Posted By Kalan on August 13, 2009
So here I sit on the S-train to Norreport. Thankfully it’s mid afternoon on a Saturday and the train isn’t as packed as it could be on a normal day. Or rather, at least there’s no soccer match going on. Something I’m extremely thankful for. The only thing worse than a train packed full of drunken human soccer fans is a train packed with drunken Troll soccer fans. Those guys are ugly on the best of days, and when they’ve been hitting the Carlsberg hard, especially during a Brondby vs FCK match, they get really ugly. At least they’re not as bad as the Brownies on the British Isles. Now those guys get vicious when their teams don’t win. At least here in Denmark the worst that tends to happen is a Troll will tear up a stop at one of the train stations. That or an Alfen woman goes streaking across the pitch.
Yah…I love it here.
But aside from a few people on the train, nothing is really out of the ordinary this afternoon. Which in and of itself would be fine, but things haven’t been exactly normal for me these past few weeks, which is the other reason I’m off to see Sonja.
About a month ago I had a rather nasty encounter with some Siryns. Now these chicks do not play very nice. A small flock of them, led by the Crone Katheryn, had setup shop in the area around Copenhagen’s Central Station, and had been harassing the club scene in the area for some time. When I call these creatures chicks, I quite literally mean it. Usually they look like gorgeous women of Mediterranean descent. That is until they are on the hunt. That’s when their true nature comes out.
What they’ll usually do is set up roost near a city’s major club district. Prime hunting grounds for many of the world’s predators actually. While many of them aren’t out to kill their prey, this is where Siryns are particularly vicious. What they’ll do is prowl the clubs, looking for young men and women to party with. Then when they find a victim, which is when the fun for the Siryn begins.
Normally when a Siryn talks to a person, nothing happens. It’s when they sing that things go to hell in a hand basket, and quickly. So what the Siryn will do is seduce the person in question, getting the victim to follow them willingly. Once the victim is under the Siryn’s spell (well figuratively at any rate), it leads the victim to some secluded location then begin to sing. As the Siryn’s song progresses, the victim falls more and more under the spell of the Siryn, all the while the Siryn begins to change its form from that of a beautiful woman, to some hideous combination of woman and buzzard.
The song doesn’t only keep the victim in the Siryn’s thrall though, it also acts as a signal to the rest of its flock to come join in on the feast. Once the flock arrives, they begin to feast on the poor soul, slowly tearing bits of flesh and muscle from its bones. I won’t go into too much more detail, as what is left once the flock is finished is not exactly pleasant to look upon.
So anyways, the local Council called me in from a job I was working on in England at the time to come investigate what was going on, and also find a way to stop it. Another of the perks of being one of the few living Word Smiths, not only are we needed for most Magic, we’re also the judges, juries, and sometimes executioners for the Otherworlders (which is by the way just my name for all these beings who are not “human”).
Yah I know, lucky me.
It didn’t take long to track down this particular flock. It wasn’t like they were being overly discreet about their activities. I mean, when a dozen patrons of one of the most popular clubs in Copenhagen suddenly disappear without a trace, it doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to track the culprits down, at least not when you have a pretty good idea on what it is that’s causing it. Normally the Otherworlders know how to stay under the radar, unfortunately this particular flock was proving to be a little problematic.
One of the reasons that the local Council had called me in was that the local police were beginning to start piecing together some of the goings on at this particular club. While it was one of the hottest spots in Copenhagen for humans, it was also a sanctuary for many of the more normal looking members of Otherworlder society.
Normally this wouldn’t be a big problem, but once normal humans get too close to the truth of their existence, things can go south in a real big hurry. Us Bards tend to have a bit of a reputation as being fair, and reasonably open minded about things. I mean come on, when you have to deal with the likes of Elves and what not on a semi-regular basis, it kind of comes with the territory.
So here I sit on the S-train to Norreport. Thankfully it’s mid afternoon on a Saturday and the train isn’t as packed as it could be on a normal day. Or rather, at least there’s no soccer match going on. Something I’m extremely thankful for. The only thing worse than a train packed full of drunken human soccer fans is a train packed with drunken Troll soccer fans. Those guys are ugly on the best of days, and when they’ve been hitting the Carlsberg hard, especially during a Brondby vs FCK match, they get really ugly. At least they’re not as bad as the Brownies on the British Isles. Now those guys get vicious when their teams don’t win. At least here in Denmark the worst that tends to happen is a Troll will tear up a stop at one of the train stations. That or an Alfen woman goes streaking across the pitch. (more…)
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But there’s not really a good one, other than being on vacation