MacThorstenson

Marcus sighed as the student fell asleep on the other side of his desk. It was not a pleasant activity, interplanar travel, but this was the most efficient way he had found. Standing up, he slid a bookshelf aside revealing what used to be an unfinished storage space, similar to an attic. Now there was a large smooth slate in the middle, and three sleeping people laid on the side of the room. Then deliberately walking around his desk, he picked up the student and carried her through the doorway laying her softly on the slate. Then he pulled some chalk from his pocket and begun drawing around her. First there were two perfect concentric circles, then in each of the cardinal directions a glyph was drawn, and finally with practiced precision he began inscribing abyssal spells on the inner ring of the circle. When he was done, there was a spell circle capable of sending a soul to hell. To the completely uninitiated, it was about as interesting as a crappy mandala. To those who knew the basics of magic, it was a masterpiece. Each glyph and word was placed with exacting precision, and while most wouldn't know what they said, they would know the skill required to do it freehand. To those who knew the abyssal tongue however, and still had some humanity, this was an abomination. It was a tool perfectly crafted to kill someone, and remove all the usable bits of their soul. It wasn't a weapon like a sword or a knife, but was instead a butchers shop, honed over years and years of study to give the demons exactly what they wanted as efficiently and quickly as possible. With a somber face, Marcus stood up off the ground and withdrew his wand. He walked around it once, ensuring everything was in its place before bending over, touching the circle with it and muttering the activation phrase. As he withdrew his wand, magma seemed to flow along the chalk lines, illuminating the room with a reddish glow. Faintly, screams of terror could be heard in the distance as the students body jerked twice and she exhaled for the last time. And then it was dark again, the circle having been consumed in the activation of the spell. For the next person the process was much the same. He picked them up, lay them in the slate, drew the circle. To the careful observer the glyphs would have been different, as well as the words written, but the intention was much the same. Quickly and efficiently separate the soul from the body and send it off somewhere. This time however, Marcus sat cross-legged next to the circle. One hand on one of the glyphs, the other on his wand. He tapped the circle again, but instead of glowing the red light of hellfire, it briefly shone with a cold white light before disappearing. Marcus' eyes glowed briefly as he absorbed the soul into himself before transferring it to a ring for later storage. The final victim was a middle aged delivery man. No family, minimal connections like the other two, Marcus had picked an adult for the extra power in their soul. The more they grew, the more power available. And he would need every ounce of power to travel to this plane. He quickly repeated the process, except instead of storing the soul in a ring he braced himself and absorbed it. Slowly he began stripping away each layer of identity from the soul. He felt every fear the man had, every moment of boredom and sadness and whatever else he experienced course through his body. Usually this was why he chose children. There was less of what made them them! Every aspect of their personality was malleable and changing and so digesting their soul was like eating pudding as opposed to trying to swallow a marble. Thankfully, this marble was bland. He had chosen well. Their life was relatively meaningless and incredibly dull, and so Marcus remained standing as he used the soul to fuel his travel. Slowly beneath his clothes his veins began to glow like they were filled with magma and a tattoo on his forearm shifted and twisted till it settled on a glyph loosely resembling stars and a void. Then, a door opened up behind him, revealing an inky blackness with a couple silvery specs of light. Stepping backward, he fell into it. Ready to journey again.

Mac, Ivenspark cemetery. Mac stood up, his vigil done. Quickly he brushed himself off, and started walking back toward the gate, being careful not to touch any thorny plants as the night grew darker. It had been a relatively peaceful evening, and he didn't feel like breaking the quiet spell that hovered over the cemetery. As the underbrush turned into the remnants of a footpath, and the footpath to a pocketed road, he noticed more and more floating green dots moving among the trees. While the shades were always present, there was a certain comfort to their translucence during the day. Out of sight out of mind and all that. Finally, he neared the gate, and dropped a coin on this side for a quick push over, pulling it back to him as he walked toward the center of the city, his mind on the guild meeting that was about to occur. @Sorana

