From owner-in_nomine-digest@lists.io.com Sun Oct 22 08:02:56 2000 Return-Path: Received: from lists.io.com (lists.io.com [199.170.88.15]) by pyramid.sjgames.com (8.8.7/8.8.7) with ESMTP id IAA28683 for ; Sun, 22 Oct 2000 08:02:56 -0500 Received: (from majordom@localhost) by lists.io.com (8.9.3/8.9.1a) id IAA26501 for in_nomine-digest-outgoing; Sun, 22 Oct 2000 08:02:07 -0500 Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 08:02:07 -0500 Message-Id: <200010221302.IAA26501@lists.io.com> From: owner-in_nomine-digest@lists.io.com (in_nomine-digest) To: in_nomine-digest@lists.io.com Subject: in_nomine-digest V1 #1865 Reply-To: in_nomine-l@lists.io.com Sender: owner-in_nomine-digest@lists.io.com Errors-To: owner-in_nomine-digest@lists.io.com Precedence: bulk in_nomine-digest Sunday, October 22 2000 Volume 01 : Number 1865 In this digest: IN> Michael's Challenges: Baal and Beleth #1 Re: IN> Michael's Challenges - A Lesson for One IN> Michael's Challenges: On the Fly IN> Michael's Challenge: Faith Re: IN> Michael's Challenge: Faith Re: IN> Michael's Challenges: Cloak and Axe/ Eye of the Storm Re: IN> Michael's Challenges: Cloak and Axe ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 06:52:07 GMT From: "Jo Hart" Subject: IN> Michael's Challenges: Baal and Beleth #1 (Ack. Too busy today to finish this. Will do the Beleth bit later, unless anyone has an astoundingly good idea and wants to jump in) jo - -- Baal was in the bath. "May I assume that you have heard the news?" asked his visitor. The Demon Prince of The War soaped his left arm thoughtfully with a bar of something very orange and fragrant. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes, sinking further into the steaming water. "That Michael is arrogant beyond belief?" he asked eventually. "And stupid beyond belief also? That cannot be news to any being in creation, Asmodeus, although I'm flattered that thou sawst fitting to make such efforts to inform me." "Will you fight him?" asked the other politely. The Prince of the Game, head of Hell's secret police and intel forces, favoured 17th century garb and had done since the 17th century. He swept the embroidered hem of his black frock coat away from a puddle of bath water on the floor and sat on the only chair in the room, stretching out his stockinged legs. It was after all his favourite coat. The ivory buttons alone had taken several damned souls a century to carve, and no mere affairs of infernal state would make up for its accidental ruination. "I will certainly give the matter mine complete attention. Sometime. When I have finished my bath." "In a timeframe of under a century?" "Who can say?" Baal stretched out philosophically. "And thou bring'st reports on each of his recent battles with other superiors for me?" Asmodeus sniffed, positioned the thin wire-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, and opened a briefcase. "Indeed." "Well?" "My _friend_," the Prince of the Game murmured, "I would like an assurance that you will not take part in these games yourself." Baal propped an elbow on the bathtub and sat up, cascading waves of water onto the floor. His eyes glittered like polished bootleather as he stared the other prince down. "Because you think I would lose and it would be bad for morale?" His voice was pleasant enough, sweet like honey, and soft like butter, and pleasant on the ear. "It would be bad for morale in either case." "There is no question in my mind but that I could defeat Michael in combat." "If you win, there will be rumours of imminent Armaggeddon. If --" Baal slammed a hand down against the side of the tub. "THERE IS NO IF," he spat. "As you say," Asmodeus murmured politely. He bent his expensive wig over the papers as he rifled through them. "Litheroy, Gabriel, Novalis, Dominic. I can give you details of these matches." "There is no if," whispered the Prince of the War. Asmodeus adjusted his glasses again, wiping the steam from the lenses with a lace cuff. He peered at the figure in the bath, glanced down at his notes, and began to read. Baal stared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment longer, before settling back into the frothy water. The infernal bureacrat's voice droned on in a soothing manner, describing archangelic defeats in clinical terms. "None of them really want to defeat him," commented the Prince of the War, after several minutes of hot soapy silence. Any trace of temper had vanished from his voice, and he merely sounded reflective. "They all know what that would mean to the rest of Heaven. But he really wants to win. It becomes a matter of mere Will." "As you say." "Thy spies and envoys seem well informed about Litheroy?" Asmodeus smiled thinly. "He was disguised as a rock at the water's edge." "And Novalis." "He was disguised as a tree." "And Gabriel." "He was disguised as a cloud of sulpherous fumes." Baal nodded. "A versatile chap, then?" "Definitely." "And so we obtain information about our enemies individual strategies." "Indeed." After a few more minutes, Baal