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"Llandeilo, Servant of Draldros"
May. 22nd, 2022 08:31 pm"Llandeilo"
11/8-11/9/1977
I.
It was past two in the morning when Bane returned to Kenneth Dred's house on East 38th Street, coming back from an errand for the old man that involved delivering a mysterious package to the Pennsylvania border. Bane didn't mind. His early doubts about working for Dred as a live-in aide had quickly given way to excited loyalty toward the occultist. Learning about the Midnight War still astounded him. He had never dreamed such things really went on the world and he found in it the challenge he had always been unconsciously seeking.
At twenty-one, Jeremy Bane was so serious and self-controlled that he gave the impression of being older. Just over six feet tall and gaunt, he had already adopted the outfit which would be his trademark... black boots, slacks, long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket. In the January chill, he had given in to wearing a long cloth coat which he now hung on the heavy oak rack just inside the front door. The young Dire Wolf made sure the front door was locked as the door to the street already was, then turned off the outside light. He spotted a note lying on the round end table before him and saw it read, JEREMY - COLD CHICKEN AND POTATO SALAD IN REFRIGERATOR. SEE YOU AT EIGHT.
Bane allowed himself the faintest of smiles on his normally deadpan face. For once, the grey eyes softened. Kenneth Dred was the first person to ever really care if he ate or had a warm bed to sleep in or was even safe from immediate harm. An orphan with no memory of his early years, Bane was not used to knowing that someone was concerned about his welfare. He just barely recognized that the emotion he was trying not to feel was gratitude. Walking through the front hall, past the staircase leading up, he went through the kitchen door and flicked the light on. For the next ten minutes, Bane sat at the table in the corner and devoured half a leftover chicken and a huge bowl of potato salad, gulping down one glass of ice water after another.
His enhanced speed asked several prices of him, including chronic restlessness and a metabolism that burned calories mercilessly. Despite his lean build, he ate enough daily for two burly men. Bane threw the scraps in the garbage and put the dishes in the sink for later. It was close to three, he saw by the clock. Probably he should try to get a few hours sleep in his room on the third floor.
He heard something in the front hall. It could not be Kenneth Dred, who rarely left his suite of rooms after retiring for the night. The Dire Wolf shifted instantly into a full alert state, pulse speeding up and his senses sharpening. The matched silver daggers were already sheathed on his forarms as always, and the Colt 45 automatic was holstered behind his left hip. Opening the door just the barest crack, Bane peered warily out into the front hall.
>Standing just aside the front door was a tall man in a dark blue cloak with a high collar that rose up to the top of his head. As Bane watched, the intruder staggered and almost fell but caught himself against a bookcase. After a few deep shuddering breaths, the man straightened up and threw his cloak back over his shoulders. He rose to his full height but his head was still lowered as if in pain or weariness. The man was wearing a dark blue tunic and black leggings, both decorated with fine silver patterns, and his clothing was badly torn as if he had been mauled. As he lifted his head, Bane could see blood caked on one side of the man's saturnine face.
The man raised his gloved hands and touched his bruised face gingerly, then took a step toward the staircase. That was the limit. Bane came out of the kitchen, 45 in hand and arm fully extended. "Hold it right there, buddy," he began. "You and me need to talk before you go anywhere-"
To the Dire Wolf's complete surprise, the man said, "Eryasha, aid me!" and merely made a dismissive gesture with one hand and something unseen yanked the gun away so hard his wrist nearly broke. Bane grunted at the unexpected pain. The heavy 45 spun through the air to be caught deftly by the cloaked man. This close, it could be seen that he had dark hair streaked with grey, and dark deepset eyes under heavy brows. A neat mustache under a beaklike nose and a firm trap of a mouth completed a face that was glaring angrily at Bane.
"A firearm?" he demanded in a cultured voice. "I don't know you, young fellow, and it's clear that you do not know Dr Mage!"
Bane abruptly blurred forward, faster than any normal Human, fist drawing back for the attack. Again, the man who called himself Dr Mage raised a gloved hand and Bane bounced back as if he had run headlong at an invisible wall. He skidded on his back across the polished hardwood floor. Rolling, leaping up again, he found himself unable to move forward. It felt as if he was trying to walk against hurricane-force winds but there was no wind. He braced himself and stubbornly took a step forward despite the resistance.
"Impressive," said the cloaked man. "I am not sure we should be clashing this way, young man. I am Dr Matthias Mage, an old friend of Kenneth Dred from many years ago. I have come here wounded and desperate, seeking sanctuary. Rest assured, I mean Kenneth no harm."
"All right," Bane grunted. "Let me go. Drop whatever trick you're using to hold me back. I'll listen to you."
"The Breath of Eryasha is no mere trick," Mage said but he lowered his hand and released Bane. "Please. Let me use the bathroom there to clean my wounds and see how badly I am injured. I lost a mortal combat early this night."
"Sure, go ahead," the Dire Wolf told him with a total lack of grace. "Maybe you can explain while you clean up."
In the bathroom adjoining the kitchen, Dr Mage unclasped his heavy cloak and hung it carelessly from a hook on the door. His tunic was shredded across the back and scorch marks showed in the material. The man wrestled out of that garment with some difficulty. His heavily muscled torso was badly bruised and scraped, and a gasp escaped him as he moved.
Standing in the doorway, Bane said, "Hey, you ARE banged up pretty bad." Starting to trust this stranger for some reason, he fetched a first aid kit from a cabinet and handed it to him. "Looks like you're still bleeding from the scalp there. Who were you fighting anyway?"
Starting to clean his face of the dried blood, Dr Mage examined his reflection in the mirror ruefully. "I was fighting the deadliest enemy the Human race has, youngster. The disciple of Draldros Himself, my despised rival Llandeilo. I failed. For all of us, it is later than you think."
