Thin black tires roll over gravel with all the meager power that can be summoned from a steam-power engine. Cars like these were not made for these back-country roads, but anything greater would be at a severe cost to subtlety - which is to say much when steam-power is top-of-the-line, insofar as stable innovations go. It is true that they could have driven a car powered by magic crystals or archaic engines from before the Collapse. There would be no point in that, however, so far out, since there is little guarantee this car will even survive the trip. Every time its thin tires sink into the soggy ground through which it trods timidly, one more doubt is placed in the minds of its occupants that they will see this vehicle through the night.
Brother Marius, Aspirant of the Low Circle of Atrama - sworn servant of Miegaz, God of the World & Aspect of the Earth. A thin-built man with dark features all-around and a swarthy complexion in comparison to his brothers. He is a man, above all, who despises grand title and pretense; so he goes by Marius, nothing more. His true name is forgotten to him, the name christened to him by his parents. His life is the order, and his god is his only master. He has little desire to know the mother who birthed him or the man who put him inside her, but in a shaking car at dusk he wonders to himself what they looked like, because he so long ago forgot. The reason for his pondering is a simple one: He and his brothers have been tasked with the solemn duty of acquiring more fledgling initiates for their order, which is not a matter of recruitment - but of kidnapping.
Brothers Janus and Prasutagus, both Aspirants of the Vulgate Circle of Disluxor - likewise servants of Miegaz. While Marius serves their god directly as a supplicant and a ritualist, these two are considered, formally, to be laymen - because their service to Miegaz is not through supplication, nor through rites or prayers, but through simple acts of bloodshed. They are known as umbral mages - sorcerers of the shadow - though they have no typical magics at their command, nor any allegiance to the powers of the night; they are known so because their art and craft is the destruction of magic, and thence the destruction of mages. Commonly, they are known by the name Zeromancer. Their charge in Marius’s duty is the destruction of any they come across who prove to be affluent in the wild and untamed magics of the mind, psionics - which their order considers to be the foulest of abominations. It is a curse of which they are to rid the world, one man, woman, or even child at a time.
Their duty is a solemn one, one which neither of them look towards with eagerness or excitement, only preparation, contemplation, and acceptance.
A foul-built complex of wooden ramshackle buildings awaits them on the side of the road some ways in - on the opposite side of a thin treeline which masks the vast farmland of another property in another direction. Marius scried the region before they departed, they have no interest in the fields beyond the treeline or even the soil upon which they must walk to come to this poor dwelling, but they each eye with tension the dwelling itself - where they know to find at least one child of psionic sensitivity. No words are exchanged on the approach, until Brother Janus shifts the gears into a slow crawl, and finally into park.
“Marius, Prasutagus,” he says, waiting expectantly for his brothers to exit the car on his beckon, to which he adds, “I’ll remain here and watch the car. Ab mundo saluete."
His brothers return the catchphrase typical of followers of the God of the Mundane, and exit the car. Marius leads the way to the decrepit farm. At his flank, Brother Prasutagus follows. A taller, broader man by far, but of a pale and sickly complexion, as if the color from his flesh were sucked out. His appearance is not reassuring, least of all for the uncanny lack of hair on his body. He seems like a walking shell of a man, as if raised from the dead. The dark stubble lining Marius’s chin and the groomed patch of hair on his head serves him far better to ecumenical tasks like this one. Janus is similarly approachable, but of a hostile demeanour and confrontational disposition. While Prasutagus may be frightening, he is at least diplomatic. Nevertheless, Marius has absolute faith in both of his brothers, and they in him.
He knocks, stepping back and off to the side. The door cracks open, but not enough for the opener to see the guests. A woman’s voice calls out to them, “Who’s there!” But she receives no answer, only the patient waiting of two brothers clad in black from the boots on their feet to the coats around their bodies. She creaks the door open further, still not enough, and calls out, “Where are you?” Marius does her the kindness of stepping into view. She has bright blue eyes, like the afternoon sky, and ill-washed locks of ginger-blonde hair droop over her thin, emaciated face, dotted with ugly large freckles and larger uglier birthmarks. A rustic woman, through and through, and from the looks of her, the poverty of this household isn’t misrepresented by the building. She seems irritated with Marius already, perhaps for the uncomfortable silence from him.
“I’m here on business with the Mages’ Syndicate.” He lies to her with as clean a conscience and as smooth a tongue as one might tell a child the monster under their bed isn’t real. “I know it’s late, but do you have a moment, ma’am?”
“I might.” She pauses, eying him up and down with greater scrutiny than before. “You really with the Syndicate? Not Inquisitors or nothing?”
“You have my word. Are your children up?”
“They are.” She says with a slant of distrust. He forgot to ask if she had children in the first place, but she only seems moderately suspicious. It’s a fair enough assumption to make, and the shifting of her facial expression seems to reflect her pondering of that very probability. “Was about to put them to bed. What exactly do you want with them?”
“Just to test their magical aptitude. That’s all. Who’s your oldest?”
“My son -- fifteen.” She says curtly.
Prasutagus taps Marius’s shoulder and leans in to whisper, though not quiet enough, that fifteen is too old for the order to train. Marius waves him off, not letting the woman out of his gaze. She seems unconcerned with what she likely overheard. Perhaps it would be a blessing for this family’s children to be plucked into the world of mages, it’d be the easiest social mobility for which they could hope. Who knows what she might be hoping.