turned to the other man and smiled as brightly as an atom bomb. "Old friend," he purred. "Your close relationship to all the Princes of Hell is as reknowned as it is envied." Asmodeus peered at him over the edge of the wire-rimmed frames. "Indeed," he said again. "Talk to Beleth," directed the Prince of the War. "Persuade her to offer Michael a fight on her own terrain. Make haste to inform me of precisely when the battle commences. And set your man to spying upon them both with his usual subtlety." "What purpose to this, my friend?" Baal pressed his fingertips together, then he sent the other man a look that would brook no opposition. "That was an ORDER, soldier," he snapped. "We have a war to fight." Asmodeus bowed his head low, and gathered his papers together. If there was a whisper-thin smile dancing on his lips, it was hidden by the gesture. As he left the room, he could hear the Prince of the War calling to his equerry, "Get me a towel, you laggard! And have my jeep ready!" _________________________________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com. Share information about yourself, create your own public profile at http://profiles.msn.com. ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 02:53:23 -0400 From: "William J. Keith" Subject: Re: IN> Michael's Challenges - A Lesson for One "We have been thinking, War. We have been thinking that there is a fight you are unfamiliar with." "I doubt it, Jordi. Certain animal instincts are close to the heart of War, especially barehanded. When a human is fighting for his life, he is as close as many of them will ever come to the ideal you promote." "This is both your opinion, and largely True. But you were never human, you were not born in a body, and rarely have you worn animal form, to know the instincts forged into the animal's own body. We think you need to gain some understanding of what it *really* means to fight dirty." "As you wish. What is the setup?" "It will be in our Savannah; we will be with the animals. We will-" "Hold up. You can possess the spirits of animals in Heaven?" "It is not possession... it is a sharing of awareness unlike what can ever happen on Earth. The essential nature of all beings involved are preserved. May we continue?" "Certainly." "We will fight, with any means necessary, save that we will do so without any Songs other than Healing. You win if any of the Savannah's animals are harmed without our being immediately able to heal them; i.e., if I lose a Force and must reabsorb it quickly. Likewise if we can do sufficient damage to you to cause the same. You've been wounded before in these contests, but this is... somewhat higher stakes than your previous battles." "Did you think I would shy away from serious stakes? Of course I accept! To one Force-loss, then. Laurence?" The Commander of the Host nodded. "It seems fair. Jordi, one assumes damage to any specific creature will be limited." "Of course. If any specific animal takes any wound, I will cause them to flee, and quickly repair their forms before leaving them outside the nearby battle zone. Michael wins if I lose a Force from any portion of myselves, so am thus unable to do so quickly." "And the prize?" Laurence asked. "A gift to give to thirty-three of your servants, at whatever times you wish, that three times on Earth they may call the animals to fight for God at their side. And once, a hundredth call, for you alone." "Either way," said Michael, "the prize will be worthy of the danger of the fight. But wouldn't leading so many animals to harm make you dissonant?" "We will not be possessing them - do you not remember that the ox and the lamb bowed for the Lord? Animals have their own pure awareness of God of a different measure than humans' or our own, and if the call is phrased correctly, a request to help Him will be honored." "Everything seems in line, then," Laurence declared. Jordi left for the Savannah without another word. Laurence turned to Michael. "Of course, there are no Shedim with the ability to possess multiple beings these days. This fight may yield less valuable information than the others." "The supremely egotistical beings of Hell may not bear out your simplistic appraisal of the possibility of another Legion, Laurence. Someone else may decide that they can make it work where Legion could not, or perhaps that it's worth the life of another Archangel. I'd prefer not to oblige, if possible." Michael smiled. "Besides, there's also Jordi's... stated purpose." Laurence considered that smile as they headed to the Savannah. Laurence hovered in the updraft above the great bonfire at the heart of the Savannah. He could feel Michael's presence, and Jordi's, although the Kyriotate was spread out across the entire cathedral. This battle had no watchers in the Cathedral; where could you possibly await the action? He brought forth a small silver bell, and rang it once. The sharp sound echoed across the entire landscape. Michael, in human form, summoned his axe. He was loath to give up the protection