Log:We, Bloodlit

2016/01/17 Malcolm Nohrbor Althea 1

Less than a week ago, there was a report of Unidentified Flying Object that almost crashed into the heart of City Center before two local heroes, Lightray and Onyx, destroyed it in flight and knocked the debris out to the bay. In the process of destroying the alien escape pod, two unregistered aliens were reported to have been disgorged from the wreckage, and are considered missing, possibly at large.

It is (very) Special Agent Malcolm Gibb's unfortunate duty to track down these aliens, assess the threat, and if necessarily, bring them in or assist in integrating them into Earth Culture before they bring whatever alien justice they deem fit. And we all know how well that went last time with Guardsman Hoki, who judged, juried, and sentenced every minor offender to permanent banishment to another dimension, including one Gabrielle Grimm for bumping into her, aka assaulting a Guardsman! (*See Issue #6 of Steel and Shadows).

Since being put on that assignment, Special Agent Gibbs has been investigating any supposed sightings, only to arrive after the pair had already departed. Wherever they go, witnesses say they claimed to be gods. And one thing most crime scenes had in common was at least some degree of collateral damage. There's been the Highway robbery incident, in which they confronted Oranguatan Olaf and his mind controlled minions, and the Brain Trust heist, where they left two members of the Brain Trust tied up for the local authorities and SCRAMBLE to pick up.

And now, a tip was called into Starguard saying the pair were spotted entering Steel's Gym. Within, the pair are locked in deadly combat to test their skills against each other.

Althea's arm flexes instinctively as Nohrbor's arm lashes out for the side of her head. Moving at his full speed he's rebuffed by Althea's formidible shield prowess.

Nohrbor is sent flying back- landing in a three-point stance before instinctually floating off the surface of the training room.

Unrestricted by the inherent danger of battle (you know- true death), the room echoes the thunderous rumble of their unrestrained battle.

"At least these Earthians have a room to contain our fury, Sister- I fear we might bring the skies down around their fragile mortal ears." Nohrbor says with a snicker as he begins to smoothly strafe around her and her deadly sword.

Althea doesn't have Shield Maiden as one of her many titles without cause. "Their structures are built not to last the ages, nor contain Gods or their own Guardians. I have yet to see many great monuments beyond their Hall of Heroes."

She draws up her shield and flexes her hand on the grip, preparing to use her shield as a weapon as well as to block. A smile forms on her lips as she spins her sword once. "Let us see how you have improved after being freed from Dalux' control collar."

With a burst of speed, Althea charges through the air, free from gravity's constraints. She leads with her shield, but at the last moment, the shield slides aside to reveal the prepared sword thrust aimed at Nohrbor's core.

Malcolm Gibbs, Agent of Starguard, is not amused with you Bloodlit and your shenanigans. He was, by random happenstance, in the general vicinity of Bridgend when dispatch alerted him to the anonymous tip about alien presences in Steel's Gym. Rolling up to the gym on a Starguard-issue hovercycle, Malcolm looks around the streets and considers his surroundings.

Collateral damage is on his mind - a thing that he hasn't had to worry overmuch about in a very long time - as he surveys the scene. Deciding that the gym can withstand whatever he and the Terror Twins can dish out, Malcolm removes his helmet and pulls his key from the ignition before he heads into the gym. Within minutes, Malcolm is standing just inside of the workout room and watching both Nohrbor and Althea spar with apparently little in the way of safety concerns.

As Althea plunges from the air toward Nohrbor with sword thrusting for his torso, Malcolm offers an appreciative and wholly inappropriate whistle. Behind Malcolm, the door to the workout room pneumatically hisses shut. Cocking his head to one side, Malcolm folds his arms across his chest as he eyeballs Althea and Nohrbor with a speculative expression.

"So. You two are supposed to be gods, huh?"

"I wonder why the mortals build at all-" Nohrbor begins saying before Malcolm walks in and distracts him.

As a result his timing is just slightly off, Althea will hear a surprised cooing sound from the Birdman of Beta Orionis.

Her blade slips right past his ribs- her blade nicking him ever so slightly as it dips into the folds of his cloak.

Nohrbor's eyes cut to Malcolm as he flies backwards away from Althea's blade.

