in her homeland, she is already a fine young woman?"
I already know the answer to your riddle.

What happened to all the Mecha? Reality was unrealistic, people couldn’t accept it, the mecha stopped working.

A consensus based reality.

Edited by Generalissimo
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Generalissimo's words gave Fenrir pause. It seemed the eccentric man was more clever than Fenrir first assumed; his words did make sense. In fact, they weren't unlike the words he was to speak. How refreshed, the wolf would feel, to finally meet a human with some scrap of intelligence. And yes, Fenrir did have answers for the Generalissimo - answers that, hopefully, would give Generalissimo a chance to think instead.

"Very good, Generalissimo," said the beast. "Midgard is shaped by the reality of humans, what their minds think, what they see and do. But if that is so...how do you know that Cybil is alive? How do you know that the belief of others that she is dead has been her undoing?"

Everything went dark again, Fenrir's eyes the only light in the darkness. Then, they were standing on Arctic ice again, cold wind and everything. The sun rose high in the sky, as if it were the Arctic summer again. Then, there was a great whirling of the sky, a sudden and abrupt switching of day and night, as if several days were passing by each second. When it stopped, they were standing in the now-destroyed Helzan, and in front of Fenrir....

"How do you not know she has been destroyed?" asked Fenrir, nudging a charred corpse, unrecognizable save for the fact it had feminine curves, and a band of gold melted to its head, inlaid with an amber diamond in a silver center - the crown of Cyneriice Northan. "How do you know that someone, such as I, has not made it so that she will never return?"

Another flash of black. Generalissimo would suddenly find himself in the midst of his nation's capital, burning to the ground as explosions sounded, people screaming and falling all around him.

"And how do you know that I have not done the same elsewhere?" added the black creature with a toothy grin.

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The destruction of Saint Paul City was absolute and total, and something Generalissimo lived with every day of his life. Being sole survivor of an apocalypse you’re responsible for is beyond traumatizing, living with it is enough to drive a man into madness. It wasn’t somewhere Generalissimo wanted to be right now, not in this discussion, but he didn’t let it didn’t effect his reasoning.

Generalissimo passively waved to the scenes chaos and death around them, “Do you really think I just ‘survived’ the absolute destruction at Saul Island? Look around you, is it possible to survive this? I probably didn’t live through the plane hitting the iceburg. I’ve already died, at least twice, probably more.

Kaiser Martens survived a multiple simultaneous thermonuclear weapons at point blank range, Uberstein had a far too convenient body double when assassinated by Miri, and Motoko was gunned down very much to death; some people just refuse to die. . . no explanations, no retroactive continuity.

Maybe it’s like Elvis syndrome, popular belief in someone’s continued survival practically guarantees it, as long no one ever found the body. . . and even that’s not always enough. Maybe some leaders are more tightly tied to their country’s existence than others. Maybe some people can will themselves not to die. Maybe I really am dead and just humanity’s collective impression of myself.

I can’t say for sure, but it happens, an inescapable reality of our world.

It doesn’t actually matter if that was Cybil’s fate, because if I’m here in front of you she’s somewhere out there.”

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Again he was at the brunt of a rebuttal. Fenrir's Plan A was going downhill, for the only damage he had done so far was a slight bothering of the Generalissimo. It really wasn't helping at the moment that he was not omniscient yet...but it was no matter. And the discussion did not really concern Cybil - it concerned, rather, Fenrir getting himself a suitable group of avatars. Loki's traditional method of absolute mind-shredding was not going to work on this clever, clever man.

"...Perhaps," said the giant wolf. He gave a sigh, closing his eyes and letting the images fade into nothingness. Again, the two were in a black void, lit only by Fenrir's eyes. "But enough talk of how Midgard's timeline has been twisted. Instead, I suppose I could give you the means to find this little Queen of ours. I am a god, after all."

Well, he was somewhat of a god...but not the full thing yet. Generalissimo, however, did not have to know that. Fenrir stepped aside, and a rippling picture appeared where he was standing, shaped like an oval mirror. In the image, a crown-less Cybil was curled up into a ball, her hair let down, shaking as she sobbed into her lap. He would not say, however, if the image was real or not.

"Pathetic creatures, you humans," growled Fenrir. "Always trying to break each other's minds. Poor little soul...she's been tortured for days, you know. She lost her mind after two weeks."