of the bonfire at his back, but the crackling sounds and his own shadow interfered with his senses. He stepped away, every sense on alert. This area was grassy. Hip-high grass. Easy enough to conceal some of the smaller predators within it, and he himself stood above it. He was at a disadvantage. How to rectify? He started moving at higher speed. Now he could hear rustles in the grass, following him at the same speed. He prepared himself, then quickly turned and lunged backward. The blade connected with celestial flesh, which fell clumsily to one side, wound healing immediately. The animal did not even seem to feel any pain; of course, Jordi would have absorbed it all to protect his host. Not enough to shear a Force, however. The other rustle came upon him, and a hyena leapt out at him, clawing at face and neck. Bleeding from tiny wounds, Michael only laughed, wishing he could get rid of every hyena that bothered him this easily. He summarily ripped the little animal off of himself with his left hand, giving it a smack with the handle of his axe to speed him on his way. A rib cracked and healed, and the hyena slunk off. "Is that all you have, Jordi? I can defeat a pack of them!" A pack, yes. But a swarm? Yellow jackets surrounded him - a breed that could sting, and not die. Single attacks would never work - there was a flowing river nearby, but he'd be a Ofanite before he'd retreat in the face of a bunch of insects. Fighting off as many as he could with the physical attacks he was limited to, he walked towards the water while Healing the itchy, flaming wounds and focusing on locating places on his flesh where they were trying to concentrate their efforts, trying to sever a Force, and brushing them away there. Finally, he reached the water and dived in. A school of fish flashed toward him. Piranhas, jaws ready to slash and tear. He sped toward them, taking Seraph form, wings swimming in Heaven's waters as well as they flew in air. Tail strikes incapacitated numerous members of the school as he passed by and flew/swam downstream, just faster than the fish could swim, tail strikes taking out the school one member at a time. The school suddenly lost interest. A glimmer flashed by him as Jordi transferred his awareness to a few barracuda ahead of him, now turning towards him and flashing through the water right in his path. Michael altered his path upwards, jumping out of the water, into the air, and into another part of the Savannah. Birds of prey struck at him, but he brely noticed as he fought them back. Jordi was vicious, numerous, but hardly the most expert tactician - except that Michael was beginning to think that there might be a subtle imbalance in the rules. How did he sever a Force from an Archangel with whom he'd agreed you could use songs of Healing, and could scatter his Forces at will? Michael searched the ground for a target for his idea. There. A small - what? herd? whatever you called a group of them - of elephants. Something that needed a lot of Forces to join with. More importantly, they were just a bit of a ways off from a pride of lions. He folded his wings, pretending to avoid the raptors, and dove straight for the lions, gaining screaming speed. The lions responded, roaring and challenging him, claws and jaws gleaming. As he approached ground, he snapped his wings open, straining for curvature. He rocketed horizontally above the lions, straight towards the elephants, unprotected by Jordi's shielding presence. He howled a challenge, watched the elephants panic, and, out of the corner of his awareness, saw Jordi leap out of the lions toward the great gray towers. With barely a thought, he was in human form, carried forward by his momentum. He'd only be aloft for another moment, but it was all he'd need. He summoned his axe, bringing it around to slice through Jordi's naked celestial form. With a whine eerily reminiscent of the bell which had started the event, a Force cleanly severed from Jordi before he could gain shelter within the elephant. Michael hit ground, tumbling over and over until he came to a stop. The memory of a thousand cuts, tears, and stings burned in his form, but he was whole, while Jordi was patiently reattaching a loose Force, with Laurence descending from above. "The winner is Michael," he declared. Jordi radiated agreement. "The boon is yours, Archangel. It seems you *do* understand the straightforward path of the hunt." "No, Jordi. Animals don't fight dirty, they fight hard. There's a difference. Dirty is targeting someone or something uninvolved in the combat and taking advantage of your enemy's need to protect that thing. It's not instinct, it's tactics, and I'll use it when it will win. Thank you for the contest, and the boon. Laurence?" Jordi went off to his duties, leaving the two in human form on the Savannah. Laurence was not in a good mood. "That was hardly kosher, Michael." "That's the way it goes, Laurence. If it brings you any comfort, I had no actual wish to involve the thing. Had Jordi not reacted in