Magnus the Red (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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unfinishedlibrary2026-03-27 09:24 pm
logosmaxima) wrote in unfinishedlibrary2026-03-27 09:24 pm
Entry tags:
[Log] O you Soul, greatly majestic, I have come that I may see you
Who: Miracle Max & the Sewer Cryptid -- or, Magnus & Curze
What: Following the apocalyptic vision Curze shared with him of Prospero's fall, Magnus enacts an idea to help with his brother's seizures.
When: Late on the night of the full moon.
Where: Eventually, a field away from all the chaos.
Content warnings: Blood, almost certainly. Daemon summoning (shhh).
It is rare for Magnus' intense focus to be distracted from something he puts it to -- but distracted he has been, from the Story, from his game of being "Miracle Max", from all the half-real lives lived and lost in Montica.
The revelation of Prospero's fate had burned like an ember in his hearts. Concern for Roboute -- "Roberte" -- had suppressed it for a time, as had the delight of finding a willing student in Jadis. A smoldering fire, though, was a fire still and soon the thoughts of what awaited his world -- his precious sons -- had eaten through his willingness to play along with the tragicomedy the Library cast him in.
But he could do nothing -- yet -- to affect that awful future, so he had turned his attention to something he could change. Konrad believed his prophecies were immutable, but Magnus could -- would -- show him otherwise. It was the absence of a certain detail from Prospero's fall that suggested the solution, calling back to a notion he'd had and set aside before he'd stepped into that hellish vision.
There had been no Tutelaries present.
A plan of action had assembled itself feverishly in his mind after that. He had settled what other affairs he'd had in Montica, at House Guildulf and in the market, capping his good deeds with the gift of his wagon and all its contents to the woman Miracle Max would gladly have taught more. But alas, a missive from his far-distant home called him urgently away --
Then he'd gone hunting, and stayed at it until he had all he needed, well into the night of the full moon and the chaos it brought with it. Only once he had all in readiness for his planned ritual did he seek out the most important component: The other participant.
Unlike those of his brothers who are buried in their roles, Curze's aura blazes through Montica with dark intensity. It is no difficult for Magnus to follow that black beacon in his wolf-shape, making his way arrow-straight for it in complete disregard of whatever fighting he must pass through. Fires quench in his wake, disputants find themselves thrown far apart from each other with titanic kine-thrusts, but with the whole city in turmoil the trail he cuts is a narrow one.
It terminates at a bonfire garnished with scents of burning sugar rather than roasting flesh. Magnus sheds his other-self in an unostentatious swirl of light, assuming "Miracle Max's" smaller form, and studies his brother. That Konrad has divorced himself from the wider struggle is not surprising -- he had an intimation of his brother's pact with the Orlock, to keep those most precious to them unmolested -- and that Konrad still has managed to cover himself in blood is, likewise, no surprise, but the marshmallows are ... a little unexpected.
"I feel I must ask where you got those from," he says, first, and then follows with: "I have the first part of the solution to your affliction. If you are willing, we may enact it tonight."
Right now. In the middle of a burning city.
The Story does not matter, in the face of the suffering to come.
What: Following the apocalyptic vision Curze shared with him of Prospero's fall, Magnus enacts an idea to help with his brother's seizures.
When: Late on the night of the full moon.
Where: Eventually, a field away from all the chaos.
Content warnings: Blood, almost certainly. Daemon summoning (shhh).
It is rare for Magnus' intense focus to be distracted from something he puts it to -- but distracted he has been, from the Story, from his game of being "Miracle Max", from all the half-real lives lived and lost in Montica.
The revelation of Prospero's fate had burned like an ember in his hearts. Concern for Roboute -- "Roberte" -- had suppressed it for a time, as had the delight of finding a willing student in Jadis. A smoldering fire, though, was a fire still and soon the thoughts of what awaited his world -- his precious sons -- had eaten through his willingness to play along with the tragicomedy the Library cast him in.
