“Curses are one of the oldest forms of magic. Used commonly in the old days as a form of retribution against others for real and perceived grievances. Its nature and design is to inflict various forms of torment on the target of the curse. This can take on the form of physical disfigurement or psychological anguish both caused by a curse. As cruel as this form of magic can be at times, it’s surprisingly not deadly.
“These curses are designed to torment people, not take their lives.
“As such, no matter how cruel and malevolent a curse may seem, it doesn't kill people. This does not account for any psychological damage a curse may cause an individual, resulting in them taking their own life due to trauma.
“Curses come in two classes: petty and major. As the classification of petty would imply, this class of curse is more of an annoyance than an actual threat to a person's well being. An example of this petty curse we see in modern days are prank curses, where you might see someone grow a cute pair of bunny ears, or their hair color changes to a humorous color.
“The major curse’s are much more serious and can carry very severe legal penalties. Often classified as a form of torture under many countries laws, these curses are utilized only as a way of inflecting both psychological and physical pain. A famous example of one of these types of curses being employed, was the frog curse of prince Lark of Gix. That curse turned prince Lark into a giant frog over the course of a few days. The process was incredibly painful for the prince and was said to be horrific to watch for the people that tended him during that time.
“In both cases of a petty or major curse, a specialist is often employed to remove these curses. These specialists are known as cursebreaker mages. Once these curses are removed, any form of physical disfiguration is immediately and completely reverted.
“The church of light is the largest organization that specializes in breaking curses. Many within their ranks are certified curse breakers. (Please refer to section E-27 for more details on the Church of Light’s role in Curse Breaking)”
—”Study of the Dark Arts, 3141 Edition” by Leonard Sol.
It was just another boring day for John at the mystic emporium. He was currently sitting at his regular table at the back of the store. John was reading some manga from his original world he had manifested. Trying to fend off the monotony of his own existence that he has found himself in.
John expected it to be another uneventful day, until he heard the sound of the door bell. His heart skipped a little in anticipation at the prospect of another customer today, but he continued to look down at his book pretending to be uninterested.
John had read “Counseling For Idiots” recently. He did so in hopes that it would give some sort of technique to try and get his neighbor to open up to him. Hoping that if they did, he might be able to help out with Tim and his father's relationship.
The book had expressed that people needed to come feel comfortable before they were willing to open up. He was going to experiment with the person that walked in today, thinking that if he appeared more distant that it wouldn't come across too overbearing, making this customer more comfortable and willing to open up.
He felt that it might be a worthwhile try. After all, John saw himself as more of a weird counselor that was forced into the job from some horrifying existence. As almost everyone to date that came through that door had some sort of problem that he’s, so far, been successful at talking people through.
John could hear the footsteps of someone approaching until stopping just in front of him and called out.
Cid: “Good afternoon, Mr Li.”
John put his book down and looked up to see Cid in his green Shroom Pact uniform greeting him.
John: “Oh, if it isn't Cid. What brought you here today?” he said with a fake smile that hid his disappointment.
John wanted an opportunity to try and test out some of the counseling techniques he just learned on someone new, so he was a little disappointed that he wouldn't be able to since it was Cid that was visiting him today.
Cid: “Oh, I just thought I'd come say hi. Do you mind if I take a seat?” he said while gesturing to one of the nearby empty chairs.”
John: “Of course not.”
He grabbed a chair and sat himself across from John.
John: “So, what have you been up to?”
Cid: “Well, since the time I met you three weeks ago, things have been going good. I got my finances sorted out, thanks to you and Ms Scarlett.”
John: “Oh, that's wonderful,” he said, genuinely happy to hear about Cid’s improving situation.
Cid: “Yeah, I'm able to focus on my studies a lot more effectively. It was quite distracting with that financial burden weighing on me.”
John: “I can imagine. So how are your studies going?”
Cid: “It’s been good, mostly. Um, I kinda wanted your advice on something.”
John: “Well I got a lot of advice to give out, so shoot.”
Cid: “Shoot?” he said, not understanding John’s slang from his world.
John: “Oh, it’s an expression. Um, nevermind, just tell me what you need advice on.”
Cid: “Well, you see. I'm having a problem with…pests.”
John: “Like an infestation?”
Cid: “Yeah…”
Cid was choosing his words very carefully. Scarlett had told him that John didn’t respond to direct questioning.