time, I had a backup plan to wait until he did, arriving atop the elephant and then doing considerable amounts of damage to sever one of the multiple Forces he would have needed to invest in the host." The Malakite didn't seem any happier. "Tell me, did you learn anything useful?" Michael shrugged. "I won't know that until I've analyzed it for a bit. Maybe. Another Legion would be unlikely to have an object other than himself he'd care much about, so he probably wouldn't be vulnerable to that final kind of assault. As for the tactics before then..." he shrugged again. "Ask me later." Laurence nodded once, curtly, and departed. Michael waited. After a moment, a lion loped up to him, and spoke "Do you think he got any of the message?" "Doubt it. He's seen dirty tricks get used before, and he still didn't like them. I don't even think the spectre of another Legion focused his mind on what it might be necessary to do to destroy such a creature." Jordi waited a bit. "Mind you, I thought *I* was the one who was supposed to be displaying the idea of less-than-honorable combat. The rules setup, and so forth." "I wasn't going to dissemble in front of him any more than absolutely necessary. We agreed it would be a real fight. I fought a real fight. Didn't you?" "Yes. Force-severing *hurts*, you know. And, of course, the boon is yours." Michael nodded. "I've got a few Soldiers who'll find it useful immediately." He turned and grinned at the Kyriotate as he left. "See you on the battlefield, brother." William ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 02:42:18 -0500 From: EDG Subject: IN> Michael's Challenges: On the Fly Michael looked at the challenge again. "/Who/ sent this?" He knew full well; he just wanted to make sure that his resonance hadn't malfunctioned for the first time in thousands of years. "That would be Eli, Michael," replied Laurence, looking at his copy of the challenge. He still couldn't believe that Eli would have this kind of audacity. To challenge the Archangel of War to... "I specifically /said/ it has to be /combat/, Laurence!" "It /is/ called a Battle, Michael," said Creation quietly behind them. Michael growled softly and turned around. "Are you mocking me, Eli?" "Not at all. You have a limited time in which to think up and execute a tactic with which to defeat me. Is not thinking on your feet part of combat?" Michael was silent. Laurence looked at Eli. "There has to be the danger of injury." "I take it, then, that you have never been burned." Laurence was silent. Eli nodded. "Then it is settled. You will assemble the participants. We will meet in one hour, in my Cathedral." An hour later, the Archangels sat assembled in the Cathedral of Creation. Four were off to one side; still a fifth was to the other side, and a reliever waited patiently in front of the stage. Eli, Michael, and Laurence were nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, in the background, classical music swelled, full of trumpets and violins, and the lights came up on the stage, a semicircle with a stairway at the back, leading up to a raised podium with three circular platforms at the rear, butting against a curtained wall. Onto the podium strode Laurence, in a bizarre, uncharacteristic flashy outfit. He took a brief glance at a script, grabbed a bell pepper from the table in front of him, and bit into it. Chewing thoughtfully, he burst into a broad grin and nodded at the assembled Archangels. The music swelled, and Eli walked through the doors of the Cathedral, dressed in white. He walked up to the stage, and he and Laurence exchanged bows before he stepped up. "Challenger Eli has been on Earth for the last few decades, mastering the arts of cooking. He has attended the Cordon Bleu school of cooking, and served as head chef at several New York restaurants," intoned the voice of Marc, speaking from his booth at stage left. Lights came up on the three circular platforms in the back as they rotated, revealing two older Japanese men in red and green outfits, respectively, and - Michael, in the center, wearing silver. "This is stupid," he muttered. "It is the time for the selection of the Chef!" Marc's voice rang out, and the music swelled once more as Eli pointed to Michael. "And the challenger has chosen the Heavenly Chef, Michael! Not a particularly huge surprise," he added, "but..." His voice trailed off as Michael stalked down the steps to his place opposite Eli. "With us today is our celebrity panel of guests..." Marc proceeded to rattle off the names of the four Archangels opposite him and their credentials, while Michael scanned the list. David, Yves, Gabriel ("How'd he get /her/?" Michael thought to himself), and... Novalis. A cheap shot. "You shouldn't have chosen her, Eli." "I didn't choose her, Michael. Laurence did." Michael shot a fiery glance at Laurence, one that said "We'll discuss this later," and then looked at the platform that was rising out of the stage. "And now," Marc said, a touch of excitement in his voice, "Chairman Kaga - I