But he could do nothing -- yet -- to affect that awful future, so he had turned his attention to something he could change. Konrad believed his prophecies were immutable, but Magnus could -- would -- show him otherwise. It was the absence of a certain detail from Prospero's fall that suggested the solution, calling back to a notion he'd had and set aside before he'd stepped into that hellish vision.
There had been no Tutelaries present.
A plan of action had assembled itself feverishly in his mind after that. He had settled what other affairs he'd had in Montica, at House Guildulf and in the market, capping his good deeds with the gift of his wagon and all its contents to the woman Miracle Max would gladly have taught more. But alas, a missive from his far-distant home called him urgently away --
Then he'd gone hunting, and stayed at it until he had all he needed, well into the night of the full moon and the chaos it brought with it. Only once he had all in readiness for his planned ritual did he seek out the most important component: The other participant.
Unlike those of his brothers who are buried in their roles, Curze's aura blazes through Montica with dark intensity. It is no difficult for Magnus to follow that black beacon in his wolf-shape, making his way arrow-straight for it in complete disregard of whatever fighting he must pass through. Fires quench in his wake, disputants find themselves thrown far apart from each other with titanic kine-thrusts, but with the whole city in turmoil the trail he cuts is a narrow one.
It terminates at a bonfire garnished with scents of burning sugar rather than roasting flesh. Magnus sheds his other-self in an unostentatious swirl of light, assuming "Miracle Max's" smaller form, and studies his brother. That Konrad has divorced himself from the wider struggle is not surprising -- he had an intimation of his brother's pact with the Orlock, to keep those most precious to them unmolested -- and that Konrad still has managed to cover himself in blood is, likewise, no surprise, but the marshmallows are ... a little unexpected.
"I feel I must ask where you got those from," he says, first, and then follows with: "I have the first part of the solution to your affliction. If you are willing, we may enact it tonight."
Right now. In the middle of a burning city.
The Story does not matter, in the face of the suffering to come.
no subject
Then he dabs the oil on his fingers, anointing his own crown, forehead, and eyelid. Thought and sight of two kinds, before wading into the Great Ocean. The abbreviated ritual preparations give him time to listen to Konrad -- and more importantly, require such exactness that he remains silent as he conducts them, rather than interrupting. When he does speak, it is -- at first -- only, "If you would permit me to anoint you," and he will wait for permission to apply oil to his brother's head and face as he had his own. This time, he murmurs invocations to principles of Will and Thought, seeking to open the seeker's eyes to the companion that awaits him in the Great Ocean.
Only when that is done, does Magnus respond to what Konrad has said. His tone is oddly subdued, for him, devoid of his usual passion. "For all that you are right, I fear Father bought us that peace at our own future cost -- and for little permanent gain. And," he holds up a hand, "that is a debate we must have after this, for there must be no disharmony within this circle."
Not anymore than they brought with them, with their mutual history and roiling souls.
no subject
Mysteries for another time. Allowing that concoction to be put on him as Magnus had done to himself is the barest of nods, unflinching when touched though it takes effort. One day, perhaps, the learned habit of treating every touch like an imminent threat won't be necessary.
Maybe. Until then it's easy to keep curiosity subdued, and resist the impulse to rub the oil off or lick it and discover what exactly is in it. "There's time for 'debate' later." True but not, the lore quickly cooperation is learned between this city's houses, the more likely the required ending of peace is at risk and thus .. an ending is achieved. "But harmony.. is an unfair challenge."
Calm could be feigned, but genuine? He'll do what he can, but he's back to fidgeting with the knife in an absent, restless way. Curze is as ever a thoroughly unmystical soul. Even if none of this is truly necessary, if it relies on Magnus and Magnus finds it important to the task, then so be it. All of this requires his brother's knowledge, including these creatures of the Warp.
If it worked.. then maybe..
No. Baseless hope has never done him any good before.