"We have presumed no titles that were not already ours by birth, Earth-man. We are the Godflora- have you come to test our mettle?" Nohrbor asks, unaware that this is a mortal unlike any other- a metal man with mettle to spare.

Althea makes a clicking, scolding sound with her tongue as her Brother lets himself be distracted enough to be cut during a spar. "Remember your focus, Brother," she reprimands lightly once she's flown past him in her charge. She halts the spar and pulls up, slowly until she hovers in the air.

She rotates slowly in the air, her hair and cloak fluttering lightly. The edge of her sword gleams a rusty red along the part of the edge that knicked Nohrbor. As the light hits it, the blood looks chalky and metallic.

"Another challenger?" Althea asks as she looks down at Malcolm, studying him the way one would size up an opponent.

"I've met a couple of actual gods," comments Malcolm. He does his best to sound unimpressed as he simply stares Nohrbor and Althea down, a faint smirk playing across his lips at the question directed at him. Does having metal powers make the homophonic coincidence more ironic? You betcha!

Rolling his shoulders to start limbering up, Malcolm just continues to faintly smirk at the Bloodlit across the room from him. He slowly uncrosses his arms from over his chest, flexing his muscles slowly as he prepares himself. Tipping his head to one side, Malcolm eyeballs The Birdman and The Shield Maiden with a sort of cautious consideration. A moment or two later, Malcolm shrugs and comments, "Neither of you looks especially divine. Not that that really changes the facts of the matter."

The sound of Althea's voice draws Malcolm's attention toward her. He offers a broad, entertained smile at the question and Malcolm merrily remarks, "They do have a tendency to just appear around here."

"Then blessed you've been, Mortal!" Nohrbor says as he regards Malcolm.

"Now blessed twice more it would seem." He adds as he alters his path to circle Malcolm the other way- a pincer maneuver it would seem. "So thrice-blessed Mortal, you've come to challenge the Chosen? I wish you well, as being divine is not a fashion statement- it is birthright." His voice is sure and strong.

His cloak billows around him obscuring his body- but his eyes glow with a ghostly light.

Althea continues to float in place as Nohrbor circles around to flank Malcolm. "It is said only Earthian Guardians come to this place to train," Althea observes, smiling with an eager expression. "Are you another Guardian of this planet, ready and wanting to be tested by the Godflora?" Both of these aliens speak in a cultured British accent. Nobody ever explains why only british actors are cast for Bloodlit roles.

"The two actual gods I've met before? They weren't nearly as full of themselves as you two. Not to mention they didn't go around exacting their own brand of "divine" justice on the populace; they at least tried to figure out what the local justice situation is like and tried to emulate what the locals were doing."

Malcolm squares himself up as Althea and Nohrbor continue circling him. He smiles dimly, shaking his head a little bit as he brings his fists up in a comfortable defensive posture. Lolling his head back and around for a few moments, Malcolm helpfully comments, "From the looks of things, you two aren't going to let me do anything less than put you and your "divine" abilities to the test."

Shifting his weight, Malcolm sinks into a stylized stance. He keeps his legs spread, but his body squared up on an imaginary axis between Nohrbor and Althea, his heels and toes placed securely as his hands come up, unballing from fists as his steely gaze shifts from one Bloodlit to the other. Within moments, Malcolm has assumed the graceful, but solid posture of his Tantalum Crane Stance, preparing him to block.

"We have followed the laws of your world to the letter, Guardian." Nohrbor says impassively. "And the Bloodlit of Beta Orionis are not mere pretenders to some holy throne- so hold your tongue. You know not. We have come to your world for Glory and Battle, but-" He pauses as he watches Malcolm shift into a defensive position, "there is no honor is facing an unwilling participant- if you do not long to bask in Hod's light we shall not drag you into it kicking and clawing."

His cloak continues its aimless flapping as he circles. He seems almost content to speak, possibly dividing up Malcolm's attention so that Althea might strike. Or maybe what he says is earnest- and they are not looking for trouble. Their competitive nature makes either possibly equally viable.

Any possibility exists for a few precious moments before Althea sheathes her blade into the scabbard at her hip, but she is visibly disappointed at the missed opportunity. "My Brother speaks true," she intones, but the spartan looking goddess looks nothing like the one she calls brother.

