[ For the moment, the Medicine Seller is rooted to the spot, conjuring up veritable walls of his paper charms, and with practiced expertise plasters them to every side of the garage. Almost immediately, the building is covered in a protective seal, fiery red eyes opening to show that whatever is in there is now tightly contained and not getting out. Not without a fight, anyway.
It's a bit overkill, but that red flash and the way the ground is now trembling ominously suggests that it's better to be safe than sorry. ]
A little precaution, for now.
[ He then picks up the pace, moving at a sort of brisk jog towards the ajar overhead, and darting underneath like a fox to its den.
The place stinks of a mix of mildew and petrol, with an underlying note of fire and brimstone. The Medicine Seller suspects that whatever's going on further in, it's the equivalent to a codfisher hooking a megalodon.
There's a small gaggle of children; bound, gagged and terrified. A few are struggling against their bonds, rightfully fearful the strange, pointy-eared man is an ally to their captors. ]
[The seals were always impressive, powerful magic despite how fragile they may seem at a glance. Constantine had seen them hold back attacks that made his own wards tremble, and he'd yet to see the wall of charms actually break once in place. It's reassuring to know that they're not going to let anything out easily at least.]
Slow down you sodding--
[Of course the pointy-eared bastard darts off ahead. He's fast, always unexpected in comparison to his normal demeanour, and Constantine is left cursing to himself as he follows. And stops. The sight of the kids there has his heart clench in fury at whoever was behind this. If they hadn't been killed by whatever they'd unleashed, he would make them wish they had been.]
Easy, lads. We're here to help.
[He moves to check on them immediately, looking for wounds or anything magical that might need addressing as they get the kids free.]
[ The Medicine Seller leaves the kids to Constantine, instead focusing on warding the walls. The demonologist is far better with children than he is, especially when they're terrified out of their little minds.
The Medicine Seller has many effective remedies, but his bedside manner could use some work.
There are markings on each child's palm. Some manner of brand or another, designating each as property to whatever crawled out of the pits of Hell a couple rooms over. ]
[Most people would say Constantine's bedside manner is terrible as well, but when the comparison is silence or an enigmatic "is that so" it's not much of a bar to beat.
Of course right now, he's wishing that they had someone else to help with this particular problem. Someone who was perhaps a little more reassuring, particularly in the face of news that he'd rather not speak. Because he does know that sigil, it's one that he sees in his nightmares all too often.]
Nergal.
[Constantine's face is pale, and he reaches out to catch the Medicine Seller's arm.]
We can't go in there. We need to get these kids out and leave. Leave that thing trapped within your wards until it leaves or we find some other way to deal with it. It can't claim the kids if it can't reach them.
[ There is a light 'clink' from the vicinity of the Medicine Seller's sash. At some point, the sword of exorcisms had made its way from his box to his hand, and then was tucked snugly into the fold of the red brocade.
The mouth of the odd pommel is closed, accepting the truth of their foe's Form. ]
...The wards will not hold forever.
[ A good rain would see them washed away for starters - if they even held against Nergal's onslaught for that long. They are designed to be temporary, to buy the Medicine Seller time to suss out the being's truth. And even then, a sufficiently powerful and motivated creature could burn through them. ]
Is there a more secure location we can take the children? I may have something that can counter the creature's mark.
[He doesn't need the sword's actions to verify his words; Constantine knows it instinctively and there's no pride in the knowledge. He knows as well that the Medicine Seller is right. The wards aren't meant to hold forever, Christ, he's not even certain how they work or if they work out of the strange man's presence.
They're going to have to handle this. Now.]
Right. Yeah.
[Kids were still at risk and if they could get them safe, maybe he could live with whatever came after. Casting around, Constantine spotted a small room, an office of some kind, long abandoned. The beginnings of a plan forming in mind, he started untying the kids.]
Come on, you lot. Into that room over there, I'll see about getting some wards up while the medicine man here does something about those marks, yeah? He looks a bit odd, but he's like a doctor when it comes to these things. He'll see you right.
[ Fifty or more years ago, and on the other side of the world, the Medicine Seller might have explained himself with a reference to the tale of Hoichi the Earless - a variant of the magic used in the story. Instead, he just sets down his box, getting out sheaves of paper, little satin pouches and his calligraphy supplies while John ushers the gaggle of terrified children to relative safety.
He's quick and efficient, blowing on the ink to dry it quicker as something furious rumbles in the bowels of the garage, now pushing back against the wards.