He originally thought that John was a little strange, but was still a normal shop keeper. However, the truth that the book he received from John said otherwise. Both Scarlett and the book also suggested that being vague and not trying to break John's role as this shopkeeper was paramount. The consequences could be severe if he didn’t keep pretending that John was an ordinary person.
So he opted not to tell him directly about the people dying at the university.
John had no idea that Cid was starting to behave like Scarlett, and was starting to attribute greater meaning behind his words than there really was.
John: “What kind of pest are you dealing with exactly?”
Cid: “The kind that’s really hard to kill,” he said, unsure how to frame it in a way that was conducive with John's ordinary shopkeeper role.
“A kind that is hard to kill? He must be talking about something like a cockroach. Yeah, he must be. Those suckers are really hard to kill.” John thought to himself.
John: “So you have a cockroach problem.”
Cid was surprised by John's response. He didn’t feel that John was being coy with that comment. Cid thought that John was literally saying that the forces he was fighting were no more than cockroaches from John’s perspective. In the truth that John's book showed him, Cid thought that it may very well be the case. The depths of John’s power were something Cid believed that he likely would never be able to fully comprehend.
“In the face of such power, we might all be like bugs to him.” Cid thought with awe towards John.
Cid: “Yeah… Do you have any advice on how to deal with them?”
John: “Do you know where they're coming from?”
Cid: “I have a vague idea. I think with a little more time I'll figure it out. “
John: “Where do you specifically find them?”
Cid: “They're kinda all over the place.”
John: “I'm sure there must be one place where they are particularly gathering.”
Cid: “Hmm, you're probably right.”
John: “What you need to do is figure out where they are congregating, then lay some traps down there to get rid of them. If you're lucky, the place they're gathering might also be where they're coming from. The only way you can really stop an infestation is by cutting it off at the source. So, you gotta figure out where they're coming from and stop them there. Barring that, you’ll have to call in an expert.”
“Call in an expert? He must be saying to ask Ms Scarlett for help. I would rather avoid that. The other option he mentioned was to figure out where they are meeting and lay a trap there.” He thought to himself while misinterpreting John's words.
Cid: “I…see. No, that makes perfect sense! That might actually work. Thank you for the advice,” he said as thought of something.
John: “You’re welcome. Glad I could be of some help. I can get you some cockroach traps if you want.”
Cid: “No, I think I already have everything I already need,” he said while tapping the book he received from John hidden under his school robes.
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John: “OK. If there is nothing else you need any help with, do you just want to shoot the shit.”
Cid: “Why are we shooting poop?” he said, clearly not understanding John's phrase.
John: “No it’s…nevermind. Just tell me what you’ve been doing the last few weeks,” he said as he pulled out some snacks and drinks from just out of view and placed them on the table.
John and Cid would continue to converse for another three hours. Cid would later act on John's advice and begin the process of laying down his trap.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Within the halls of the cathedral of light on the west side of Graheel. Everything had finally calmed down a bit.
It had been two weeks since the funeral for the speaker of light. During that time, everything was hectic and everyone within the local clergy was running around to prepare funeral rites, and console people sadden by the Light speaker's death. Now that the funeral was over, the amount of people visiting the church had returned to normal. It was quiet by comparison to two weeks ago. However, there was still some erratic energy going on within the former Hand of Lights office within the church.
Crowley was sitting in his office behind his desk. The space was large with a few other desks off to the side for others to help him work through the church's paperwork. The room was illuminated by giant windows.
image [https://i.imgur.com/XFvS5bW.jpg]
Across from where Crowley was sitting was the Smith family with their daughter. The parents were wearing formal suits and dresses, while their daughter was wearing all black with a leather jacket. Mr and Ms Smith had a mixed expression of a serious and worried look on their faces. The source of their distress was directed at their daughter.
Smith's Father: “Please father Crowley. You have to do something to save our daughter's soul!”
Smith’s Mother: “Where did we go wrong?” she said with tears almost forming in her eyes.
The daughter just crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at her parents' remarks.
Crowley sat there with his hands together with a fake smile. He was trying to hide his annoyance at the parents' dramatic response.
Crowley: “Before anything else, I just want to apologize. I know you wanted my council for your daughter two weeks ago, but the tragic passing of Sheridan got in the way. I sincerely apologize.”