( the rest of the story )
11/8-11/9/1977
I.
It was past two in the morning when Bane returned to Kenneth Dred's house on East 38th Street, coming back from an errand for the old man that involved delivering a mysterious package to the Pennsylvania border. Bane didn't mind. His early doubts about working for Dred as a live-in aide had quickly given way to excited loyalty toward the occultist. Learning about the Midnight War still astounded him. He had never dreamed such things really went on the world and he found in it the challenge he had always been unconsciously seeking.
At twenty-one, Jeremy Bane was so serious and self-controlled that he gave the impression of being older. Just over six feet tall and gaunt, he had already adopted the outfit which would be his trademark... black boots, slacks, long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket. In the January chill, he had given in to wearing a long cloth coat which he now hung on the heavy oak rack just inside the front door. The young Dire Wolf made sure the front door was locked as the door to the street already was, then turned off the outside light. He spotted a note lying on the round end table before him and saw it read, JEREMY - COLD CHICKEN AND POTATO SALAD IN REFRIGERATOR. SEE YOU AT EIGHT.
Bane allowed himself the faintest of smiles on his normally deadpan face. For once, the grey eyes softened. Kenneth Dred was the first person to ever really care if he ate or had a warm bed to sleep in or was even safe from immediate harm. An orphan with no memory of his early years, Bane was not used to knowing that someone was concerned about his welfare. He just barely recognized that the emotion he was trying not to feel was gratitude. Walking through the front hall, past the staircase leading up, he went through the kitchen door and flicked the light on. For the next ten minutes, Bane sat at the table in the corner and devoured half a leftover chicken and a huge bowl of potato salad, gulping down one glass of ice water after another.
His enhanced speed asked several prices of him, including chronic restlessness and a metabolism that burned calories mercilessly. Despite his lean build, he ate enough daily for two burly men. Bane threw the scraps in the garbage and put the dishes in the sink for later. It was close to three, he saw by the clock. Probably he should try to get a few hours sleep in his room on the third floor.
He heard something in the front hall. It could not be Kenneth Dred, who rarely left his suite of rooms after retiring for the night. The Dire Wolf shifted instantly into a full alert state, pulse speeding up and his senses sharpening. The matched silver daggers were already sheathed on his forarms as always, and the Colt 45 automatic was holstered behind his left hip. Opening the door just the barest crack, Bane peered warily out into the front hall.
>Standing just aside the front door was a tall man in a dark blue cloak with a high collar that rose up to the top of his head. As Bane watched, the intruder staggered and almost fell but caught himself against a bookcase. After a few deep shuddering breaths, the man straightened up and threw his cloak back over his shoulders. He rose to his full height but his head was still lowered as if in pain or weariness. The man was wearing a dark blue tunic and black leggings, both decorated with fine silver patterns, and his clothing was badly torn as if he had been mauled. As he lifted his head, Bane could see blood caked on one side of the man's saturnine face.
The man raised his gloved hands and touched his bruised face gingerly, then took a step toward the staircase. That was the limit. Bane came out of the kitchen, 45 in hand and arm fully extended. "Hold it right there, buddy," he began. "You and me need to talk before you go anywhere-"
To the Dire Wolf's complete surprise, the man said, "Eryasha, aid me!" and merely made a dismissive gesture with one hand and something unseen yanked the gun away so hard his wrist nearly broke. Bane grunted at the unexpected pain. The heavy 45 spun through the air to be caught deftly by the cloaked man. This close, it could be seen that he had dark hair streaked with grey, and dark deepset eyes under heavy brows. A neat mustache under a beaklike nose and a firm trap of a mouth completed a face that was glaring angrily at Bane.
"A firearm?" he demanded in a cultured voice. "I don't know you, young fellow, and it's clear that you do not know Dr Mage!"
Bane abruptly blurred forward, faster than any normal Human, fist drawing back for the attack. Again, the man who called himself Dr Mage raised a gloved hand and Bane bounced back as if he had run headlong at an invisible wall. He skidded on his back across the polished hardwood floor. Rolling, leaping up again, he found himself unable to move forward. It felt as if he was trying to walk against hurricane-force winds but there was no wind. He braced himself and stubbornly took a step forward despite the resistance.
"Impressive," said the cloaked man. "I am not sure we should be clashing this way, young man. I am Dr Matthias Mage, an old friend of Kenneth Dred from many years ago. I have come here wounded and desperate, seeking sanctuary. Rest assured, I mean Kenneth no harm."
"All right," Bane grunted. "Let me go. Drop whatever trick you're using to hold me back. I'll listen to you."
"The Breath of Eryasha is no mere trick," Mage said but he lowered his hand and released Bane. "Please. Let me use the bathroom there to clean my wounds and see how badly I am injured. I lost a mortal combat early this night."
"Sure, go ahead," the Dire Wolf told him with a total lack of grace. "Maybe you can explain while you clean up."
In the bathroom adjoining the kitchen, Dr Mage unclasped his heavy cloak and hung it carelessly from a hook on the door. His tunic was shredded across the back and scorch marks showed in the material. The man wrestled out of that garment with some difficulty. His heavily muscled torso was badly bruised and scraped, and a gasp escaped him as he moved.
Standing in the doorway, Bane said, "Hey, you ARE banged up pretty bad." Starting to trust this stranger for some reason, he fetched a first aid kit from a cabinet and handed it to him. "Looks like you're still bleeding from the scalp there. Who were you fighting anyway?"
Starting to clean his face of the dried blood, Dr Mage examined his reflection in the mirror ruefully. "I was fighting the deadliest enemy the Human race has, youngster. The disciple of Draldros Himself, my despised rival Llandeilo. I failed. For all of us, it is later than you think."
( the rest of the story )
