[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/CV8efmG.jpg?1[/img][/center] [center][i][h1]Esoterica[/h1][/i] [sub]Part I[/sub][/center] [center][b]Location: Tretower Court, Powys, Wales Time: 10 a.m., Two Years Ago[/b] [hider=Ars Obscura Members][img]https://i.imgur.com/LCPYdQB.jpg?1[/img][/hider][/center] [hr] [center][h3][code][Recording . . .][/code][/h3][/center] [color=CFA4FD][i]Imagine, as if it were the first time, of all your fragile mind is capable, of every image you could possibly conjure, of every untold story or forgotten dream. Imagine. What do you see? What impossibilities have you conceptualized? What worlds have you known, or creatures met? What horrors and wonders dance in full view or dart across your vision, and for how long do they linger? What stories have you convinced yourself are true, and which have you dismissed? The answers are irrelevant, of course. Nothing you could imagine compares to the truth, nor does your knowledge of this fact make the world in which you live more knowable. Secrets. Secrets hide in plain sight, wary of the scholar, infatuated with the skeptic, and amused by the knower who, in his hubris, deludes himself with the illusion of knowing. Nothing is known but one simple truth: All is possible. That is the secret we must keep, the one truth that, if known, threatens our very existence. When fragile minds and fearful hearts greet those unseen worlds, they flee, or fight, or fall, or force themselves deeper into the unknown, sometimes to their detriment, sometimes to ours. But the end is always the same, and the secret is no more. Praesidium Arcanum Ignotum. That is our creed, our lifelong devotion: the protection of the secret of the unknown. We are not a strictly regulatory force. We do not seek to control those under our banner. We are not a force of good, nor are we a necessary evil. There is a delicate balance that, when tipped too far in either direction, ends in our destruction. As seekers of truth, protectors of the unknown, and knowers of vast secrets, our only goal is to maintain this balance, and we will employ any means necessary. I am the director of the Ars Obscura, Ursula Wyrcroft. I am your director, and if you are seeing this, congratulations, Apprentice. You will work as the veil which shields our world from prying eyes, an agent of the unknown and, ironically, the perpetuation of skepticism. Your task is never ending, but in exchange for your devotion, you will be granted almost unlimited access to our growing collection of esoteric knowledge and occult power. Be warned, however, that should your exploration threaten to expose our operations, should you part the veil against my wishes, your time here will be short. This is not a place of learning, and I am no headmistress. By all means, use our resources to your advantage, interact with your fellow agents and apprentices, but do not expect instruction in the magical arts. Your education is not my priority, nor is your complete and utter compliance. Discretion is all I ask. You will be assigned to one of our senior members shortly. They will act as your guide to our organization until you become competent enough to navigate on your own. And no matter what they tell you, the senior members aren’t your masters. The Ars is your master, and to it you are apprenticed, so don’t stroke the other member’s egos too heavily. Allow me to once again congratulate you on this achievement. Know that, to hear these words, makes you a valued member of our family, and all questions, should you have any, will be answered in due time.[/i][/color] [center][h3][code][. . . Stop Recording][/code][/h3][/center] Ursula let out a heavy sigh, nodding to the cameraman, who promptly switched off the device once her speech had concluded. “A perfect first take, Ms. Wyrcroft,” the lanky young Londoner complemented Ursula, taking a quick scan through the footage to look for any irregularities, any twitches or nervous ticks. He scratched his beard and readjusted his bright red beanie, noticing a change in lighting about halfway through. “A little under-exposed toward the end, though. Might wanna have another-” [color=CFA4FD]”That will have to do,”[/color] Ursula cut him off, hobbling over to marble bench a short distance from the rose covered trellis that acted as her backdrop. She let out another heavy sigh as she took her seat, closing her eyes and allowing herself to catch her breath. Three weeks had passed since her last accident at the Agency, but her body was taking longer to recover. Shortness of breath, trembling, night terrors, and a heavy limp were perhaps the least grievous injuries she had received during her tenure in London, but it seemed she could no longer keep up with the physical demands of her profession. That was, perhaps, half the reason she had taken on this new venture. “Ma’am,” the young man lingered awkwardly as Ursula rested, “If we could just get another take-” [color=CFA4FD]”It will have to do,”[/color] Ursula sternly repeated herself. She had a midlands accent that was hard to place, but there was enough southern influence to make everything she said sound a strange mix of annoyingly proper and heavily foreboding. And there was so little emotion in her speaking voice, perhaps due to her injuries, that any change in tone made a terrifying difference. [color=CFA4FD]”Make the whole thing darker if you must, just get me the file by tonight like you promised.”