"'Tis a shame. You seemed trained in the arts of battle, Mortal. I would have liked to see you at your best," Althea laments as she drifts around Malcolm, slowly descending until her feet lightly grace the floor once she's standing before Special Agent Gibbs. "I am Althea Ignathio Constantine, Battle Maiden Adept and Bloodlit Chosen of the Ashildr," she makes a formal introduction. "And what are you called, Thrice-Blessed mortal?"

Nohrbor bows following his Bloodbound Sister's lead, and with this bow his mannerisms change fluidly from battle-hardened Gladiator Godling to passive and peaceful Delegate.

His eyes dim as he to touches down on the ground & his arms emerge from his cloak and push it back so that is sits over his shoulders like a proper cape. He does this to show he has nothing hidden from the mortal Guardian.

"I am Nohrbor Nanuran Surryx, Delegate & Bloodlit Chosen of the Doj'on." He bows slightly, his hands together wih his two middle fingers crossed over each other in a symbol that Althea would recognize as the Doj'on symbol of Peace & Compassion.

"Special Agent Malcolm Gibbs," replies Malcolm as he slowly exits his Tantalum Crane Stance. His steel grey eyes swivel from one Bloodlit to the other, surveying them intensely as he considers their shift in attitude and demeanor. One eyebrow quirks upward as he considers them both.

"Letter of the law? Maybe. Spirit of the law? Only a little bit. There's kind of a difference and I would think anyone calling themselves "gods" would be more interested in discerning and understanding the differences than in laying the smack down on whoever seems to be threatening the populace."

The tall man flexes absently, grey eyes scanning over toward Althea for the moment. He looks her up and down once or twice before he notes, "Do you really have to call me a blessed mortal? I'm just a guy trying to make the world a better place than I found it. Doing the right thing doesn't make me a "guardian" or a "blessed" anything."

It probably doesn't help that Malcolm's mark of Fate is really more of a curse than a blessing.

"The spirit? Well, that will come with time. We've only been on Dirt--I mean, Earth, a few days," Althea replies jovially. A few days, and they've already caused this much havoc? "And we are very interested in learning more about you Earthians," she flashes a smile. She struggles with the laying of smack reference and decides to just leave it where it lies.

"My sister's words are not hollow, I'm Just A Guy. That is a strange name, but I like it very much. It is simple, yet direct. I am surprised there are not many named such, like I am told John Smith or Muhammad is." Nohrbor says totally missing that Special Agent Malcolm Gibbs is a name and title.

"We have been spending much of our time learning your ways and the 'spirit' of your customs. But I must admit, many are vexxing. We have traveled to many star systems in our home galaxy and found none as similar in speech or design as our home systems as your world, yet this 'spirit' of your customs is as ellusive as a Camoranian Beetle-Blarg" Nohrbor explains.

"... I..."

Malcolm's expression goes weird places. He's not quite sure how Nohrbor can be so far wrong about his name. Opening and closing his mouth several times, Malcolm eventually finds his voice again. The tall man points at Nohrbor and intones, "Nohrbor."

Promptly Malcolm points at himself, "Malcolm."

He then points at Althea and states, flatly, "Althea."

Again, Malcolm points at himself and states, "Malcolm."

Look, a guy's got to have priorities when making first contact. Malcolm's priority is names.

Althea stares at Malcolm with a mystified expression at first, then a pitying one. She looks over to Nohrbor and murmurs aside to him, "I believe Malcolm I'm Just a Guy is a simple being. Perhaps we should speak plainer with him."

Looking back to Malcolm, she speaks very slowly for his benefit. "We, Bloodlit. We help mortals."

Malcolm facepalms.

The sound reverberates THROUGH TIME ITSELF. It may, in fact, be what everyone calls "the shot heard round the world" because it's so horribly powerful as it ripples through the 1700's.

Nohrbor's eyes go wide in embarassment. "Oh. Oh! Excuse me, Sir. I am usually quite good at deciphering names but the titles of this world too, are quite vexing." He says before Althea's suggestion.

"Oh- right. This was always much easier with my full proficiency." He says to her before turning back to Malcolm.

