Sylvia Redbright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brightwitch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-08-08 10:01 pm
brightwitch) wrote in undergrounds2015-08-08 10:01 pm
Entry tags:
The Initiation (Closed to Lancelot and Faolan)
The day has come for the new Guardians to be initiated by the Night Council. Step inside their headquarters in Westminster, take a seat in the study, and wait. There's a large, empty fireplace, a live owl perched in an iron cage by the mantelpiece, a bookcase of old and dusty tomes (mostly supernatural history and biographies) and several overstuffed leather armchairs. The bay window affords a view over Whitehall.
The owl watches with beady eyes. You get the sense it's watching you.
The initiates are called one by one. A woman wearing glasses pops her head into the study every few minutes to collect the next one. She'll take you to a large dimly lit chamber, usher you in, then leave, closing the door behind you.
At first glance, you'd be forgiven for thinking that you're surrounded by people. The chamber is circular and around the walls there are standing figures, men and women, life-size. They're statues in various poses, some with their hands in front of their faces as if trying to protect themselves. The expressions carved into their faces are mostly grimaces and many of them are wide-eyed, perhaps shocked or fearful.
But the statues are just decoration. There are real people here: the Council members, all sitting in front of you. They're arranged in a rough semi circle around a table, with the President Sylvia Redbright in the centre. Her seat is raised above the others, almost a throne. She's directly ahead of you.
Also directly ahead of you, between you and the Council members, is a small square table upon which sits a thick sheaf of paper and a golden pen. Both have a magical aura. The paper is high quality, printed on in black ink and bears the seal of the Night Council. It runs to twelve pages.
Sylvia nods at you, smiling. "Come forward. Don't worry, it's a quick process, nothing complicated. All you have to do is repeat a few words, then sign the contract. Okay?" She glances at her fellow representatives and they each stand up, Sylvia included. "Stand by the table and place your hand on the contract." She gestures with her palm flat, and waits for you to follow her lead. "Then repeat after me. 'I stand here before the Night Council to swear an oath. I am a Guardian of the Night Council. From this moment on, I pledge my allegiance to the Night Council, in life and in death eternal. I swear to devote myself to the Night Council, to the protection of its members, and to my duties as a Guardian. I swear this by everything I hold sacred and dear in the world.'"
She pauses, then indicates the contract on the table. "On the bottom of the first page, you'll see a space for your signature. Go ahead and sign it."
As you step forward, Peter Vrinak, the Witch Representative on the end of the row, stands up. He comes over to stand next to you, waiting for you to sign the document. The moment you have, he takes the document and strides back to his seat while the other Council members sit down.
"Thank you," Sylvia says. She smiles. "And welcome! We look forward to working with you. Just one more thing before you go. We take security very seriously. We also take our oaths very seriously. That's why the contract you signed is magically binding. It will hold you to your word. If ever you break your oath, you will turn to stone."
She pauses a moment to let that sink in. The statues around you, were they...?
Sylvia clears her throat. "Of course, this is a measure of last resort – a precaution only. But you are forbidden to reveal it." Her tone is matter-of-fact, laying down the law. "That means you will be unable to discuss the oath at all, or make any attempt to reveal it to anyone else, whether in speech, writing or any other form of communication. Every Guardian makes the same oath and none of you can speak of it."
The eyes of the Council members are all staring down at you, every one of them serious, stern. Your secret will not leave this room, any more than the stone statues can wake up and walk themselves out of here.
Sylvia waves a hand, dropping the formal tone. "And that's all. Thank you. Really, I do mean thank you. Being a Guardian is a lot to take on. We have your contract for safekeeping and if you want to come back and read it over in more detail, it's always available. Your training starts tomorrow. Best of luck."
Best of luck, newbie. You've been officially initiated.
The owl watches with beady eyes. You get the sense it's watching you.
The initiates are called one by one. A woman wearing glasses pops her head into the study every few minutes to collect the next one. She'll take you to a large dimly lit chamber, usher you in, then leave, closing the door behind you.
At first glance, you'd be forgiven for thinking that you're surrounded by people. The chamber is circular and around the walls there are standing figures, men and women, life-size. They're statues in various poses, some with their hands in front of their faces as if trying to protect themselves. The expressions carved into their faces are mostly grimaces and many of them are wide-eyed, perhaps shocked or fearful.
But the statues are just decoration. There are real people here: the Council members, all sitting in front of you. They're arranged in a rough semi circle around a table, with the President Sylvia Redbright in the centre. Her seat is raised above the others, almost a throne. She's directly ahead of you.
Also directly ahead of you, between you and the Council members, is a small square table upon which sits a thick sheaf of paper and a golden pen. Both have a magical aura. The paper is high quality, printed on in black ink and bears the seal of the Night Council. It runs to twelve pages.