mean, Laurence - will announce the ingredient!" Laurence walked forward, grasped a corner of the cloth covering the platform, and spoke, his voice oddly out of synch with his lips. "Today's ingredient... Bell Pepper!" He tugged the cloth from the platform to reveal a mound of green, red, and yellow peppers, glistening moistly in the stage lights. Eli and Michael were off like a shot, grabbing a tray and each piling as many peppers as they could onto it, then rushing back to their places. Without a word, they turned to the mini-kitchens before them and started working. Eli's hands moved with finesse, taking a quarter of the peppers and coring them, then carving them into bizarre, interestingly-shaped strips and placing them into oil that was, by this point, quite hot,. Michael, on the other hand, took the direct approach, cleaving each pepper in half and dunking them into a pot of near-boiling water. "Fukui-san!" chimed in a voice after a few minutes. Marc winced. "Don't call me that," he muttered quietly. "Yes, Oto?" For that was the Ofanite's name. "Fukui-san -" Marc winced again - "Eli seems to be going with a stir-fry approach, while Michael looks to be going with stuffed peppers! I asked the Chef why he was stuffing the peppers, and he said that everybody he's asked likes stuffed peppers," "Thank you, Oto." Marc sighed, away from the microphone. On the other side of the cathedral, the four panelists were discussing. "I'm not sure I like the idea of the main ingredient being a vegetable," said Novalis. Yves smiled. "It should be interesting to see how they prepare them." "I've never had a bell pepper dessert before." David watched the proceedings raptly. Gabriel grinned at him. "I hope they do it flambé." "Fukui-san!" "Yes, Oto?" Marc's voice sounded tired. "Fukui-san, Michael seems to be setting up for his appetizer now. He's put the peppers and the filling into the oven, and his next batch seems to be going into a salad!" "Thank you, Oto." Michael glanced over at the Ofanite, zipping between kitchens. "This is stupid." "Fukui-san! Apparently, the Chef doesn't like the choice of ingredients..." Michael glowered at Oto. Oto shut up and moved on. The sound of Michael's cleaver hitting the cutting board was never interrupted. "Thirty minutes have elapsed." Zadkiel's voice came down over the loudspeakers, oddly soft and melodic. Eli let the stirfry sizzle as he worked on his appetizer - baked chips made of finely-shredded peppers and corn, with a pepper salsa. The salsa wasn't hard, but the chips would have to be baked shorter and hotter than Eli would have liked... "Salsa and corn chips. At least he isn't making dandelion wine." "Relax, Novalis. Everything will be fine in the end. He didn't choose the ingredients." "That corn looks stone-ground..." "I don't think he has the oven hot enough." "Fukui-san?" "Yes, Oto?" "Michael is apparently working on his dessert now - an ice cream made of bell peppers!" "I hope he puts a lot more milk than peppers in..." Michael growled at Oto. "You're giving tactics away." "It's part of the show, Holy one!" Michael's assistants barely restrained him from leaping over the table. "Fukui-san!" "What is it, Oto?" "Help?" Eli looked at his watch, wiped sweat from his brow. He was well into his fourth dish when he heard Zadkiel's "Fifteen minutes remaining," and started working faster. Quickly he tossed off instructions to his assistants. "Fukui-san!" "Go ahead." "You were asking about what Michael was using in his third dish. He has, in fact, added Kobe beef to the peppers, some sour cream, and tortillas, and seems to be baking something Mexican!" "Nice and spicy, I hope," came Gabriel's voice. "I asked the chef why he was making such a variety of traditional foods, and he replied that it doesn't have to be different to taste good!" "Damn straight," said David. "Five minutes remaining," spoke Zadkiel. Michael and Eli both rushed to finish their dishes. Michael actually seemed to be mostly done; all he had to do was arrange the food. By the single minute, he was patiently waiting for the battle to be over, a confident frown on his face. Eli, on the other hand, worked until the five-second mark; his third dish, a strange medley of pepper and beluga roe, was on the plates only at the last second. He wiped his forehead as the bell went off, and looked over at Michael, who nodded to him. The assistants brought the plates over to the panel of Archangels, the challenger Eli standing by them, waiting to serve. His first dish: the chips and salsa, which Novalis frowned at but Gabriel claimed had a delightful tang. Next, the stir-fry; Novalis was more accepting of this one, David had several things to say about the way the rice was prepared, and Yves praised the texture of the meat. Third was the caviar/pepper combination, and apparently Eli had added a spice that Gabriel loved. Yves was concerned about the concept itself of roe, but David calmed him, reminding him that these fish eggs had been created, not spawned. Last was Eli's dessert, a