Ok so it's been a hot minute. Business got really busy and I still have a few stories to tell (along with a new one that is the feature for today).

The saffron wine (I know, what kind of troglodyte am I, right?) is still fermenting and even when its done, I'm probably going to need to age it for a year, so who knows what it'll taste like in the end. I'm just hoping it doesn't taste like soap.

My roommate has become ever so annoying, but more on them either later or in a future edition. For right now I want to tell you about the recent Council job.

So I've mentioned the Council a bit. They're your standard science fiction/fantasy council. Members of each group vie with each other over various resources, territories, legal matters, and are for the most part useless except for keeping the status quo. I know. I'm not a fan either, but given the general need for secrecy around magic and werewolves and all, I get it.

I mean... I've seen the ugly heads of racism and transphobia waving proudly in the wind when I go for a walk, so I figure the last thing we (the world) needs is to start getting into magic vs anti-magic folks. And especially since I'd be really REALLY caught in the middle as a Seer.

Although the conspiracy theorists would probably have a ball with the centuries old Council working secretly behind the scenes of the Baseline world.

Anyway, enough on that. I got a call to come to the Council chambers. Being the one and only Seer and them being the governance as well as police, judge, and jury, it's a bit like getting a Congressional subpoena. You can technically ignore them, but it really won't go well for you if you try it. And the Council has the ways and means to make you show up (unlike a Congressional subpoena) whether you happen to be in the shower or half-way around the world conducting an important experiment.

I technically had 6 hours in which to respond, so I took my time getting cleaned up, put on a reasonable suit as well as having a working 'go bag' at my side, grabbed a quick bite, and walked down to the street where, mystical magic indeed, a Council coach was waiting. Seriously though, I have no idea how they do it or why they seem to send them for me, but I've just stopped questioning it. A short 30 minute ride in an admittedly comfortable coach (comparable to riding in the back of a Bentley or so I'm told) and we were there.

Now you'd probably expect the Council chambers to be ostentatious old school or in a skyscraper or something similar. You know, the kind of thing that can be done when you have centuries to work with, alchemy, and magic to deal with all the fiddly bits.

You'd probably never expect it to be a rather understated pub in the south of France, squished between a cafe and a bakery. I know I know. A bit cliche, but hey, cliches have to start somewhere and who knows- maybe this is where they got it from.

Given that the interior mostly presents as the standard old world pub that was founded and built ~1069, it's every bit as dark, dingy feeling, and not someplace for tourists. No, for the most part, the tourists get kept out on the pavement, sipping the admittedly great house wine and perhaps having a light snack before pressing on to somewhere else. So the arrival of my coach wasn't unnoticed, but given its normal appearance to the area as well as the glamours involved, I was just another visitor.

Once inside, there's a door in the far back off to the side with a three-way lever and a catch. Think if you will on the door to Howl's Moving Castle. Similar, but a bit less user friendly. Which is probably a smart idea given that the average tourist or local still wouldn't be welcome in Council Chambers.

The staff know me and so wave me through and one even gets the door for me. I always try and have a glass of wine and tip (heckin American, am I right?) before I head home, so I like to think I'm reasonably welcomed. Although that might just be good customer service.

Through the door is effectively a two-way wormhole/portal to the actual Council chambers, which should put you in mind of something out of a Tolkienian dwarf city. Yes, it's a very very well crafted set of rocky chambers buried into the rock of the French Alps. This effectively makes it impregnable and nigh impossible for baselines to find even if they have some kind of hint (or at least without modern technology and even that'd be a challenge). And yes this also means that once you're inside, you're effectively trapped and so is everyone else. So the security, essentia damping, spell trapping, and just about every other measure that can be taken is present.

For wizards, that means that just being in the Council chambers is exhausting because you're constantly losing essentia at a low but noticable rate. For werewolves, it means transformation is impossible (and your immunities and strength are brought down to baseline levels). For the djinn, it means elemental warding on everything to the point that even a mega blast of Lucy's fire would probably not even singe the odd errant hair on the floors. For orcs and trolls, they're put onto the same baseline specs as werewolves. Even vampires are brought to heel by the magic involved.

So it's rather funny to me in going to the Council chambers because all that fancy warding and magic essentially brings everyone else to my level. That said, they aren't so moribundly paradigm locked as to ignore the obvious. Or at least they aren't entirely that way anymore.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

My first trip to the Council chambers saw to that and every trip since they've been improving. Why - you might ask. Because as prepared as they are for swords, magic, and generic strength of arms more at home in the 1600s (and even simple muskets and all), they were woefully underprepared in terms of neutralizing the rather more modern weaponry (no, not firearms, I'm talking about all those ones that are or have been a matter of high warcrimes or Mutually Assured Destruction). But as I mentioned, they've been getting better. And the security checkpoint, while looking like a club entrance with a set of bouncers who were probably gargoyles and the only beings not under the impact of the magic dampening, is every bit of detection and neutralization as is possible.