Smith’s Mother: “No we understand, his passing was truly a loss for us all. But I fear our little Emily will soon be lost to us as well.”
Crowley: “Right, what exactly is the problem with your daughter, Emily?”
Smith's Father: “I’m afraid she has been bewitched by a cult!”
Emily: “It’s not a cult, Dad!”
Smith's Father: “How can you say that? Look at what they did to you! Dressing in all black. How is that anything, but cultist behavior!”
Crowley: “Please calm down Mr Smith,” he said while gesturing to him. Crowley then turned his attention towards their daughter. “Emily, would you care to explain from your perspective?”
Emily: “My parents are freaking out over nothing. I just got into the music from a band called ‘Thunder Strike’, and now they think I'm joining a cult.”
Crowley: “Oh, that’s the new heavy metal band that has been growing in popularity.”
Smith's Father: “See, the influence of the nameless cults are growing in our fair city. They are bewitching the younglings with their evil music.”
Emily: “Dad! They’re not a cult!”
The parents started yelling at their daughter and she yelled back at them. They started to argue with each other for a few minutes, before Crowley found a moment to cut into their argument.
Crowley: “Ok, let us all calm down. There is no need to yell at each other in this holy place.”
Smith’s Mother: “We’re sorry father Crowley, but please, you have to help save our daughter.”
Crowley: “OK, Mr and Ms Smith, I must say it seems to me that you might be overreacting. I will admit that this new band's music is unorthodox, but that doesn't mean anything malicious or sinister.”
Smith's Father: “But she is wearing all black, the symbols of a cult.”
Crowley: “Wearing black clothing is not wearing the symbol of a cult. “
Smith's Father: “B-b-but—”
Crowley: “The only thing that matters is that there’s light in your heart. Remember what Sheridan preached about judging others by appearances. Just because your daughter is dressing a little differently and listening to different music, doesn't mean she is becoming a cultist. She is just growing up and experiencing new things.”
Smith’s Mother: “But… we don’t want her to get hurt.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. He was coming to realize what was really going on. Emily's parents were probably anxious about her growing up. That anxiety was manifesting as a form of paranoia in the thing their daughter was starting to find interest in. Suspecting that, Crowley planned out his next course of action.
Crowley: “I think what you need to do is to give your daughter some space. Maybe even do a little research about the music your daughter is listening to. Who knows, maybe you’ll enjoy it too. Also, you should all read page 180 to 189 of the Light Text, and then pray on it for a week. I think that if you do that, the path going forward will be clearer.”
The Light Text was holy scripture that many of the followers of light carried on themselves, or stored in their homes. It contained the Lights religions teaching and stories for their followers to read. The pages that Crowley was telling the Smith’s to specifically read was about growing up and letting children go out into the world.
Both Ms and Mr Smith looked at each unsure. Sensing their apprehension, Crowley spoke up.
Crowley: “Tell you what. We can perform a special ritual here at the cathedral to help protect your daughter from the nameless cults' influence. I’ll even perform the ritual myself if you want me to.”
Smith's Father: “Thank you father Crowley! We knew we could count you!”
Crowley: “Ok, ok. Calm down. Let us arrange a time and place for that ritual. “
The conversation between the Smiths and Crowley went on for another twenty minutes before. Eventually he managed to relieve some of the anxieties of the parents and create an appointment for the ritual in a few days. Once that was done, the Smiths would begin to vacate Crowley's office.
The Smith parents were the first to leave. They had a much calmer expression on their face than what it was when they came to the cathedral today. Their daughter was following behind them, but stopped at just the door and turned towards Crowley.
Emily: “Um, thank you father Crowley for talking to my parents.”
Crowley: “You're welcome Emily. Take care of your folks for me,” he said with a smile.
Emily nodded and continued on leaving.
Once the door to his office was closed, Crowley collapsed and splayed out on his desk. He was tired. The funeral was two weeks ago and he should have recovered by now, but what Archbishop Beck had said was still hanging over Crowley.
He was to destroy the Speaker decrees leftover by Light Speaker Sheridan. The same decrees that determined the policies of the church.
His conscience told him to do what was right and send out the speaker's decrees, but the rational side of his brain was saying destroy them. The inner turmoil was exhausting and stressing Crowley. On one hand, sending out the decrees had the potential to greatly improve conditions for the poor and mutants. On the other hand, there might not be any point to doing that if the decrees would get voted down by the clergy, and it would compromise the leadership position he currently had. Crowley still believed there was still a lot of good he could still do from where he was ranked in the church.