The image faded, and was replaced by another, this time of Cybil's face. It was bruised and cut into something unrecognizable, her eyes almost swollen shut. Then, there was blackness again.

"You couldn't help her now if you tried. No human could, after all. She's just about to die."

Edited by Cybil de Blanc
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The surrounding darkness was familiarly comforting, it wasn’t the first featureless infinite plane Generalissimo experienced, hadn’t done anything like this since a year of intensive therapy - hopefully this wasn't a relapse.

“So you're a god, eh? I already know a deity or two, have you met Haruhi Suzumiya yet?

You could give me the means to find Cybil, but you’re not. It doesn’t take a generalissimo to see through this blatantly obvious Faustian construction. You need something from me. . . more specifically something that can only be given freely, otherwise you would have already taken it.

If this ‘experience’ is technological projection, altered-state illusion, outright mystical mindscapes, or a bizarre combination of the three I can only see what you choose to show me. It’s impossible to determine whether or not anything I observe here holds any real truth, it's called logic. Schrodinger's Queen, there’s no proof she’s not in the next room, alive and somewhere else comfortably safe, or as you previously displayed outright dead.

I know you know this already. . . but you realize I don’t actually know Queen Cybil?

That’s right, never met her once. I have never once personally conversed nor communicated with her in any way whatsoever. Keep this in mind before dangling this Lady’s fate in front of me. I’m a generalissimo, capable of being callous and calculating as necessary – if you know anything about me you should already this by now.

Maybe it would easier to lay your cards out on the table Comrade Wolf, because I’m not agreeing to anything without reading the fine print first.”

Of course Generalissimo cared, but more than half the battle was convincing the other guy (wolf?) he didn’t.

If what the wolf had shown really was happening to the young queen, it would be really hard to stand and watch.

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OOC: Thanks, Sarah! :)

- = = = = -

Fenrir was not quite a god yet, but he still had a few tricks to use, and he was an animal-god...thing. Animals, having more finely developed sixth senses than humans, could pick up on the smallest traces of fear, hate, happiness and other emotions, reinforced by any human's scents or body language. Thus, when you were an animal-god...thing, and especially the son of a notorious trickster, you learned to see through the bluff.

Raising his head, Fenrir laughed, his tongue lolling out, sharp white teeth glinting in the darkness. The sinister sound came with a sudden, freezing wind, and the darkness itself shook with the sound. Fenrir's eyes winked out, and then suddenly, they were in a cell, with Cybil lying motionless in a corner. Her face was still tear-stained from the previous vision, but they were newer wounds on her body, and her skin was a sickly pallor.

"You say that this does not bother you?" growled the Wolf King, his face a canine's sneer. "You say that this woman - no, this girl, only nineteen and out of childhood but a year, is someone you'd leave to die? No, Generalissimo - even you are too kind for that. Only you would go out into the Arctic ice to find her, the Gods forbid what happens to you, because you are that much of a hero. You think of yourself as the knight in shining armour, yes?"

Cybil coughed harshly. A trickle of red went down from the corner of her lip, followed by another. Her mouth opened slightly, the woman gasping for air, her breathing suddenly ragged and pained.

"Her ribs are in pieces," said Fenrir. "Every time she coughs, what remains of the bones only injure her. Don't try to help her from here; we are in an incorporeal form. You are in the border between this world and the next, which overlays all of Midgard."

Fenrir slowly padded around to stand in front of Cybil completely, and the darkness returned as he moved. Giving Generalissimo a hard glare, the wolf growled, "I can only help you if you let me. Your mind will do as a place of my presence; let me place myself there, and you will be the most cunning of all humans. You will have a wolf's strengths - you will be able to smell fear, hear the heartbeat of a liar as it pounds, see in the dark like a feline."

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Leave this girl only nineteen and out of childhood but a year to die? This cruel canine knows him too well. . . pushing the right buttons, pulling the right strings. . .

After watching that Generalissimo couldn’t, and it knew. There wasn't anything left to bluff, and the dog was holding all the cards.

[Expletive Redacted]

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In the beginning of 2008 Generalissimo wouldn’t have cared, he could have watched a stranger die without blinking, it would have been too easy, and this creature would have nothing to threaten him with. Somewhere, something went horribly wrong.

Generalissimo was getting soft and knew it, and until today he wouldn’t have thought that a necessarily bad thing. . . the utility of action was becoming increasingly less important than the action itself. . . along the way Generalissimo began to care for people as people, rather than instruments of Procinctia.