Sylvia nods at you, smiling. "Come forward. Don't worry, it's a quick process, nothing complicated. All you have to do is repeat a few words, then sign the contract. Okay?" She glances at her fellow representatives and they each stand up, Sylvia included. "Stand by the table and place your hand on the contract." She gestures with her palm flat, and waits for you to follow her lead. "Then repeat after me. 'I stand here before the Night Council to swear an oath. I am a Guardian of the Night Council. From this moment on, I pledge my allegiance to the Night Council, in life and in death eternal. I swear to devote myself to the Night Council, to the protection of its members, and to my duties as a Guardian. I swear this by everything I hold sacred and dear in the world.'"
She pauses, then indicates the contract on the table. "On the bottom of the first page, you'll see a space for your signature. Go ahead and sign it."
As you step forward, Peter Vrinak, the Witch Representative on the end of the row, stands up. He comes over to stand next to you, waiting for you to sign the document. The moment you have, he takes the document and strides back to his seat while the other Council members sit down.
"Thank you," Sylvia says. She smiles. "And welcome! We look forward to working with you. Just one more thing before you go. We take security very seriously. We also take our oaths very seriously. That's why the contract you signed is magically binding. It will hold you to your word. If ever you break your oath, you will turn to stone."
She pauses a moment to let that sink in. The statues around you, were they...?
Sylvia clears her throat. "Of course, this is a measure of last resort – a precaution only. But you are forbidden to reveal it." Her tone is matter-of-fact, laying down the law. "That means you will be unable to discuss the oath at all, or make any attempt to reveal it to anyone else, whether in speech, writing or any other form of communication. Every Guardian makes the same oath and none of you can speak of it."
The eyes of the Council members are all staring down at you, every one of them serious, stern. Your secret will not leave this room, any more than the stone statues can wake up and walk themselves out of here.
Sylvia waves a hand, dropping the formal tone. "And that's all. Thank you. Really, I do mean thank you. Being a Guardian is a lot to take on. We have your contract for safekeeping and if you want to come back and read it over in more detail, it's always available. Your training starts tomorrow. Best of luck."
Best of luck, newbie. You've been officially initiated.
no subject
Lancelot's lips are still quirked up into a smile, amused at Faolan's reaction. At the flush across his features. He isn't sure he's ever seen the man this way before, and it's... well, a nice change. A different side of him. Someone other than more serious, grumbly hunter.
"You never told me what you expected," he says suddenly, setting down his menu as he considers Faolan. "As a Guardian. You asked me if I thought I would regret it, if it would be what I hope for. You never told me what you hope for. What you would like the job to be."
Which, Lancelot thinks, will be interesting to hear. Faolan could simply brush him off with an easy answer, of course, yet still.
no subject
Suddenly the frown has returned, although perhaps not for the same reasons it might have been there before. "You would not like my answer to that," he says, at last, before turning his eyes down to the menu again. This is a man who believes in fate. Believes in a greater good. What would he think of, when faced with Faolan's own brand of... What would one classify it as, even? Pragmatism? Pessimism? There is a certain loss of innocence, loss of hope to the way that he approaches a lot of his life. And it is not exactly the most uplifting dinnertime conversation.
no subject
His smile stays in place, although it softens a little -- hands coming to link together and rest on the table over his menu.
"Tell me?" he prompts, eyes flitting over Faolan even as he avoids meeting his own. "I'm curious. I swear I will not judge you for it."
no subject
"I didn't really have a choice, did I? If I didn't volunteer myself, god only knows who you might have been sitting in that room with. Hillingdon wanted to put forth a man, and I was not everyone's first choice. I don't really expect anything from it. I just knew what someone else might make of it, and I had sought to keep it from becoming that." He shrugs slightly.
"I suppose that I do not regret it, however. For all the..." He gestures slightly, indicating the oath that they have been sworn not to talk about. "The statues and everything." He flicks the quirk of a smile at the other man. "I am grateful that I have your company in it. Otherwise I might truly be questioning my decisions." His half-smile quirks wider, as he glances away. "I promise it's not just the fact that you've taken me out for dinner that's got me saying as much either."
no subject
Lancelot doesn't the answer, in truth, since it does tell him something. It tells him that Faolan did consider the wider ramifications, that he sought to stop something bad happening. That he has a good heart, in that sense. Has done something he did not particularly want to for the greater good.
He likes the answer, in that sense, even if Faolan thought he might not.
"Although it is good to know that I can always bribe you with food if I need to."
no subject
He flicks his eyes up at Lancelot, and though he isn't smiling per se, there's definitely something of a mischievous twinkle in the dark brown depths of them. "I work under contract. Business is slow. It isn't exactly hard to charm me with food like this. But you're certainly managing, so a point in your favor on the choice of well, all of this, if you're counting."