His stress was further compounded by the fact there were a lot of unsent speaker decrees, all signed and ready to send out. Him and Sheridan had done that because they intended to slowly send the decrees out. They didn’t want to cause too much friction in the church by making too many sweeping changes at once.
“Maybe it was a mistake to hold back so many decrees. We should have risked it and sent them all out at once. Then again, I didn't think Sheridan would have passed so suddenly.”
Crowley was left at an impasse and had no idea how to proceed with the speaker decrees.
He heard the door to his office begin to open. Hearing that, he picked himself off his desk and straightened his posture.
It was an older nun that walked in with a stack of papers in her arms. She was wearing the white clothing of a nun of the Church of Light and had graying hair tied into a bun. She carried herself with a warm, but stern aura in her presentation. The woman was Dian, a nun of fifty years around the same age as Crowley.
Once Crowley realized who it was, he relaxed. Him and Dian were good friends and he could be more informal around her.
Crowley:” “Oh Dian, it’s you. For a moment, I thought the Smith’s had come back for something.”
Dian: “Nope, it’s just me. So, feel free to take a nap at your desk if you want. I’ll wake you when you're needed,” she said, as she walked over to a nearby work desk and set the papers down.
Crowley: “I’m not going to do that.”
Dian: “Really? Because you look like you're going to collapse on me,” she said playfully.
Crowley: “Is it really that obvious?” he said while grumbling a little
Dian: “No. You hide it really well. I just have a bit more intuition than the other sisters.”
Crowley: “A woman’s intuition, huh.”
Dian: “No, it’s Dian's intuition. Much better than a woman's intuition,” she said as she took a seat at the work desk and was about to prepare to work through the paper she brought in.
Crowley: “Um, Dian. Can I ask you for some advice?”
Dian: “Of course,” she said as she turned her body and chair to face Crowley.
Crowley: “Hypothetically, if you were presented two options where the one option had the chance to do great good, while the other option you know would only do some good. Which would you choose?”
Dian: “Hmm, what is this about?”
Crowley: “I’m afraid I can't say.”
Dian: “Oh, OK. Is this one of those situations where someone from our church confided something troubling to you.”
Every once in a while, Crowley would have private meetings with members of his congregation, and they would sometimes confide in him their problems. There was one time that someone confided something very serious to him and wanted advice. He didn’t have a clear answer for this person at the time and asked Dian for advice in an indirect manner. Dian being Dian, was able to work out what Crowley was asking without exactly knowing what was going on in that situation and helped him out. She was assuming that this was a similar situation.
Crowley: “Yeah…” he said, not wanting to tell her about the issue he was facing with the speaker's decrees.
Dian: “Well, I know you want to respect personal privacy, but you're going to have to be a little more specific. You're being even more vague than you have in the past.”
Crowley: “Right, sorry. It’s hard to say. Um, let me use an analogy,” he said before briefly pausing to think before he began speaking again. “If you're a leader of a country, do you push to make major reforms that fix the problems of your country, or do you not rock the boat and only make little reforms? The logic being that if you make major reform you run the risk of losing your leadership position and the reforms you pushed being undone. Whereas, if you didn’t make massive reforms, you would keep your position and might be able to make some positive changes.”
Dian: “No offense father. Comparing personal issues to matters of governance and state come off as a bit extreme to me.”
Crowley: “Sorry, I couldn't think of a better hypothetical.”
Dian: “Honestly, I wouldn't know what to do in such a situation. Without knowing what exactly you're talking about, I would have to weigh what was needed. Is it major changes that are needed, or would small changes be good enough?”
Crowley: “What do you do if you think it’s big changes you need?”
Dian: “Then make big changes.”
Crowley: “In that hypothetical I presented, there were risks associated with making big changes.”
Dian: “You and I know that there is risk in everything we do, but that doesn't stop us. We still push forward and pursue what we believe to be right, despite the risk. After all, isn't that what faith is?”
Crowley: “Hmm, that is a good point. Thanks Dian. You’ve given me something to think about.”
Dian nodded and went back to doing her paperwork.
Crowley continued to think on what he should do for another twenty minutes before going back to his usual day to day affairs.