sweet soup with strips of pepper boiled in sugar water, giving them an oddly crisp, sweet flavor. When they had finished, and had written their comments, Michael's dishes were served. First came the pepper salad, the reds, greens and yellows mixed to startlingly attractive effect. Next was the stuffed pepper dish, which Yves adored and David thought could have been crunchier. Novalis was particularly enamored of the third dish, the baked Mexican wrap, though she couldn't describe why: "It's like floating on clouds," she said, and Marc and Eli had to stifle their laughter. Last was the ice cream, the hint of shredded peppers turning it a light mint green, and Gabriel nearly fainted when she tasted it. Eli was waiting back at his kitchen when Michael returned. Laurence, along with the panelists, strode to the poduim. "Now," said Marc, "is the time when we see who will be our champion. Michael, the Archangel of War... Eli, the Archangel of Creation... who will win? Who will reign supreme?" Marc looked down at the paper that Oto had just given him. "It seems that Kag - I mean, Laurence wants to read the scores first!" A small visual display came up over each chef's head. "David," read Marc, "19 Eli to 18 Michael! Gabriel... prefers Michael to Eli, 20 to 17! Yves... ties them at 16! I see why Laurence wanted the scores first... and Novalis... 20 to 18 Michael! Michael is the champion!" Michael grinned, and Eli grinned back, and they met at the center and shook hands. "That was stupid," War muttered, "but it was a good exercise." Eli grinned. "Boot camp is stupid too," he whispered, and as the Archangels watched, he left the Cathedral while Michael accepted the pyramidal trophy from Laurence. He turned to thank Eli, but Creation was gone. After the crowd had left, Laurence and Michael stood, watching the Cathedral dim. "You cheated," said Michael simply. "You put Novalis on the panel." "She promised to be fair." "Was she?" "I believe that's your sphere, Michael." And Michael knew that it was so. "I beat him once. He owes me a boon," said Michael. "I'll probably have to find him to get it, though." "Maybe that's part of the challenge?" Long after Laurence had gone home, Michael stood, looking at the Cathedral, lost in thought. ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 05:05:58 -0500 From: David Edelstein Subject: IN> Michael's Challenge: Faith "You reign undefeated, Brother," Laurence said. "Of course," Michael replied. "The interest in these challenges is what we might learn from the tactics used against me. Who will win is not really an issue." Laurence nodded, knowing that only Michael could make such a declaration and know it to be True. Together, they watched the next Archangel who approached the Groves. Laurence registered some surprise. "I didn't think he would respond." "I confess I wasn't expecting him either, but I am pleased to see him participating," Michael said. "The more he socializes with us, the better." He nodded in greeting to the beautiful Elohite. "Al-salaam alaikum, Khalid." "Wa alaikum al-salaam, Mika'il." The Archangel of Faith bowed low. "And God's peace be upon you also, Laurence." "May the Lord bless you and keep you," Laurence replied sincerely. "Have you come to answer Michael's challenge?" "Indeed I have, if it would not be too presumptuous." Khalid bowed low again. "Presumptuous, Faith? I doubt it." Michael smiled slightly. "And what is the nature of your challenge, and the stakes?" "I pondered long how to challenge him who is first among the Host," Khalid replied. "For as God made you and named you War, surely no being can defeat you." "Unless it was God's will for me to lose," Michael observed, anticipating Khalid's line of thinking. "Indeed. Under what circumstances, then, would God wish for you to lose? But to contemplate that is to attempt to apprehend the mind of God and anticipate His desires, and except inasmuch as He has revealed His will in the holy Quran, surely to look elsewhere to divine His intentions would be presumptuous and faithless." Laurence shifted uncomfortably. "But it's our job to carry out God's will, and sometimes that means making decisions without knowing exactly what His will is..." "But with perfect faith that whatever we do will be His will." Khalid smiled at Laurence, and for just a moment, the Commander of the Host wondered if his erstwhile rival, who had only very recently put centuries of animosity behind him, might be teasing him....or worse, mocking him. But that was an unworthy thought, and Laurence dismissed it. "I take your point, Khalid, even if my perspective is.....slightly different. But that leads to the question, how do you intend to challenge Michael?" "With faith, of course." Khalid turned to face the Archangel of War, looking more serious. "Mika'il -- praise be upon you -- it is well known that you count the greatest warriors who have ever lived among your servants, both in Heaven and on Earth. Likewise, it is well known that your finest servants are beloved by you, as are