day 9- buncha Unwin stuff

I'm not sure if having a jump even works. It's not getting me any more hits or anything. Also, writing these in Docs and copy-pasting them over to here really jacks up the formatting because it copies over incompatible HTML. On the plus side, the subsection category things I arbitrarily instated really work for this NaNoWriMo because my writing is all over the place, and the category headers just fill in the gaps as to precisely where.

NaNoWriMo Day 7- A few misc Pontifex POVs etc

The Pontifex sat still in the old tarp tent, listening to the rain and wind batter and buffet the frayed fabric outside. He was seated on a rudimentary cloth tarp, a single flickering candle before him. Pontifex could feel the humming of the Night Things around him, the souls and gifts and curses, every thing's attachment to magic, vibrating like a string connecting each particle to higher dimensions. With a stroke of his finger, Pontifex could reach out and pluck the strings, like the strings of a great awful interdimensional harp, and make them sing, or silence them. Intensify the vibration that connected a magic to its source.

Moone was so close to him; Pontifex could practically feel the man's body heat, feel the blood pump through his body. Maybe it was an illusion caused by the steady flicker of the candle, but Pontifex thought that he could see Moone's pulse thump rhythmically in Moone's neck. With the dangers of the world torn away from Moone, Pontifex struggled, desiring strongly to replace those dangers with himself.

Pontifex regarded the sleeping Moone's naked strings before him, and saw a harmony and intensity of them, and something more beyond. The particular vibration, the length and thickness of the string itself, this particular note chord. He stared at it a long time, long into the night, far longer than the night should have lasted, each minute stretching out and out and out until morning. It was a chord that he had only seen once before. In himself.

Pontifex stretched and pondered his fate. Just a few months ago, the thought has occurred to him [flashback??]

Shorts!

Michael J Miracle was used to feeling like an outcast without truly being one. Up through his early years of childhood and to the cusp of adolescence, his parents had been raising a Changeling without knowing it, while Miracle was being raised by fae. The switch back between them, Overneath coming and covertly replacing the changeling with the real Michael, happened overnight, Michael's memories being swapped with that of the changling's, so that he would fit seamlessly into his own life, which he had not been living himself. Nobody on the outside noticed, and it wasn't until around age 19 that Miracle began getting the strange feeling that his memory was not his own, that his life and body had not been his own. There had been some crack in the spell, which Miracle pried at and pried at until he began seeing fragments of his true childhood underneath. The sweet memories of childhood were all hollow. Miracle was truly raised and groomed to be a fairy. Not like a homosexual fairy. I know how that sounds. And stuff about his body not being his own all sounds like, transgender stuff or whatever, but it's actually fairy stuff. As in literal fairies.
Digging through his memory, reconstructing it, he could work out the Old Magic of the Fae, which he had been schooled in. Not that he knew why he of all people had been taken. Nor if being returned was part of the Unseelie Court's black machinations all along. The magic he could reconstruct from his floating scraps of memory was strange, abstract.

Xemf's method of infiltrating an organization was simple: find a position of power, and fill it. This power could be cultural or political or religious or whatever. In the early days of Man, Xemf's people had been gods. (a man is his own ancestor in dreamtime but Xemf is a god, in dreamtime version of reality, status changed with Pontifex taking role of his own ancestor, sacrificing son which was himself [make Christian parallels, God is in Dreaming so He is His own son] With these supernatural structures, coming into power was more difficult to come by. The leader of the company was an entity called SMITH, who would see through Xemf in a moment. Xemf's skin crawled thinking about it, literally warping and shivering like popping bacon frying in a pan. So Xemf had to go lower than that, find someone within the organization, with connections to a powerful place, and make his way up.

Moone could half-ass things and be fine, just happen to stumble across the correct solution to a supernatural problem, but he wanted to do as much research as possible, because it was true that he would interact with the real versions of myths, but he needed to know the mythic versions of reality. He had a contact in the mundane world, a college professor of world folklore and mythology. Comparing the mythic versions of creatures and events with the glimpses he saw from his frequent attacks yielded an intriguing parallax view into the true natures of things. [offer example of that.]
In later years, as well, new technological forces offered to Moone high-tech solutions. Through the magic (was it literally magic though? maybe, but Moone was unsure) of the internet, Moone was now able to contact experts from halfway across the globe, querying to them about such minute subjects as [subjects!] Through Professor [name]'s relationship with the college, as well, Moone could access a particular application of the Internet known as the World Wide Web, a technology [name] assured Moone would soon revolutionize not just communications, but culture and the entire world.

[Scene of Pontifex telling Moone truth of a particular human myth to show his connection to world, prior to sexy werewolf scene where the truth about werewolves is revealed]

[flashback to the Dreaded Eye]

[exposition taking place in the past, Moone getting attacked randomly in the middle of it.]

[random time travel



On a twilit plain in another Plain, a one-eyed wizard, resplendent in a glowing robe of a color never seen by human eye, thrust his sword through the skull of the felled wyverncat in front of him, and laughed a rich hearty laugh, one step closer to obtaining the victory that was needfully his.

Wnednysll've the Iris was a powerful mage from the Realm of the Rainbows, who was born and raised on the borders between Indigo and Violet, discovered his propensity for cloth-based magic at a young age, schooled at the Community College of Puce, graduated batchelor middle of his class without really applying himself, discovered out of college the importance of labor and perseverance, went back to school, applied himself this time, graduated Xanthic University class of '76 pretty high in his class, took out a small business loan from Rainbow's First Credit Union, and opened up a haberdashery in Emerald City, where he did well for himself weaving magical laces you can use to strangle your enemies with, paying off his student and business loans within the space of a few short years. And he hated Finnegan Michael Moone's stupid guts.

Which admittedly was a pretty common trait to have, but ask anybody, and they'd tell you, oh that Wnednysll've hates Moone's guts in a particular manner, it's all rather disturbing if you ask me, I mean that Moone guy is kind of a jerk but Wnednysll've over there well he takes it to a new level, a level of obsession.

And it was quite true. Out of his darkest and laciest lace-based magics, he saved the darkest and most terrible for himself, staying up nights laboring and researching deeper and deeper into the Dark Lace Arts toiling and weaving finer and finer laces and selling none of them, though he could have fetched a king's ransom for any, and all for one purpose: to put an end to Moone once and for all. More than a decade of toiling in the dark, feeling Moone's tides on his back as a constant taunt, drove him in this quest, and as Wnednysll've the Iris grew more powerful, he could feel the consummation of the quest grow nearer.

Which was what had brought him here, to this plain, after all these years. Having defeated the final guardian of the final gate, he could now face his true enemy, and destroy him in glorious combat.

Withdrawing his sword from the skull of the felled beast in front of him, Wnednysll've pressed past, to the craggy stone arch before him, the arch that formed a nexus between his plain and the plain of that mortal Moone. Spreading his arms out  wide to the sides, he pressed each hand against either side of the arch, tilting his head back and feeling out Moone's tide. Feeling the force of the nexus tugging him into the void, Wnednysll've latched onto Moone's tide... he let it take him away...

Wnednysll've the Iris found himself floating out in empty space, Moone's Bane inexplicably disappearing and leaving Wnedysll've with no dimensional anchor point to latch onto. Wnednysll've blinked, though his eye couldn't tell the difference. He was trapped in the endless void now. Alone. Forever.

And one thought crossed his mind, before the madness engulfed him. That thought was this: You friggin' serious right now?


encounter Westward, a great golden fish with insect legs, crawling around the wall of its cage with smooth precise movements like a chameleon's. Sidling through to the edge of the cage, stuck its head through the bars.