The problem with caring is that you actually care what happens to people, leaving you completely open to this sort of thing.

It’s not as if letting an extra entity into his head was anything new, there were disembodied voices in his consciousness before, what’s one more. The biggest obstacle was how this encounter would fit into his current cosmological beliefs, was letting a ‘god’ you ought not to believe into your head sin? There wasn’t time to properly consider ontological consequences; decisive action is the only action.

“Am I a hero, a knight in shining armor? My background’s far too gray for that sort of thing.

I’m just the sort of person that prefers decisive action, someone who refuses to be a bystander.

That said, I know you know I’m not letting the all-too-young Queen die on my watch, and to make a difference I’ll require your assistance. I just need to find her, that’s all I really need from you – everything from that point on is up to me. My current cunning is sufficient for my chosen vocation, and I don’t really need any of a wolf's strengths because I trust in my own capacities. What separates me from someone like Martens is my steadfast refusal to take unnecessary shortcuts, whether I succeed or fail is entirely of my own merit. I’m willing to take your little arrangement, all of the disadvantages with none of the benefits, what say you?

All I have to do is accept you into my consciousness – that’s it right? That doesn’t sound all so bad.”

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"It is relatively harmless..." growled Fenrir. "...But you may feel an odd sensation or two. A strange craving for fresh caribou, the urge to chase after something running by, the occasional snarl or two...but otherwise, you will be seen as sane as you already are."

The wolf walked to the side. Trailing him was an image, bits and pieces ripped and fading that eventually materialized as he stepped out of Generalissimo's line of sight. Generalissimo's war room would appear, mostly empty, save for fleeting shadows moving around. Muffled voices would talk, faint whispers that made no sense, and the room itself would look rather desaturated.

"But with us sharing a mind, I ask to see through you," added Fenrir. "For as long as I reside, I wish to see your world. It is of interest to me, and the more you show me, the more I may help you find Queen Cybil."

Fenrir closed his eyes, and everything went pitch black again. When he re-opened them, he was standing in front of Generalissimo, his great muzzle just inches away from the front of Generalissimo's face.

"Do we have a deal?"

Edited by Cybil de Blanc
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If the wolf-creature-man-god-thing wasn’t too close for comfort Generalissimo could have enjoyed the painstaking recreation of the old Procinctian Military St. Paul Headquarters’ War Room, not that the image lasted long enough anyway.

Muzzle to face interaction was a little more than an intrusion of Generalissimo’s personal space.

Of course there was one last move left to throw the entity/hallucination/whatever from it’s original plan, the risk wouldn’t equal the reward, but it’s muzzle was close enough to kiss. . . while the results would be incredibly humorous, such a prank would likely result in a quick execution.

Generalissimo unfortunately didn’t have time for additional musings, maybe he did considering how time might pass here (but that really wasn’t the point), but there was no real point in drawing it out further than he already had.

“Seen as sane as I already am? That’s kind of insulting considering how many of the unenlightened are so often inclined to see me as a delusional raving lunatic.

If you want the see the world through the eyes of Generalissimo, then consider me your novelty 3d View-Master.

I accept, let it be done.”

Edited by Generalissimo
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The beast grinned, and Generalissimo would be exposed to several sharp, glistening, pointed teeth. Fenrir's hot, moist breath would blow out onto the man's face in a snicker, before the creature opened its jaws wide.

"Awwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr - "


Generalissimo's world would spin and shake, his entire body vibrating as a part of Fenrir forced itself into his consciousness. Every memory he had would flash by in rapid succession, blurs of light and colour that were enough to make a man sick. His brain would feel as if it were stretching and being squished, all at the same time, and his breath would be cut off, a sudden, choking feeling entering the man's lungs.

- = = = -

"Well, that was fast."

With a single, swift motion, Dahlia yanked Generalissimo back, the man's entire upper half having sunk into the pool after Fenrir had ascended with his consciousness. The priestess would be indifferently as the man fell back onto the floor, most likely feeling he had swallowed a bucketful of saltwater, the lanterns around them slowly flickering back to life. There was a good chance, after having a demigod-like figure implant himself into the back of Generalissimo's mind, that the world leader would be unconscious.

"Dry him off, blindfold him and take him out to the ice," said Dahlia. Several guards immediately came to her, picking up Generalissimo by his arms and dragging him out. "Put him where we've been seeing the Zargathian helicopters fly over, but be discreet. He's done here."

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