Mac, Ivenspark Cemetary Mac walked along the outside wall of the cemetery, dragging his hands across the weathered and faded runes that kept the hundreds of shades contained inside. This place told the story of the city. It was built after tragedy, locked after tragedy, and when its walls fell it would cause another tragedy. As with all things in this city, however, those who cared couldn't fix it, and those who could didn't care. He sighed as he approached the wrought iron gate, steel-pushing himself up over it. Inside the cemetery lay a tangled forest of massive trees who branches blanketed the sky and who's roots tore up the old cobblestone paths that crisscrossed the park. The main roads were lines with old gas streetlamps, but for the smaller paths Mac had brought a sphere lamp. He made his way along the main road, counting the rusted gas lamps until he turned off onto the remnants of an old footpath, the last remnants of day disappearing behind the canopy. He pushed his way through underbrush, taking care not to disturb the graves lining the path. People who didn't know him thought him hardened to death, which was fair. Obviously, he was no great respecter of life. His existence was built on the souls and corpses of thousands of people after all, but there were some people who's death stuck with him. Maybe their death was a waste, or maybe it was a calculated risk, a necessary evil. Maybe their death was due to his mistake, his greed, or his rage. Regardless, some deaths stayed with him, while others did not. And so he dragged himself here, to a mausoleum deep in the forgotten woods of an ancient cemetery. Stepping over the iron gate long rusted shut, he made his way through ferns and ivy to the door, and opened it carefully. He stepped inside and sat on a folding chair, left in the corner. Preparing himself for his own, personal 'vigil' of sorts. Logically, he knew he shouldn't be here. There were far too many things he had to do, and while vigils and ceremonies were a nice concept, Mac had learned early on that they were an exercise in futility. The dead were gone, their souls irrecoverable in the great beyond. What was anyone remembering anyone going to do? Most of the time all it brought was the painful memory of a loss. At worst, it made you a sniveling reck. At best, Mac thought, remembering them was supposed to make him change for the better. The hope, he supposed, was that if their deaths weren't in vain, if their death made him grow into a better person, then he wouldn't be bothered by it anymore. But Mac knew that it didn't work. The great deceit of emotions, however, was that they are rarely logical. Despite trying to learn and grow, their deaths never left him. Whether it was the child who's soul merged with his own gave him immortality, or the dead and bloodied face of a 20 something year old aide, killed in a fit of rage, the deaths that stayed with him, never left him. They weighed on his soul. And so he dragged himself to the proverbial whipping post year after year, feeling the pain of the few who's names he knew, knowing it was a futile, pointless, waste of time. Yet feeling, on a deeper level, that he had to be here.

Mac, the Rooftop Garden. "Well then, do not let me detain you further. And for what it's worth, Mac, it is good to see you again." He smiles briefly at the compliment. "Thank you," he replied, taking one last view of the city before looking down at Lita again, "It's good to be back, and I'm glad you're still hanging around here. I wasn't joking earlier when I said that you were the most qualified person to run the department." With that, he picked up his overcoat, draped it over his arm, and walked to the doorway, disappearing suddenly as he stepped over the threshold.

Its hard to say until we see the character, but because of how lore intensive those kind of things have to be (and the potential implications of such a character), we might be asking you more questions then usual.

Mac, Rooftop Garden Mac, thought briefly about her offer, then shook his head. "No, as much as I love that old place, I think having one closer to my department might be a bit more useful. Besides," He coughed gently, "from what I've heard you've made yourself quite at home there." With that he began folding the napkin, and stood up to leave. "I have to be heading out, there's a yacht show at the alley harbor happening in a couple days and I need to get the fleet ready." @ZincAboutIt

Aftermath thread is for reactions and scenes taking place less then a week after the forgery ends, The vigil starts about a week after and contains scenes that happen roughly in that time period. There will eventually be a whole city vigil happening in that thread, I think the idea is that its currently the day of and the vigil will start at night.

Mac, Rooftop Garden "Well, yes, I do want it." Mac watched as her eyebrows raised, hinting at the surprise that must lay beneath. "Are you seeking to go in another direction? R&D does need a new Head, I suppose..." Mac shook his head, "No, the R&D department head will likely have a certain disrepute in the coming years. I don't want to tie my reputation for that. Frankly, I just don't like spying. I was into it for the lifestyle, not the work. Voidus was throwing ridiculous amounts of money at the department and I took advantage of it. Now that I've squirrelled away enough chrysts in various off world accounts, however, I can take the pay cut moving somewhere else." "But yes, I'm trying to find something else to do with my time besides lounge on yachts. I'm thinking about forming, or rather reforming a Department of Alleymatics." A brief frown crossed his face as he considered what had happened to the last one, but he brushed it aside and continued. "The previous department is almost certainly gone and dusted, so I figured I could step in." @ZincAboutIt

Mac, Rooftop Garden "While I don't have any immediate plans for the day, it does seem prudent to get down to business, such as it is. I imagine this is in regards to the Department?" "Indeed it does. I'm stepping down from my position as head of the department," He added hurriedly, "if you want the position." He sat back, gauging her reaction. If she didn't want it, he didn't have to abdicate. The salary and benefits he had accumulated in that position were nice, and there was a certain appeal to the routine of a comfortable position. Yet he was a Department Head, feared across the universe for their ingenuity and power, and as things went he considered himself lacking. He needed new things to push him forward then merely existing. @ZincAboutIt

Building off of this, skill with bronze is an easily definable thing. Basic bronze for allomancy would be minor, but being skilled/knowledable enough to detect feruchemy and other investitures would certainly be normal.

Mac, rooftop garden. "Good afternoon, Mac," Lita said, taking her seat. "You look well." Mac smiled, his mouth full of croissant as he gestured for her to take a seat. He placed his plate down on the table and hurriedly swallowed before responding, "Thank you! You look wonderful as well!" He sat quietly for a moment, basking in the familiar towers of the Dominion. Time had a way of making things work out. It would be painful in the short term, but it always was. Your expectations could only be dashed and subverted so many times before you just stopped expecting things. He had been battered and bruised, but he survived. Nothing was taken from him. The stranger, his role model, No. He stopped himself, No need to think about how he had gone out. Better to remember him as the brilliant scientist then a rabid, selfish traitor. That said, time was something he had in abundance, which wasn't true for everyone. "Sorry, got distracted." He started with a small smile, "I know you probably don't have all day, so if you want to get right to business, we can." @ZincAboutIt