Issue 1 Downtime

Regan had a private lesson with Victoria scheduled and had actually managed to show up on time inside of the ring. She sat in the center of the floor, holding her sword in her lap while she waited for her power control tutor.

"Ahhh, good. Right on time," Victoria mused as she materialized inside the ring-space with Regan. "So, shall we... ah, decided to decorate a bit? Or was she so impressed with what you did with your paints and post-its that Ms. Weaver decided to give you a sword, too?"

"I don't think Ms. Weaver is gonna ever trust me with weapons," Regan says, holding up the sword, "I made this. I guess. The Headmistress says it's a piece of myself or some nonsense like that."

Victoria stopped on her way to a desk where she was going to sit, looking back at Regan with a cocked eyebrow. "The Headmistress? I haven't felt her poking in here... hm. I hadn't shown you how to take things outside the ring yet, I'm impressed."

"I'd be more impressed if it could do anything," Regan says, "It doesn't cut jack. Except one of those ghosts I summoned. Made a mess out of that thing."

Victoria frowned. "Wait... I thought you said..." She stopped, closing her eyes for a moment as she thought. "What else did the Headmistress say?" she asked, deciding not to jump to conclusions.

"A bunch of vague nonsense?" Regan says, "It's a part of me. Something about symbols. Then things got weird. She did some junk and got all freaked out but wouldn't tell me why."

"It was weird and confusing," Regan says, "Not at all what you would expect from talking to a lady made out of birds."

Victoria nodded, eying the sword. "Would you mind if I took a look?" she asked, holding a hand out.

"Go for it," Regan says, handing it over.

All right... let's look it over... stop worrying... Victoria took the sword, running her finger along the blunt of the blade, casting a divination along it to see what magic was involved.

The sword was Regan's soul, forged into a blade. The blade would be harmless to anything purely physical, but was rather deadly to magical creatures and had the potential to seriously disrupt magic in general.

The magic involved in its creation was of the darkest sort. Someone had hidden the corruption underneath a fairly effective glamour, but the blade had been forged by infernal means.

Nooooooo no no no no no shit. Victoria glanced at Regan, an appraising, assessing look. "How did you make this?"

"Make it? It was just....there," Regan says.

Ohhhhh goddess no no no no no. "I'm..." she sighed, sitting down on the desk, offering the sword hilt-first back to Regan. "Goddess, this makes no sense. What are you doing with a soulsword..."

Regan takes it back, "Is it okay if I have no idea what you're talking about?"

"In a world-view way? Not really. Your death I can figure there might be a reason for you not remembering. Making this, though? That.. you should remember."

"Wonderful, more memory gaps," Regan says.

"I know. And trauma shouldn't be the reason. Hold still, I'm sure the headmistress did her thing well enough, but she isn't a sorceress. Let's see what I can see here."

Victoria made an arcane gesture, a third eye opening on her forehead to peer at Regan to search for spells, curses, anything of the like.

Regan had the mother of all memory charms woven directly into her. Anything pertaining to the circumstances to her death, the 24 hours surrounding it, and the existence of the memory charm itself would just not reach her. The charm also appeared to be infernal in nature.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Victoria sighed. "Can that sword cut you, dear?"

"No," Regan says, "It just kind of goes through me."

"Perfect," Victoria said. And with that, she took hold of the sword and drove it into the center of the spell.

"Wai-," Regan started, interrupted by the blade shredding the spell. The spell burnt hot, surrounding Regan in blood red flames.

When they cleared, Regan didn't look particularly happy. She was doubled over, sobbing.

And Victoria was right on that. She hurried over, sitting next to her, putting an arm around her in actual, affectionate worry (unless, of course, Regan threw her off). "It's going to be okay," she whispered.

Regan looks up at Victoria, looking absolutely horrified. Outside the attic, the landscape shifted into something hellish and horrible.

Victoria took Regan's hand, looking around. "Is this place what I think it is?"

"It's Hell," Regan says bitterly.

Victoria looked around skeptically. "And where do you remember this from?"

"It's where I was killed," Regan says, looking out at the window.

"...I don't want to be here."

"Focus," Victoria said quietly. "You're not there. You're inside the ring... you control what we see. Just picture the attic... picture anyplace you want. You're safe, just let the surroundings reflect that."

The attic falls apart, leaving them standing in the middle of a deep and rocky valley, surrounded by jagged stone pillars that blast plumes of flame into the sky.

"That's not what I mean," Regan says angrily, "Did it ever occur to you that I had that spell cast for a damn reason?"

"No, actually, all I could hear was you griping about that fact. So enlighten me... what's going on."

"I got killed here," Regan says, "Then I spent a year trapped in this hellhole."

"Then someone made me an offer. In exchange for being able to use my abilities, they''d wipe my memory of the whole thing and send me home to the exact moment I left," Regan says, "I jumped at the offer."

Victoria frowned. "And if you regained your memories? What happened then?"

"I get to remember a year of torture," Regan says, "Which you can't just forget when you're a spirit. Every moment is as fresh and vivid as if it just happened, remember?"

"Oh, yes, I know that. Vividly. There are better ways than this to get around it, though, that don't leave obvious questions to make you look for what you can't remember."

"So... who is this that made the offer."

The world shifted around them and then Victoria and Regan were standing in a throne room. Surrounding them was an entire court of hideous demons. And sitting at a large, brutal throne carved from a single block of volcanic rock was an amused looking demonic figure. He looked far more human then the rest of the court, but he was still marked by horns, red skin, and a tail.

"He called himself Belasco," Regan says, keeping her eyes averted from the image.

"Fuck," Victoria hissed. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK." She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "FUCK!"

Regan looks a bit confused, maybe even worried, "What's wrong?"

"All right. First of all, that isn't hell. That's Limbo. The difference is pretty much like being stuck at the bottom of a lake instead of the bottom of an ocean, but... well, it's there. Little pocket dimension full of demon-things, and ruled over by this ancient sorceror that made a pact with elder gods or some such thing to be immortal. His MO tends to be stuff like populating the earth with a race of mortal demons to serve him and things like that. That asshole is Belasco."