Re: Send heroes, swords and silver

From: Jeff <jeff.kyer_at_TfMxRn3QQdTi8gIEwDSh0SMKsSrIiT4HiC_meaAczd8ZHwUHBGISUeOLhVMUI_y2V8>
Date: Wed, 08 Oct 2003 15:33:01 -0000

There's some very, very good In Nomine fiction I found and posted to RPG.net (http://forum.rpg.net/showthread.php?s=&threadid=73033)

(Note -- language follows, some of it Furfur's.)

There was trouble at the gate. Asmodeus hated trouble at the gate. That Kobal was there at the same time didn't make him any happier.

The Djinn Prince stepped out. "What seems to be the issue," he asked. He pointedly did not look at the Angels of Final Judgment as he passed outside. He had never looked directly at them before, and saw no reason to start now.

Furfur and Kobal both stood in front of a damned soul. Said damned soul looked a hair disheveled, with brown hair and beard in disarray, looking almost hung over where he stood. Said soul also looked amused, which did not endear him to Asmodeus.

"What, precisely, is going on here," the Prince of the Game asked.

"I'm here for my soul," Furfur said. "He got here, I'm takin' him in.
He's my first big fish and I'm not fucking giving him up."

"You're so cute when you bark," Kobal said with a slight smirk. "He's
mine. He's always been mine. He'll always be mine."

"Screw you," Furfur snapped. "He was an upturned finger in the eye of
music for thirty fucking years! He walked out whenever he damn well felt like it! He didn't play the game and they still loved him. He's *hardcore!* Hell, look at his music. 'Sacrificial Lamb.' 'I'll Sleep When I'm Dead.' 'Excitable Boy' -- do you have any fucking idea how *Hardcore* Excitable Boy is?"

"You're taking it literally," Kobal said. "I'm sorry to be the one to
tell you, but he *lived* Dark Humor. The joke was always on them. Always. And in the end you die. Ask him. He did, after all. For every so-called hardcore piece there was a 'Splendid Isolation' or 'Gorilla, You're a Desperado.' He wrote about headless gun toting soldiers of fortune. He gave werewolves permanent waves. And he made them grin at faith." Kobal leaned forward. "Do you know how powerful that is? Do you know what that meant to Dark Humor?"

"Irrelevant," Asmodeus snapped. "We needn't bicker in front of the
gates. Bring him to Hades for processing. We will have a proper hearing for the disposition of this soul in good time." He turned, walking in the gates, knowing the lackeys of the other two Princes would drag the soul along with him. He didn't describe the processing the soul would undergo, but he was sure he wouldn't be so bemused afterward.

Asmodeus stopped walking when he realized no one had followed him into Hell. Turning, he stepped back out the Gates.

Daniel and Hutriel, the Malakite and Cherub Angels of Final Justice, had stepped in the way. Furfur was frothing, about to smash at the pair. Kobal's eyes had narrowed though his smile hadn't slipped.

The soul kept smirking.

"*Furfur,*" Asmodeus snapped. He knew full well that an attack
against the only Heavenly representatives in Hell would lead to an escalation of the War that Hell had deliberately avoided. The Calabite fool was not about to break that now. That wasn't how this Game was played. "Calm down."

He did not turn to face the Angels of Final Justice, but addressed them nonetheless. "You claim some right to this man?"

"He has met his Destiny," one of them said. "He has not met his Fate.
He is not for you." Asmodeus didn't know which had spoken. Perhaps they took turns. It didn't matter.

"If he has not met his Fate, then what is he doing here," Asmodeus
asked.

"This is a fucking *crock,*" Furfur thundered. "You're telling me the
man who wrote 'Mister Bad Example' met his *Destiny?*"

"That is exactly what we are telling you," one of the Angels replied.

"We shall of course need confirmation of this," Asmodeus said, still
not turning.

"They have it," a voice said, whispering. Asmodeus did turn towards
that speaker.

Twice a week, the Archangel of Judgment visited his Angels of Final Justice. It was an annoyance, but it was part of the game. Perhaps this was that visit. Perhaps Dominic had been waiting for this soul's arrival. It didn't matter.

"You say this soul is Blessed, and not Damned," Asmodeus asked,
ignoring Furfur's sputtering.

"I do," Dominic said, "He will come with me." The cloaked figure
turned, peering at Kobal. "This one knows it, too."

"*What?*" Furfur growled, whirling on Kobal.

The Prince of Dark Humor half-shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying. He really does belong in Shal Mari. He'll be... *wasted* among you."

"I can indeed blame you for trying," Dominic said. "But that is for
another day." He turned back to Asmodeus. "I trust you will release him?"

"You would go to war over this one man? This one soul? This one
disreputable soul of clear bad habit, bad intent and bad example?"

"We would," Dominic said quietly. "He is Blessed, no matter how he
got there. Do we go to war, today?"

Asmodeus waited a long moment. He didn't really care about the soul, of course. And he wasn't more than annoyed at Kobal -- who probably set all this up, anyhow. But he had to pause and consider before answering. It was how this move played. "No. The soul is yours. Though I wish to speak with him before you leave."

"Granted," Dominic answered.

Asmodeus turned to the soul. "How did you come to be here, before the Gates of Hell?"

The soul shrugged. "Guess I got lost." He looked around. "Nice place you got here."

"Your opinion means nothing to us."

"Maybe not, but then you didn't pay me anything to get it, so we're
even." He looked at Furfur, and then Kobal. "One of you guys got a cigarette?"

Kobal got that damnable smirk on his face, handing a cigarette to the soul. "Isn't there an irony here? A man dead of lung cancer bumming a cigarette at the Gates of Hell on his way to Heaven?"

The soul took a drag. "What, it's gonna hurt me now?" He looked around, and walked over to Dominic. "Sorry, guys. My ride's here."

Dominic regarded the soul for a long moment. "You are the man who wrote 'The Indifference of Heaven?'"

"That's me."

"You were wrong."

The soul shrugged. "It's been known to happen."

Asmodeus watched Dominic gather the soul into his cloak, and then they were gone. He turned to look at Furfur. "I will be having words with Baal over this incident, Hardcore. We do not interfere with the Angels of Final Justice. That is the compact."

"Yeah? Fuck you." Furfur stomped off, snarling.

"He's so cute when he's pouty."

"Measure yourself carefully, Kobal. What did you hope to accomplish
by this?"

Kobal half smiled, striking a cigarette of his own. "I got to see Heaven take Warren Zevon in, knowing full well the kind of music and truth he's going to spread up there. You have to admit, that's funny."

Asmodeus considered, and let the point stand. Very occasionally, Kobal was right.

***

It's the same old story
Same old tune
They all say
Someday soon
My sins will all be forgiven
A gentle rain
Falls on me
And all life folds back
Into the sea.
We contemplate
Eternity
Beneath the vast indifference of Heaven. The past seems realer than the present to me now I've got memories to last me

-- 
Eric A. Burns 
Freelance Writer and Textual Whore



           

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