4 March 2009, Around 8pm, Somewhere in Manchester

Thora exited the sanctum with a quiet sigh and a salute to the door as she departed the space between realities. Fursa's room reminded her so much things long gone from the world, like that sense of peace she found in the old groves. Peace was both and near and far away for this Gangrel, one of those quiet truths that everyone knew and never talked about and Thora thought little about until she walked Holy Ground and remembered it herself.

Her whiteless brown eyes scanned the room to see that things were still as they should be. The fish in the tank got a shake of food and the pawn that rested on the tank lid replaced. The room was as neat as anywhere else in the house, save for the litter of rubber bits that lay in bits, pieces, and twisted into knots. Thora smirked a little. Strange obsessions were not unusual, especially in this family, so why not rubber bands?

And speaking of strange obsessions, Jason had left to go off and check things in town. Manchester was a quiet city, something that the Sheriff should be glad for, perhaps when he only had to worry about that again.

The sound started from outside the room, the unmistakble haunting sounds of the harpsichord. Magnus was at the keys. No one else in the house would dare touch it, very much a story in itself. Either way, if her sibling wished to fill the house with song, she would go listen. On into the hallway and through the arch into the Great Hall.

The warm glow of the fire on the hearth cast one of those pleasant lights in the room. Magnus sat there, having pulled one of the large benches from its place by the large oak table so that he could ply his huge fingers to the delicate keys. The music poured forth from the antique instrument with a strange passion and life of its own.

A skald of some of talent, Magnus' skill with the music was greater than Fursa's, by far. Not so easy to acquire after the Embrace, but one he proved surprising in many ways, Thora supposed. Or maybe not, as all the time that passed in which thay had known each other, forced them both to appreciate their respective talents. That was the way of things and not one that she would question overmuch.

The big man looked up from the keys as she took her seat at the edge of the wide stone hearth and nodded once as he finished his piece. His eyes were distant otherwise, absorbed in either the song or maybe in the troubles at hand. It was not her place to pry into his thoughts anymore than she would anyone else. Quiet, she listened to the end of the song and then watched him as he regarded her.

~~No change?~~

~~None.~~ she replied calmly. Ten days had passed as the state persisted. Fursa had run from the threat to her sense of well being and it looked thoroughly like she intended to stay there.

He looked down at the keys and considered his hands. ~~I have done the right thing, Thora.~~

~~I would not be your judge, Magnus.~~

He looked at her with a raised brow and lips that wanted to speak, but chose not to.

~~But let me ask you this.~~ she started with a calm question, ~~Did you consider, at any point, that she might not be ready to have her fondest desire.~~ Never did Thora ever question that this was Hrothgar. In fact, the presence of that particular spirit explained many things in ways that she would never understood otherwise. Even if she didn't like it, there was nothing to doubt that it was real. The affairs of the Gods of Asgardhr and their chosen Heros were well enough known to realize at least that part of the truth.

Magnus regarded her cooly, that moment of temper flashing through and away again before he drew an unneeded breath. ~~You would have me admit that I was wrong to ask for her to not be alone anymore, Sister. That, I will not do.~~

Thora rolled her eyes. ~~The ramifications, Magnus.~~ There was a slight exasperation within her. ~~I ask you only if you had ever guessed what might come of His return to life and their reunion like this.~~ Magnus was not so known for his attention span, especially with mead involved.

~~I did what I thought best. I will pay the weregeld for the harm it brings.~~ His tone of mind was somber. Long had she understood Magnus' love of Fursa from afar, even if Fursa had completely missed it herself. That he had spent six centuries working magicks to reunite their sire with the only man she had ever loved, though, simply amazed her.

Admitting 'error', such as it was, wouldn't happen. Partly because there might not be one to admit to, and in partly because they both there was more going on here than either of them clearly understood. Magnus plied his hands to the keys again as Thora rose in silence. Just as she moved past him, she said softly "I will prepare her. We can perform the rite around dawn."

With nothing more than a faint nod, Magnus began to play. The haunting sound of the the music once again filled the house with an eerie and lonely song.

The door opens and Thora enters. She is solemn, as the room calls one to reverence. In her arms is a bundle of white cloth and she stands near the door, slowly saluting the god images with a strange longing. In the days since Fursa'S sleep began, it has been Thora who cleans and refills and does the offerings. You never see Magnus in here that way. As she finishes, she watches and closes her eyes for a bit. Calm is good, especially for Thora.

Jason would be sitting on the ground at the edge of the bed she sleeps on, after having checked on a few things in the city first, and came back home for the night. Apparently arguing with his own demons, he makes no move to show he is even aware Thora is in the room, his eyes still closed, face still downcast at the edge of the bed.

Thora watches you with that feral stare of hers. She is a pretty thing, for one so marked by animal traits. She clears her throat and then steps over to the low cabinet to grab a few items: A small clay pot, a small jar of ochre colored powder, a small wooden stick, and spool of thread. Then she moves toward the bed, skirting you as she moves to her sire's side.