That said, they have given me express permission, on occasion, to test the security measures. And they pay rather well for it too. After all, if I can do it, then they know they have a problem because there's still enough unhappy members of the non-baseline community who would put realistically more thought and effort into making it happen. But that gets back to the problem of their status quo, so it's neither here nor there, at least for this particular trip.

The gargoyles like to see me too. I'm not sure why, but they're apparently friendlier to me than anyone else. Even the Council members and the support staff.

Stepping through the checkpoint and hearing the scans going at the top of my hearing range and finding nothing, the inner door opens and I enter the fine but rocky chambers beyond. I'm more of an Art Nouveau type myself, so while I can appreciate the Art Deco approach to the stone cut-outs, it's not really within my taste.

An aide, a short woman (whom I know to be a werewolf entirely unrelated to Warren or his 'betrothed') is waiting for me there. As we walk to the chamber where my attention is apparently needed, we talk about the latest transformation sonic dampener that's been making its way through the werewolf community. Apparently, it's so successful that it's a wonder Warren and his family haven't been charging more and using it as a political means to elevate their house. Much of the werewolf community is waiting for that shoe to drop and they refuse to believe it isn't coming.

I grin a little bit inside because the royalties for my improvements may be small, but well worth every bit invested. After all, since I'm working for myself now, I've got to have something stashed away for retirement. And while I do now qualify for the non-Baseline equivalent of a pension/social security, I don't mind having a bit extra to ensure I'm adequately comfortable.

Just as we're about to reach the chamber, a faint glimmer catches my eye. I'm getting used to not ignoring those, usually because it's a sign that my 'Seer sight' has noticed something. And anything that's faint like that usually means that it's some kind of glamour, typically something high grade. As such, I stop in my tracks and look in that direction. A section of stone wall is there with no distinguishing features.

Did I mention cliche? Yeah. There's a lot of folks who can't get past the obvious.

So what do I do? What I do best of course. I walk right up to the glamour, the glimmer of which is seeming more obvious by the moment and reach through it to.... a bit of wood. To the aide, I guarantee that it appeared that I walked up to a stone wall and managed to stick my hand straight into the wall without apparent effort or magic. Given this, she whistled very loudly. Within a matter of moments, we had three Council members: 1 wizard who could have been a high school principal, a troll who'd have looked at home in a viking battle tale, and a woman who was probably a vampire and loved the stereotype; as well as two gargoyles and a djinn for security.

"Why is there a glamour here?" I asked.

Shaken heads all around and more or less a general agreement that a glamour shouldn't be possible this far into the chambers, especially a stable permanent one.

The vampire probed the apparent rock wall glamour and found it to be utterly hard.

To say this was confusing to everyone but me (albeit not unheard of though) would be an understatement.

So, I continue to make a mess of things, and to my best to stick my head through the surface to see what kind of structure I'm dealing with. It's a door with a very antique looking handle (think polished cast iron). Unfortunately for everyone else, the door appears to swing inward. I go ahead and try the handle. The door opens easily with nothing discernable on the other side. I relay this to the increasing number of folks standing around me as I'm half inside the wall glamour, half out.

"Our business will wait. Find out where this door leads first," the wizardly principal states matter-of-factly.

Hefting my bag onto my shoulder, I stroll on through the door and into a kind of vaguely white space - a bit of that vaguely interdimensional gradient when science fiction shows or fantasy shows are trying to save on the graphics effects budget and depict either a mental space or something heavenly/beyond 'mortal' comprehension.

After a few moments waiting in place, the door shutting itself behind me, but remaining in place, a desk and attendant coalesce in front of me.

"Good day, sir. Checking in, I presume?" the attendant smiled.

It took me several seconds to register the attendant, primarily because each time I blinked, the attendant changed to a different person. In one eyeful they were an old man with liver spots, in another they could pass for an adult film star, and in further blink, a middle aged woman who's name could only be Karen.

"I'm afraid not. Could you tell me where I am?" my mouth managed to automatically engage while my brain worked on the mystery of the attendant.

"I'm not permitted to provide that information without knowing more about yourself, sir," the attendant said smoothly.

"Sam Evermore, Prime Plane Terran, Council authorized Seer," my mouth responded, still on automatic, my brain trying to comprehend the now lithe young man dressed in a running outfit of some kind.

"Very good, sir. And what year?" the attendant asked.

"I'm sorry?" I managed out of reflex.

"What year are you coming to us from?" the attendant repeated.

"2023."

"By which calendar, sir?" the attendant continued.

This one took a bit longer for my brain to process.

"European Gregorian," I tried.

The attendant looked at a pad which hadn't been there a moment previous and frowned slightly, their elderly face covered in wrinkles.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have that point of reference available. Do you have an alternate calendar measurement available?" the attendant asked.

Already I could tell that this would be a rather interesting adventure. I only hoped that I would be able to get back, ideally with answers.