"We seek Glory & to protect. You teach us ways and show us great hunts, yes?" He asks gently before mimicking Malcolm's facepalm, mistaking it for some strange welcome or some other significant symbolism. His smack is much softer than Malcolm's 4th Dimensional eruption.

Malcolm grinds his face into the palm of his hand. It slowly becomes a horribly violent motion that would probably wound a less invulnerable man. He takes several moments to drag his face bodily from his hand and fix a sober expression on both of the Bloodlit before him.

"My name is Malcolm Gibbs. My job title is Special Agent. We, here on Earth, express that as Special Agent Malcolm Gibbs. At no point in time has my name ever been - nor will it ever be - I'm Just A Guy."

Heaving a long suffering sigh, Malcolm narrows his eyes and flares his nostrils a little bit as he regards Nohrbor and Althea. Working his lower jaw from side to side in moderate agitation, Malcolm slowly softens his expression a bit. It takes more than counting to 10 to calm down sometimes; it's probably also fortunate that Starguard holds seminars and training courses for situations like this.

"You two would probably find it a lot easier to integrate into society /IF/ you would take some time off from beating people bloody from one side of town to the other and stopped in at Starguard or an United Earth Marshal Service office for one of our free courses on Earth history, society, and culture."

"Your planet's Guardian Lightray has been so kind to show us hospitality as the Ashildr do. He has taken us into his home, shared his food, and has been explaining some of Earth's customs," Althea explains with tones of gratitude and respect for Lightray. "It has been too many cycles since we had experienced such generosity." She looks over to Nohrbor and raises a brow curiously. "Perhaps we should run through some of these courses? I'm sure they'll provide some challenge."

Nohrbor nods as Althea speaks of Lightray's generosity. "Quite." He says when she speaks of how long it was since they were shown kindness freely & without alterior motive.

He turns to his sister as his index finger taps his chin as he considers this. Unlike most Doj'on, Nohrbor was always a bit wild & fidgety during the lessons of his youth on Doj'on Prime. It wasn't until selected to be the Doj'on Chosen & enrolled into the Guide Light Academy that he really took his studies seriously. Espeically on that fateful day when he was introduced to Pedagogue Mendolin & the glory to be had in honorable combat.

"Perhaps you are correct, though our Teacher has not been found lacking, it may be that we may be too ignorant of this world for his lessons to be exchanged for their full value." He nods.

"Special Agent Malcolm Gibbs- We would very much like to be enrolled in your Academy for Off-Worlders! Then mayhaps- we might find a beast worthy of hunting." He smiles broadly, his teeth- though very human looking are not upon closer inspection. Up front there is almost no difference but towards the back they fuse & become inpossibly jagged and sharp. A hint of the Doj'ons' predatory past.

"Seriously. What's with you two and fighting and hunting?"

Malcolm may be missing the point a little bit. Or he may be enrolling them via PDA as he carries on conversation with them. For some reason the panels of the comic are drawn so that no one can see what Malcolm's doing with his hands at the moment. It vaguely looks like he's fidgeting with something just out of sight below the panel line.

Althea tilts her head curiously as she inspects Malcolm. She opens her mouth to answer, but she can already sense Nohrbor chomping at the bit to elaborate the glory of the fight and the hunt. As a good Sister, it would be cruel of her to deny him his love of wordsmithing. So she starts with the basics.

"We are the Chosen of the Bloodlit, trained to protect the species of the Tau Spring Galaxy and beyond. Through our great deeds, we earn the favor of our Ancestors and pave our way to true Immortality."

Nohrbor seems especially confused by Malcolm's distaste for fighting and hunting.

His mouth hangs a bit askew until Althea tells them of their natures.

"Yes- Like the races of the Godflora, there are many paths to Glory- but few as powerful & commanding as the protecting of the innocent & downtrodden. Battle breeds strength & strength makes for a worthy ally against the darkness that mortal hearts hide." Mohrbor says, his voice taking an imperious tone.

"Battle is a gift to be shared! And yet, there are few acts that shine like Hod's Glory... but hunting is among them. Your wits and wiles against the full fury of all of fruits dropped from the limbs of Ein Sof." His eyes almost get misty with the rigtheousness and beauty of their beliefs.