Jason grunts softly and blearily opens both eyes to look at you, turning his head slightly to see, then mmmmms quietly in recognition and takes a deep breath, letting it go just as quickly. His gaze returns to Fursa and he blinks a few times, centering himself.

Gently, ever so gently, Thora brushes the hair from Fursa's face and lays a kiss on her forehead. Sitting up, she says quietly "I will need your help, Jason."

Jason takes in another breath slowly, then simply nods once and murmurs, "I have made my peace. What do you need done?"

Thora doesn't look at you as she lays open the palm of her hand with a nail. "She will need her hair brushed and braided once we dress her." She lets the blood drip into a puddle within the clay pot with a certain disinterest.

Jason remains quiet for a moment as he begins to move, as if listening to another voice, then murmurs, "And we are doing this for?"

Thora licks the wound closed and says to you "I have brought her shroud. We will prepare her together."

Jason furrows a brow and immediately starts, "Her shr...", and stops himself, staring at Thora for a moment, then taking one breath and letting it go, looks around, not seeing any clothes...ritual or otherwise, "And the shroud is necessary for..?"

Thora opens the bundle of white linen, embroidered and painted with myriad symbols. Clothing is there, things you've never seen Fursa wear herself, but are not out of place for her to wear at times. "For laying her in the crypt."

Jason folds his arms, waiting for you to indicate what he should be doing, either supporting Fursa or garbing her, "And where is this crypt?"

"The one here."

Jason considers for a moment again. The questions are never challenging or condescending or inciteful. He simply doesnt know, admits to it, and wants an answer, "Because here is not safe."

Thora quietly mixes a bit of ochre into the blood in the vessel and mixes it with the end of the stick. Then she produces that little knife and cuts a small bit of her hair. With a strange twirl of her fingers, the hair rolls into a bundle in her fingers and she binds it to the stick with the thread. As she finishes, she says "Because...I had not thought you would want to be reminded."

Jason watches you carefully, shaking his head, "It will not be out of my mind. I would rather her be where I can easily see her....but I also wish her to be safe while she sleeps. Is that the only reason you do this?"

With a flick and two quick cuts of that little blade, the brush acquires shape and that 'brushness' about it. "And in the case that she cannot again wake." She chooses not to look at you as she says this, instead working the hair bristles into form with her fingers.

Jason shakes his head, "She will wake again."

Thora is solemn as she says "The last time, she slept 32 years."

Jason says "And if it takes that long again, I will still be here beside her. She is my wife."

Drawing an unneeded breath, Thora nods a little "May your devotion endure."

Jason nods, "If those are the only two reasons, then I would rather leave her here."

"Jason, can you defend this house from all comers?

Jason says "Is the crypt more defendable?"

Thora looks at you "You were laid there before. You tell me."

Nonetheless, she begins by twirling the brush in the 'paint' and murmurring over it quietly.

Jason shakes his head, "If that is the only improvement, then no, she stays here. Unless you have issue with that?"

The ripple of power that emanates from Thora is not unlike the ones you have felt previous from Fursa. She ends her little chanting and sits up straighter as she says "I will not argue with you. You are not the same, but you are drighten until such time as she wakes." She takes the brush and begins to draw assorted lines upon Fursa's face.

Jason nods once, "I am aware. Magnus made sure of that. Your help with Timkin is appreciated. Thank you."

Saying nothing, she nods and continues the painting on the dead skin beneath the brush. These lines are similar to the ones you found on yourself when you finally were escorted to the bathroom, days after you rose yourself. Wards, was what Fursa called them. Thora is warding Fursa that same way.

Jason rubs his hands together and slips back around the bed, sitting back down where he was before and quietly watches you work.

Thora begins to trace and line her sire's body. Not much of her is left unmarked. By the thumps and bangs on your senses from her prayers, you can guess that there is something afoot here that is bigger than you know about. She is not an artist, though. Her lines are practical and true. She lifts her eyes from her work occasionally, giving you the curious look, or simply taking a break between lines. Her work it meticulous as she dips the brush in the blood laden ochre and then strokes in a line. Some of the designs are runic, others more esoteric symbols that you have no familiarity with whatsoever.

Jason takes a slow breath again, then finally offers, "I am aware that I am not like any of you three, and that is something in my blood and my being that I cannot change. But other things can...and it doesnt have to be what you expect it to become with me."

Looking up from her work again. She takes a deep, unneeded breath and lets it go, watching you with that feral gaze of hers. It is now you see her demeanor change, just a little, as she says "You are what you choose to become. It is not a question of your blood. 'Being' is what you make of it. Some choose the long hard road that questions their assumptions." She dips her brush and continues the labor at hand. "You are not 'like' us, because you have not chosen it. No more. No less." They were the words Fursa would have used, thus Thora was satisfied they would hold meaning for him.