mine by me." Michael nodded, scratching his chin, and indicated that Khalid should continue. "Therefore, my challenge is this: you must choose one servant -- mortal or angel, it matters not -- whom you are absolutely certain can defeat any servant I choose. The conditions are two: first, that the one you choose is beloved by you beyond all measure, as shall be the servant that I choose. Second, that they shall battle to the death on Earth, and that him who dies shall be forever cast out of his master's sight." Even Michael blinked at this. "You mean.... you will Outcast your proxy if he loses to mine?" "If he is an angel, yes," Khalid replied. "If he suffers corporeal death. As you shall do if your Servitor dies. If he is a mortal, you shall banish him forever from your Cathedral, and swear never again to lay eyes on him until Judgment Day." Laurence opened his mouth, intending to ask what they would do if a mortal representative didn't happen to wind up in Heaven after dying.... but then thought better of it. However, he shook his head and said "I can't approve of turning a Servitor in good standing into an Outcast for losing a fight on behalf of his Archangel." "Would you not cast out any Servitor who so completely destroyed the faith you placed in him, much as you might love him?" Khalid asked. Laurence opened his mouth again, then closed it. He looked at Michael, who was still scratching his chin. "And the stakes?" Michael asked. "The holiest man in the world," Khalid whispered. "I give unto you the power to precipitate Armageddon once again, should you choose to do so and it be God's will. For the next seven generations, I will whisper in your ear the name of him who is the most holy." "I accept," replied the Archangel of War. Khalid bowed. "If the loser is an angel, I require that you permit me to take him into my service should he lose," Laurence said. Khalid and Michael both nodded in agreement .......... "Not far from Baal's stomping grounds," Laurence muttered, looking around at the war-ravaged ruins. He and Michael waited in the Iraqi desert. Standing calmly some distance away was a young woman wearing a shawl and headscarf over camouflage fatigues. Her head was bowed in prayer, her lips moving silently as she fingered a necklace of prayer beads. There was an AK-47 slung over her shoulder. "Good of you to choose a Catholic," Laurence said, and then flushed. "Uh...not that your champion is going to lose, I mean...." "Actually, she's Muslim," Michael said, ignoring Laurence's discomfiture. "Bosnian. The prayer beads belonged to her mother. Both of them spent months in Keraterm. Aida survived; her mother didn't." Laurence nodded slowly. "A Soldier of yours? She must have great resilience. But... what makes her so special that you're certain of her victory? Khalid could pit her against a Malakite Master of the Wrath of God." "He could," Michael agreed. "But I have faith in Aida." He smiled fondly as he looked at the woman. "And," he said softly, "if any of my servants deserve an early discharge to Heaven, she does. She's already done her time in hell." Khalid arrived not long thereafter. He and his champion both descended in celestial form, and the shimmering of the Virtue's Forces confirmed Laurence's fears; this was no mean Servitor. No matter what talents Michael's human servant might possess, Laurence didn't see how she could survive a battle to the death with a mighty Malakite of Faith who was fully prepared and loaded for bear. But Michael had faith in her, and Laurence had faith in Michael. Khalid regarded the woman dispassionately. She licked her lips, finally betraying nervousness as the Archangel of Faith and his designated killer materialized in the desert in all their celestial glory. Khalid looked at Michael. "This woman, she is precious to you?" Michael nodded. "I love her no less than any of my Servitors. And your servant?" "Faris, my beloved, was among the first Malakim to join me after I became an Archangel." "Hello Faris," Laurence said quietly, tight-lipped. Faris, expressionless, bowed to the Archangel of the Sword, from whose service he had deserted twelve centuries ago to join Khalid. As Khalid regarded the Bosnian Muslim, no doubt hearing her prayers as if they were spoken aloud to him, Michael smiled tightly and murmured to Laurence, "It seems we're both making statements of sorts. Faris served alongside you and Khalid both under Uriel, didn't he? If you don't want him back, perhaps the Tsayadim will take him." Laurence struggled to maintain his composure, then said simply "Are you ready?" Aida, the human, and Faris, the angel, nodded. "Then you may begin." Aida simply continued praying, but with greater intensity. Faris took two steps towards her, shouted "ALLAH'U AKBAR!", and exploded. The shockwave would have knocked all three Archangels off their feet, except that Khalid and Michael both assumed celestial form a millisecond before the detonation, and Laurence, reacting, did so half a millisecond after them. The explosion