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)
undergrounds2016-02-12 07:41 pm
brightwitch) wrote in undergrounds2016-02-12 07:41 pm
Entry tags:
Guardian Initiation: Feb 2016 (For Simon and Illya)
It's a bright but chilly day in Westminster as the new Guardians make their way to the Night Council headquarters to be initiated. They are directed to a large study where they wait nervously for their turn to stand before the Council. There's a large, empty fireplace, a live crow 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 crow 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, 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. "Welcome. Don't worry, you've already done the hard part. This is just a formality, nothing more. I'm going to ask you to repeat a few words, sign the contract, and then we're done." She glances at her fellow representatives and they each stand up, Sylvia included. "Step forward and place your hand on the contract." She gestures with her palm flat, and waits for you to follow her lead. "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. "There's a space for you to sign your name on the bottom of the first page. Go ahead and sign it."
As you step forward, Gilbert Norrell, the Witch Representative on the end of the row, stands up. He fusses his clothing smooth, then comes over to stand and watch as the document is signed with impatient, beady eyes. Any hesitation is met with thin-lipped disapproval. When you're done, he takes the document and strides back to his seat while the other Council members sit down.
"Thank you," Sylvia says. She smiles. "And congratulations! We look forward to working with you. Before you go, I'm obliged to inform you of one more thing. The contract you signed is magically binding. It will hold you to your word, and there will be consequences if you break it. Any Guardian who fails to abide by the terms of their contract will turn to stone."
She pauses a moment to let that sink in. The statues around you, were they...?
Sylvia clears her throat, but Norrell only offers a faintly patronising smile. She goes on: "We don't expect that to happen, of course, but for reasons of security we must ask that you keep this a secret." Her tone is matter-of-fact, laying down the law. "You are bound by the terms of your contract not to reveal those terms. That means you cannot 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 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.
Norrell speaks. "It is a life long commitment, but one I am sure you will come to find rewarding."
Finally, Sylvia waves a hand, dropping the formal tone. "I want to say again, thank you. We do truly appreciate your commitment to the Night Council, and all the good work that you'll be doing not just for us, but for the whole country. We'll keep your contract here at headquarters and if you want to come back and read it in more detail, you can do so. Your training starts tomorrow. I wish you the very best of luck."
Best of luck, newbie. You've been officially initiated.
The crow 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, 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. "Welcome. Don't worry, you've already done the hard part. This is just a formality, nothing more. I'm going to ask you to repeat a few words, sign the contract, and then we're done." She glances at her fellow representatives and they each stand up, Sylvia included. "Step forward and place your hand on the contract." She gestures with her palm flat, and waits for you to follow her lead. "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. "There's a space for you to sign your name on the bottom of the first page. Go ahead and sign it."
As you step forward, Gilbert Norrell, the Witch Representative on the end of the row, stands up. He fusses his clothing smooth, then comes over to stand and watch as the document is signed with impatient, beady eyes. Any hesitation is met with thin-lipped disapproval. When you're done, he takes the document and strides back to his seat while the other Council members sit down.
"Thank you," Sylvia says. She smiles. "And congratulations! We look forward to working with you. Before you go, I'm obliged to inform you of one more thing. The contract you signed is magically binding. It will hold you to your word, and there will be consequences if you break it. Any Guardian who fails to abide by the terms of their contract will turn to stone."
She pauses a moment to let that sink in. The statues around you, were they...?
Sylvia clears her throat, but Norrell only offers a faintly patronising smile. She goes on: "We don't expect that to happen, of course, but for reasons of security we must ask that you keep this a secret." Her tone is matter-of-fact, laying down the law. "You are bound by the terms of your contract not to reveal those terms. That means you cannot 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 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.
Norrell speaks. "It is a life long commitment, but one I am sure you will come to find rewarding."
Finally, Sylvia waves a hand, dropping the formal tone. "I want to say again, thank you. We do truly appreciate your commitment to the Night Council, and all the good work that you'll be doing not just for us, but for the whole country. We'll keep your contract here at headquarters and if you want to come back and read it in more detail, you can do so. Your training starts tomorrow. I wish you the very best of luck."
Best of luck, newbie. You've been officially initiated.
no subject
He holds out a hand for the Russian werewolf.
"Simon O'Neill. I suppose we ought to be properly introduced if we're going to be working together from now on."
no subject
"Do you have any experience with security?"
Best to know just what the criteria for becoming a Guardian was. He doubted that the young man would answer in the affirmative.
no subject
"I'm a Uni student, actually. Biology. I know fuck-all about anything else."
Something tells him that Illya doesn't have that problem. The way he asked the question, it's pretty clear that this isn't the Russian's first security experience.
no subject
"We will have to change that. Surveillance at least."
no subject
"At least," he echoes with a self-deprecating laugh.
"And if you ever need some cell cultures prepared, I'm your man."
no subject
Because, well, even if it wasn't something London allowed, but it was still something to know. He kept his firearms, after all.
no subject
"No."
He's never even held a gun.
no subject
Because that's not an 'if.'
no subject
This doesn't feel optional. Simon does some quick mental calculations.
"This weekend?"
no subject
It was just as well the boy learn to shoot, at the very least.