Jason looks back down at Fursa, "I am afraid that even with all that I remember that Hrothgar was...I have a lot to learn and understand before that becomes a choice I can make."

Thora says, not looking up from her linework, "As do we all."

Jason pauses for a moment, filing things away and moving on to other things, the Idealist still checking off matters on a clipboard to be settled, handled, and managed, "And you and Magnus....is there anything you require that Timkin cannot handle?"

Thora pauses her hand a moment and says "I am hoping that she will wake, then my needs can be met."

Jason furrows his brow, "What are they?"

"I will need the Prince's Word in order to hunt for my sustenance."

Jason murmurs, "I am her Sheriff...the Seneschal is...absent for a while. I think its within her laws for me to bend it in your case."

Again, Thora doesn't look up. More of the blood laden paint is applied as the lines continue spreading across Fursa's body. "I will require permission to hunt Kindred."

Jason lifts one brow, "Really. Well, I guess that makes it a little stickier. If you feel like going Sabbat hunting, I can circle the prime meat markets on the map for you...or I can make other more willing arrangements."

Whatever you had to say seems to have been lost on Thora. Something flashes across her face and she looks at you...or maybe more like through you, before laying her hand on Fursa's forehead as Fursa had on yours those many days ago.

Jason frowns faintly, "Thora...?", then looks down at Fursa.

Hissing in response, Thora says "There is a spirit close...."

Jason frowns and slowly looks around, slowly drawing a small handaxe out from under the bed as he rises, "In the house?"

Thora growls lowly and waves a hammer sign over the body before her, then motions to a space very near where you occupy. "You may not have her. She is not a vessel for your use."

Jason whirls around, then mutters, "Christ."

Thora grits her teeth and says lowly "This is not my Art...."

Jason murmurs, "I can't see it...."

In the air, a soft voice, not much more than a whisper says "I do not need a vessel. This One needs aid."

Jason brings the axe up sharply, dead hairs on the back of his neck rising, "Alright, damnit."

Summoning herself and focussing with an act of Will, she looks straight at the spot she had been looking and says in a voice that carries no doubt of her resolve "I am sworn to protect. From all comers." Her voice reverbeates that creepy faith feel as she challenges "You will prove you are worthy or you will leave her alone!"

Jason looks at Thora, then back in the area she is challenging, still obviously seeing nothing, but staying quiet ad awaiting the other shoe to drop.

Again, the whisper comes from the air "You waste time that may not be available. Nevertheless... what would be proof enough, for you?"

Actually, Thora seems to be quite troubled by this train of events as well. She looks at you and says nodding to the body "Her Art. I can only guess and can only really fight it on this side...."

Jason nods slowly and sets his jaw, glancing around again, "For one, you can quit playing hide and go seek."

Thora meets your gaze and nods once, then she says in one of those creepy voices that shakes the room "Show yourself and we will discuss it." Then she look pointedly to you and says in your mind, showing you images of things ~~Hama's knife. Mead. Ale horn in the cabinet.~~ Before looking at the place he has been looking all this time again.

Jason shoulders the axe in his hand and sidesteps, still looking the room over as he sidles over to the cabinet, wary of what might appear as he rummages for a few things.

Thora keeps her hand on Fursa's forehead and rivets her gaze on that spot where she first looked. Her other hand she draws up into a gestured of warding, having no clue what she's dealing with.

Jason sets his handaxe down on the altar as he retrieves a drinking horn, a vial of mead, and a knife from the cabinet.

Thora says lowly and calmly. "Pour the mead into the horn and hand it to me. Place the knife on her chest." She can sense the presence, but cannot see what it is. Her assumption is that this is a posessing spirit, so she's loading for bear.

Jason nods slowly, doing as instructed, filling the horn and handing it to Thora, setting the bottle down before crossing to Fursa and placing the knife across her chest.

Thora says lowly "Ready yourself, in case it intends to harm Her."

Jason nods slowly and sets his jaw again, considering the axe, but instead leaves his hands free.

For Thora's part, she circles the horn in front of her and slowly begins to speak in slow, clear words. It is a language Jason is unfamiliar with, certainly, but the words bring her strength and settle her as she speaks the charm, hand on Fursa's forehead, mead in hand.

Sue patiently forces herself to work at the 'knots' tied in the fabric of the Gauntlet trying to pick her way through what blocks her with determination, bringing her power to bear upon them. She will unravel them by Might if Dexterity will not suffice.

That's when, as Jason and Thora look out at the wall, one of the pictures slowly begins to change. It seems to animate and then morph to the shape of the manifesting spirit.

Jason murmurs, "It appears we were listened to."

Thora mumbles "It breaks the ward...."

Steeling herself to face the being, whatever it was, a light bloodsweat adorns Thora's brow. Holding the horn before her as she repositions her legs to make a sudden charge, if need be. Jason moves in to protect the body as she prepares herself to face whatever it is. Anything powerful enough to break these carefully built wards is trouble--and perhaps only Fursa was the only one strong enough to face it.