Each paper is delicately folded and placed in their pouches and he hands one to each wide-eyed and trembling child. ]
Wear those close to your heart. Do not remove them until the marks on your hands have gone.
[ He narrows his eyes as the building shakes. ]
...So long as you carry the omamori, that thing will never be able to see you, however desperately it searches.
[ It would render them invisible to more benevolent forces as well, but that is hardly the most pressing issue as some of the wards the Medicine Seller placed begin to disintegrate and the building shakes more violently. With a soft hum, he returns to his medicine box, procuring a folded paper lantern, and a small glass jar full of some kind of powder that stinks of saltpeter. Constantine isn't the only one forming a plan. ]
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no subject
[ For the moment, the Medicine Seller is rooted to the spot, conjuring up veritable walls of his paper charms, and with practiced expertise plasters them to every side of the garage. Almost immediately, the building is covered in a protective seal, fiery red eyes opening to show that whatever is in there is now tightly contained and not getting out. Not without a fight, anyway.
It's a bit overkill, but that red flash and the way the ground is now trembling ominously suggests that it's better to be safe than sorry. ]
A little precaution, for now.
[ He then picks up the pace, moving at a sort of brisk jog towards the ajar overhead, and darting underneath like a fox to its den.
The place stinks of a mix of mildew and petrol, with an underlying note of fire and brimstone. The Medicine Seller suspects that whatever's going on further in, it's the equivalent to a codfisher hooking a megalodon.
There's a small gaggle of children; bound, gagged and terrified. A few are struggling against their bonds, rightfully fearful the strange, pointy-eared man is an ally to their captors. ]
no subject
Slow down you sodding--
[Of course the pointy-eared bastard darts off ahead. He's fast, always unexpected in comparison to his normal demeanour, and Constantine is left cursing to himself as he follows. And stops. The sight of the kids there has his heart clench in fury at whoever was behind this. If they hadn't been killed by whatever they'd unleashed, he would make them wish they had been.]
Easy, lads. We're here to help.
[He moves to check on them immediately, looking for wounds or anything magical that might need addressing as they get the kids free.]
no subject
The Medicine Seller has many effective remedies, but his bedside manner could use some work.
There are markings on each child's palm. Some manner of brand or another, designating each as property to whatever crawled out of the pits of Hell a couple rooms over. ]
Do you recognize it...?
no subject
Of course right now, he's wishing that they had someone else to help with this particular problem. Someone who was perhaps a little more reassuring, particularly in the face of news that he'd rather not speak. Because he does know that sigil, it's one that he sees in his nightmares all too often.]
Nergal.
[Constantine's face is pale, and he reaches out to catch the Medicine Seller's arm.]
We can't go in there. We need to get these kids out and leave. Leave that thing trapped within your wards until it leaves or we find some other way to deal with it. It can't claim the kids if it can't reach them.
no subject
The mouth of the odd pommel is closed, accepting the truth of their foe's Form. ]
...The wards will not hold forever.
[ A good rain would see them washed away for starters - if they even held against Nergal's onslaught for that long. They are designed to be temporary, to buy the Medicine Seller time to suss out the being's truth. And even then, a sufficiently powerful and motivated creature could burn through them. ]
Is there a more secure location we can take the children? I may have something that can counter the creature's mark.
no subject
They're going to have to handle this. Now.]
Right. Yeah.
[Kids were still at risk and if they could get them safe, maybe he could live with whatever came after. Casting around, Constantine spotted a small room, an office of some kind, long abandoned. The beginnings of a plan forming in mind, he started untying the kids.]
Come on, you lot. Into that room over there, I'll see about getting some wards up while the medicine man here does something about those marks, yeah? He looks a bit odd, but he's like a doctor when it comes to these things. He'll see you right.
no subject
He's quick and efficient, blowing on the ink to dry it quicker as something furious rumbles in the bowels of the garage, now pushing back against the wards.
Each paper is delicately folded and placed in their pouches and he hands one to each wide-eyed and trembling child. ]
Wear those close to your heart. Do not remove them until the marks on your hands have gone.
[ He narrows his eyes as the building shakes. ]
...So long as you carry the omamori, that thing will never be able to see you, however desperately it searches.
[ It would render them invisible to more benevolent forces as well, but that is hardly the most pressing issue as some of the wards the Medicine Seller placed begin to disintegrate and the building shakes more violently. With a soft hum, he returns to his medicine box, procuring a folded paper lantern, and a small glass jar full of some kind of powder that stinks of saltpeter. Constantine isn't the only one forming a plan. ]
Impatient...
...isn't it?
Let us see if we cannot send it back.