Stolen story; please report.
“We’d like to see him.”
“Right…” She turns her head around and shouts a couple of times into the house for a William Marshall Junior, and answering her calls runs up a ragged-looking boy who seems better built than they might have expected. He isn’t by any means muscular or well-built, but he seems better fed than the mother, and in better shape. Brown hair and hazel eyes, strong features, and some skin on his bones make him a likely charmer in these parts.
“What’s up, mom? Izzy’s making a fuss again over something, another one of her fits, we really ought to take her to a --”
“Hush you,” she grabs him by the ear and pinches hard as if to drive her point home - which irritates him but doesn’t seem to provoke a reaction other than compliance. She continues, “These men are with the Syndicate. Follow them and do what they say, best manners young man. Alright? I’ll go take care of Isabel.”
She opens the door further and steps aside so he can exit. He stares at the men in black for a short moment before he’s shooed out once more by his mother. When he steps out, Marius turns around and gestures for him to follow - and Prasutagus trails behind them both. Marius doesn’t look back at the boy, but he shifts the leaning of his body somewhat so that it is unmistakable where his attention lies.
“How many siblings do you have, Will?”
“Three. Izzy, Richie, and Gill.”
“How old are they?”
“Uh. Izzy’s two years younger than me, I think. Richie and Gill are both toddlers.”
“Thank you. Once we’ve tested you, we’ll need to test your sister. I don’t mean to be rude, but I couldn’t help but overhear: Is she unwell?”
“Right, she is. She’s been having these weird fits since last winter where she’ll get the shakes and a fever, so I gotta put her in bed with an ice-pack and plenty of blankets. Ma’ and pa’ think it’s nothing but I’m not so sure. You wouldn’t know anything about that kind of thing would you?”
To Marius’s knowledge these are symptoms of distortion sickness - a condition faced uniquely by the distortion-affluent. All that means is sensitivity to the deeper magics of the world. That’s all a psychic is - someone unusually in touch with the pure positive energies of creation, and thus someone who can tap into that energy not only with ease but by accident. Psychics are also dangerous - so beyond being an insult to Marius’s god, they are a threat to humanity that should be removed. The reason the girl suffers through this is likely because this dwelling is located close to a ley node - a point of great convergence in those magical energies. Unfortunately, however, this is no guarantee that she’s affluent, or even the only affluent here. The magical forces of the world are rooted in what is called distortion, and it is called distortion precisely because it is chaotic and absurd. Those who are null to magic, mutes, are occasionally accosted with the exact same condition of sickness as those who are potently psychic. The boy is owed no explanation of anything. Marius shakes his head and continues to lead the boy to the car.
Marius taps on the car, and Janus exits. Opening up one of the back doors to grab a fold-up stool, which he circles around the car to set up off the side of the road. Marius gestures for Will to sit, then his brothers flank the boy to grab his arms. There’s a sudden flash of betrayal across his face as his arms are pinned, but it goes away when he looks back to Marius, who remains standing reassuringly. When the boy seems calmed, Marius approaches and places a finger to his forehead, concentrating his mind on something.
Will soon turns lethargic, and he would have fallen off the stool if not for the brothers holding him by the arms. Then, the finger pressed against his head begins to radiate a white-black glow. For a moment he feels he is somewhere else, somewhere warmer and colder, a burning freeze that doesn’t hurt. He can’t see but he feels lights of all colors and all shapes. He recognizes immediately that he is somewhere magical, and that is only tiring. The closer the magic is, the sooner it dissipates before him. Now he chases, trying to hold the lights in his grasp, but at his touch they disappear. It’s frustrating, and so tiring. He feels so tired. Soon the only colors he senses are grays and whites. Then, it all stops. The darkness of dusk hits him like the morning light. He squints, and then he falls over as the stool is pulled out from under him. He hits the soggy dirt and passes out.
Marius saw all of this as well - as a hidden observer, though he also understood much more than what he saw, and learned much more. He goes still, not sure how to process both what he saw and what he also drew forth from the boy.
Prasutagus notices immediately, reaching for his brother’s shoulder, “Marius, you look off. What did you see?”
“The boy is atramatic, and also likely a mute… This should be good, but…”
“If he’s atramatic and not a mute,” Janus notes, to which Marius nods.
Prasutagus interjects, “That is not our decision to make. He’s affluent, that’s one of two; his sister is likely sensitive as well. That makes our minimum. Let’s take them and leave.”
Janus shakes his head, “He’s older and at greater risk for a psionic transformation. We should put him down. The sister too - those aren’t the symptoms of a mute. That’s distortion sickness. She's a psychic, and so he is likely a psychic too.”
“We don’t know for sure either way. If there’s anything you should know it’s that these things are fickle and random. We’re losing more of our people to the Corruption than ever and you’re ready to kill potential manpower on a hunch? Marius, what do you say?”
“Prasutagus is right, Janus. If we’re to put them down, that’ll be the Superior’s verdict, not ours. If we take the sister we’ll have our minimum and can return immediately, to reduce the dangers. Let’s test the girl.”
“Your call,” Janus concedes. His hand hovers over his coat, where the hilt of his sword should be. He’s on edge, but it can’t be helped. Three low members of the order aren’t enough for an atramatic psychic. If the boy went volatile, there’s no telling what might happen. For now, Marius and Prasutagus pick Will up and rest him on the car seats in the back, then return to the door of the house.