"Truly, Mortal- you do not knmow yourself until you have faced down a stone-toothed vapilerax!" He laughs boldly at memories of he and Althea's hunts.

Malcolm listens to the rantings of mad people. He sighs slightly and shakes his head, one hand coming up to rub the back of his noggin as he tries to decide on what to say to them. Eventually, Malcolm just shrugs at both of them. Sometimes there's just nothing to say to the crazy stuff that comes out of people's mouths.

"I've enrolled you two in the Starguard course. You said something about other galaxies, right? I imagine the alien-oriented courses will work better for you."

There is a long pause as Malcolm regards them. Shaking his head again, Malcolm shoves his PDA back into a pocket.

"Why hunt for trouble? It's just going to find me anyhow."

"Ohhh?" Althea asks, suddenly intrigued. She's much more interested in trouble finding Malcolm than the Starguard enrollment. She folds her arms over her chest and smiles at Malcolm. "Intiguing. Like the tales of Netzah the Fortunate, you come across your foes by chance in droves? I should very much like to see such first hand."

Nohrbor coos in surprise. "See? I would very much like such fortunes myself. You are indeed thrice-blessed!" He says, his eyes full of wonder and delight as he examines Malcolm, trying to figure out why the Gods have favored him so. He too seems more interested in Malcolm's 'woes' than classes- but then again, one man's trash is another man's glory or something like that.

"I don't know about droves," begins Malcolm. Immediately he has flashbacks to zombie hordes, "ghost pirates", and a bevy of random literary characters trying to kill him in the streets of Chinatown. Deflating slightly at his treacherous memory, Malcolm comments, "It's not always droves," in a quiet, pouty sort of voice.

"Oh," Althea repeats herself, with a great degree of disappointment in Malcolm. Perhaps the mortal is not as interesting as she had hoped. "I was longing for a good battle to hone my skills at full power. They've been left to waste for too long."

Nohrbor too wonders why someone who first looked ready to face two Bloodlit Chosen would be filled with so much lamentation when he is obviously blessed by the Ancestors.

His people are not like Ashildr, or the other races of the Bloodlit - those races who custom demands not be spoken of without a member present, or at least introduced to the world they currently reside on.

No- the Doj'on are generally soft-spoken and gentle. Their power lies in their minds and their Commonality.

Nohrbor has known many without the thirst for battle, and yet- they too were Godlora like anyone else. It is then that he probably senses Althea's disappointment in Special Agent Malcolm Gibbs.

"To each their own path, dear sister." He reminds her as he gently places his hand on her shoulder. "Not every soul was meant to bask in Hod's light. I am sure Special Agent Malcolm Gibbs is quite adroit in other ways." He bows gently towards Malcolm to indicate he means no disrespect.

Malcolm senses disappointment. He quirks his lips into an odd expression as his grey eyes shift back and forth, regarding the Bloodlit in turn. One hand comes up to rub the back of his head again as he considers them.

"Lesson One about Earth? Humans define their existence through their struggles and how they overcome the obstacles that they find in their way, but most humans don't define their existence by battles they've won or beasts they've slain anymore."

Shifting his weight, Malcolm takes a step away from the Bloodlit. He slowly rolls his shoulders and lifts his legs, one at a time, as he limbers up. It could be nervous energy, it could a sign of preparation for aggression. Either way, it doesn't quite stop Malcolm from speaking.

"Personally, I don't define myself by the things I've fought. I define myself by the lives I've saved. Even then, I'd really rather define myself by the things I've built, the things I've wrought with my own two hands and my skills, but it's like I said. Trouble always seems to find me and I couldn't just let that trouble hurt the people around me - my friends, my family, my co-workers, or my customers - so I found a job with Starguard."

Rolling his head around on his neck, Malcolm flexes his muscles a little bit. Liquid metal starts to seep out of his pores and spread across his body. The tall man opens his eyes and looks at the Godflora as he straigthens out again, increasingly hidden behind the mask of his Colossus' Flesh.

"But you know what? You need to fight to learn, that's cool. I can do that. Maybe I'll get lucky and you'll understand what it means to be me. Maybe I'll get lucky and I'll learn what it means to be you guys. Maybe it'll all work out. Weirder schick's happened around me before."