[/color] He nodded, quickly packing up his equipment and leaving the garden with haste. “A little harsh, don’t you think?” a man’s voice sounded from behind the trellis, drawing closer along with the loud clacking of expensive boots. “You know the young ones don’t take criticism well. You’ll be lucky if you get that tape by the end of the week.” Ursula chuckled, coughing between breaths. [color=CFA4FD]”I don’t need it today, luckily. But the longer he takes, the more I consider shoving my cane up his-”[/color] “Careful, Ursula,” the stranger warned, “your old hag is showing, and you’re only forty-three.” Ursula recognized the man as her former partner, an executive officer of the London branch of The Agency of Paranormal and Metahuman Containment, Marcus Fields. He was an American, once a member of the New York branch until a few years ago. The London branch was less than enthusiastic to have another new agent joining. Their facility at the time was operating at max capacity; there was no room for new magical or meta detainees, and not nearly enough resources to accommodate new employees. Fortunately, Marcus joined as a replacement for a former interdepartmental manager. His experience in employee management, along with his list of accomplishments in New York, helped the London branch function more efficiently, paving the way for his eventual promotion to executive officer, alongside Ursula, whose magical expertise earned her the same position. [color=CFA4FD]”You know damn well that I’m only thirty-eight, Marcus.”[/color] Ursula corrected him, shaking a cane in his direction before realizing that it made her seem more like a shrivelled old crone. [color=CFA4FD]”It’s just the after effects of the miasma. A few more days and I’ll be right as rain.”[/color] “And in the meantime?” Marcus questioned, taking a seat next to Ursula, brushing off his side of the bench to keep from dirtying his suit. “How will you lead this little experiment, hmm? You can’t form a united front while bedridden, Ursula. You should have just stayed in London.” [color=CFA4FD]”So I can wait around while our board members turn into politicians and the government starts slapping on more restrictions? No, thank you. It’s never what I wanted, it was just the best option at the time. And now that I have the experience and the resources necessary to go it alone, I will. And on that note, why are you here, Marcus?”[/color] Marcus started tapping his foot on the pavement, a longtime nervous habit. “I wanted to see what you were up to.” Ursula rolled her eyes. “No, it’s true,” Marcus insisted, “we worked together for three and a half years, Ursula. You were the only one I could turn to in The Agency, you always had my back. That’s exactly why I haven’t told anyone about your little field trip. The board just thinks you retired after the containment of the miasma in Yorkshire. I’m guessing your pension is how you got hold of Tretower Court and Castle.” [color=CFA4FD]”Our associates in Cadw happily put the land in my name after a sizeable donation last fall,”[/color] Ursula grinned, [color=CFA4FD]”so long as I help them keep the grounds maintained, and the property remains ‘officially’ owned by Cadw, I can do as I please. And the pension, if you must know, went into some underground work. Did you know there was a mound just outside the Court? That’s why I chose the location.”[/color] “I thought I felt more than just your abrasive presence when I drove up,” he joked, placing a hand on her knee. Ursula swatted it away. [color=CFA4FD]”Worry about me all you want,”[/color] Ursula groaned as she stood up, supporting herself with gnarled, wooden staff about a head taller than herself. [color=CFA4FD]”But no more unannounced visits. I can’t have The Agency following you here and throwing a wrench in my plans.”[/color] “Which are what, exactly?” Marcus skeptically responded, following Ursula into the courtyard. [color=CFA4FD]”I mean it, Marcus. You might be happy with how things are back in London, but I can’t stand all the bureaucracy. This is where I’m needed. You ‘protect’ the country your way, and I’ll protect me and mine. Fair?”[/color] “If there’s no changing your mind,” Marcus opened his arms, “can I at least get a hug goodbye?” Ursula turned around, a hint of a grin on her face. She walked up close, using her cane to support herself. Standing on her toes, she leaned in to Marcus’s face, her mouth centimeters from his ear. [color=CFA4FD]”No,”[/color] she whispered, tapping his leg with her staff before wandering into the old manor home, waving behind her until she disappeared.