sent a plume of sand and smoke half a mile into the air, and the rumble was felt in the nearest town, some fifteen miles away. Khalid, Laurence, and Michael recorporealized in a swirling cloud of dust. "He must have been carrying enough explosives to level a city!" Laurence exclaimed. "What sort of insanity was that? Khalid, your servant's vessel has been blown to bits, so by the terms of your challenge, BOTH of you have lost your servants!" "Not so," Khalid said. "Mika'il -- God's peace be upon you -- you knew, didn't you?" "That you would sacrifice your servant, and that he wouldn't think twice about making such a sacrifice? Of course. You are an Elohite; you couldn't possibly let your love for him prevent you from seeking the surest way to victory." Laurence sputtered, then looked confused, until he noticed a miniature cyclone spinning in the middle of the blast-strewn debris and fallout. A few seconds later it subsided, and Aida, coughing, fell to her knees and echoed the obliterated Malakite's words: "Allah'u akbar! Allah'u akbar!" Her hands and forehead touched the ground, and Khalid regarded her silently. "The Song of Shields," Laurence said. He shook his head, chuckling. "I told her to sing it immediately when things began. I had faith in her ability to time it correctly. Although," Michael grinned, "I did give her a reliquary with enough Essence to make sure it would go off." Laurence eyed the prayer beads still clutched in the woman's hand. Khalid said "Allah'u akbar! You have won the challenge, Mika'il, God's peace be upon you!" He stepped forward and cupped a hand to the Seraph Archangel's ear, and whispered into it. Michael nodded. The Archangel of Faith turned to Laurence. "I did encourage Faris to return to your service, oh Laurence, insha'Allah. But he is surely leaving my Mosque, even as we speak. It is my hope that he will take up service with someone in Heaven, rather than remaining Outcast, but..." Khalid shrugged, and repeated "Insha'Allah." "He has another vessel, I suppose," Laurence remarked dryly, not really asking a question. But Khalid was already gone. ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 23:12:26 +1000 From: "Azrael/Demigouge" Subject: Re: IN> Michael's Challenge: Faith Bravo David, masterful in both concept and technique. Azrael ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 09:10:20 -0400 From: Elizabeth McCoy Subject: Re: IN> Michael's Challenges: Cloak and Axe/ Eye of the Storm At 12:20 AM -0400 10/22/00, Rev. Pee Kitty wrote: >On Sat, 21 Oct 2000, Whistling in the Dark wrote: >> *Are* these things being collected somewhere? These stories and the >> Dominic ones? Well, at the least, they're in the archives. And _I_ save _everything_... >I REALLY think they should be put up on the INC when they're finished, >perhaps under Fan Fiction... Actually, I agree. But when will they be "finished"? Maybe EDG will have a spare moment to make separate pages for them... (Anyone who doesn't want their contributions INC'ed should speak up, of course.) >> And how crass is doing more than one? > >If it's good enough, we'll forgive you. :) Right! >-- >Rev. Pee Kitty, of the order Malkavian-Dobbsian, Q4B4L! > Meow! >Any resemblance between the above views and those of >my employer, my terminal, or the view out my window are purely coincidental. >Any resemblance between the above and my own views is non-deterministic. The >question of the existence of views in the absence of anyone to hold them is >left as an exercise for the reader. The question of the existence of the >reader is left as an exercise for the 2nd god coefficient. A discussion of >non-orthogonal, non-integral polytheism is beyond the scope of this message. - --Beth, typing w/a uncoopertive baby (iolanthe) causing typos. "She's either babbling, or summoning Elder Gods. I'm not sure which." ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2000 09:16:10 -0400 From: Elizabeth McCoy Subject: Re: IN> Michael's Challenges: Cloak and Axe At 9:17 PM -0700 10/21/00, Charles E Smith wrote: >Nice story Beth. :) I like how Dominic seemed to be well...not as cold as >usually described. If I didn't know better, I'd think he actually cared >for Michael's well-being... :P Either that or he's tired of the grudge and having his Servitors traumitized (if not Traumitized) by contact with Michaelites... O:> (Besides, it was more Moe's view on Dominic. He mellows when you attach Bronwen to him, for some reason. Very fascinating to write.) >*goes to dunk his head in cold water and remove the effects of not enough >sleep now...* Nah, now you'll just be _cold_ and tired! O:> To _really_ remove the effects, you need to have a baby yell in your ear to start the day! O8> - --Beth, typing w/a uncoopertive baby (iolanthe) causing typos. "She's either babbling, or summoning Elder Gods. I'm not sure which." ------------------------------ End of in_nomine-digest V1 #1865 ******************************** The material here is (C) 2000 Steve Jackson Games, Incorporated. All rights reserved.