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Codus Immortus: Old Gods Anew


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December 17th, 2018




Being Wales, it was, predictably raining. True, at this time of year it could have been snowing, but so far the white had not fallen, and not settled. It was a tepid day, with grey overcast skies and a dull wetness to the atmosphere. The green valleys were brown and muddy, and the trees had largely shed their leaves. There was still the smell of fertile land, and the hills were dotted with sheep and cows chewing the cud. 


'Twas here, countless millenia ago, after the last Ice age, that Morgen the immortal was born, and met Dreadnought and here she had lain in stasis. 


And it was here that there was, allegedly, trouble. 


'Twas the village of Wrottin Pontyggub that she had gone to, closest it seemed to her ancient settlement. Wrottin Pontygubb was indeed an ancient village, stuffed to the brim full of myths and legends and history. Some of the history might even have been true. 


She had arrived a few months ago, keen to understand the history of this place. And then she had dissapeared. People now whispered of ghosts and witches and all sorts of spooky spookiness, and Morgen, it seemed, was the go - to - person to blame!

Edited by Supercape
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Despite the mud and the rain Klara quite liked Wales, it reminded her of the mountains of her homeland. She liked to visit to get that clean fresh air that you could only get at the top of a mountain. But today she was here on business to find a troublesome immortal that had gone missing, she wondered if she’d wandered off to be on her own, but they had to check it out in case she was in trouble.


No really be able to blend in, as usual, she owned striding confidently down the street, considering how obvious Morgen was they should be pretty used to unusual people wandering the streets.

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For his part dreadnought found the damp greenery a refreshing change from the damp urban sprawl from whence he had come.


He'd sprinted right over when murk had given the call of course, tremendous momentum carrying him across the hills and fields like a rolling thunderstorm in size 50 boots.


He now rested against the wall of a pub nursing a drink and quietly waiting and listening for any chatter regarding morgen

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There was certainly plenty of chatter at The Green Bard and his Jolly Pipes, a warm and cozy Welsh pub. Some of the chatter was in Welsh, but there was plenty too in English. Morgen, it seemed, was the talk of the village, and had been for some time. She had strolled in wearing nothing but her birthday suit and had that impressive scar over her face, with one blind sightless eye. 


At least, conventionally sightless. She did of course, like Odin, burn out her own eye to gain wisdom. 


Mr. Dafyd Walker was a farmer round here of some years and more respect. He had one the village "Best beard" competition for ten years in a row now, and a splendid grey thing it was. He took it upon himself to talk to Dreadnought and Voin, althoughough of course with Dreadnought there was plenty of excitement about the giant. Some local history types even recounted a long forgotten Myth about a giant from Liverpool mentioned over a century ago. 


"Well know, shes a queer one. A witch, say some! But queer, all the same. She weren't too friendly, boyo, but she weren't nasty either. I dare say a few of the younger lads took a bit of a shine to a woman walking into town like that, even with that scar" he said, with a little chortle. 


"Went up to the hills, kept herself to herself, for the most part. Still, with all the queer goings on round here, dark spirits, more than a few have said she is to blame!"

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Klara had never been one to hide who she really was, and the lifestyle she’d chosen to live. Even in a village like this she was sure that many knew about it, the papers loved to talk about the exploit of her and her wife.


“Mr Walker could I ask you to use a word other than queer please? her voice was soft but insistent, not feeling the need to explain what many here probably knew. She downed her vodka in one, cheap but serviceable, and pour another from the round she’d bought for the whole pub



“Now do you know who saw her last? And could they show us the last spot she was seen? Also has anyone else been asking around for Morgan?”

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Mr. Walker reddened at Voin's reply. "I..ah...I meant no offence, Miss" he blabbered. "Its a common enough saying, and us old folks don't always remember what to say and when to say it..."


He wiped his brow. He was repentant, surely. He just had habits of speech. 


"I'm not sure who saw her past. She used to hang out at some ruin of a church in the hills. Spooky place. And this is spooky times, so consider that double spooky now. We need scooby do!" he chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. 


"The retired Vicar, Revd Root. He has the keys to the ruin. Not that you need then, its so full of holes. I think he tried to convert Morgen once. He didn't try again. But they did get friendly enough. I think she was using the Ruin to..camp...I guess!"

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Dreadnought found it a curiosity he shared a surname with the man with the magnificent beard.


"Aye? Up in the ruins eh? Curious indeed." He rumbled to himself as he drained his drink, he couldn't get inebriated anymore but that was probably for the best all things considered.


If he knew Morgan she had no interest in the abrahamic God as a practitioner of faiths from times immemorial.


Something was likely amiss with the spirits of the ancient celtic lands.


He himself had communed with ember the ancient fire spirit patron of morgen's clan


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Klara gave an encouraging smile,she’d been called much worse in a dozen different languages, as she listened to the man explain what had been going on around here. Morgan obviously had a knack for causing trouble, something that she could appreciate. She got the feeling that for all her difference the village had accepted her, something that not every village would do, so it was definitely an outside force. But not someone, or something, that the villages were aware of.


“We better go talk to this Reverend, do you mine introducing them to us?”

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And so...at the Vicarage. 


Revd Root opened the door. He was a tall vicar, thin, bearded, with deep blue eyes. He must have been in his late fifties, with grey hairs nearly overwhelming the few dark ones. He wore thicked rimmed spectacles and modest clothes that suited his profession well. 




"Afternoon, your Reverendness" smiled Mr. Walker through his own thick beard. "Got some qu--some interesting folk here to ask you a few questions!"


Root dropped his glasses over his nose and peered ontop of them. "Well, they certainly are....interesting!" he said, a little stiffly. "I'd ask you in, but I think you might break my house" he said to Dreadnought. 


"Ill get the tea..." he dissapeared for one second and...with apparently blistering speed, stepped outside his home with four mugs of quite respectable tea in his hand. 


"Now then, what would you like to talk about? I am supposing this isn't a theological conversation - unless you feel seem exorcisms are needed for all the ghosts" he started. "If so, I am afraid I am C of E. No exorcisms here...."

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"not to worry, I get that a lot...you should see what my house looks like, father." Dreadnought joked as he waited for the reverend to return stepping away from the house a little now he'd been announced and seen; It was a bad idea for him to lurk out of sight.


He took a moment  to run his hand through his hair and shake off the rain.


"Nice town...bit quiet for me but, I can see the appeal." He commented to voin whilst he waited for the priest to return.


Turning to address him "ah you're quite quick on your feet father and about the wits too...yes we're here to ask about our acquaintance morgen."

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"Morgen" muttered Revd Root, frowning. "A lost soul, isn't she. I'm not Catholic, but still, there is a touch of something evil in her. Poor Morgen" he shook his head. "I hope she finds peace. I hope she finds redemention"


He paused, uncertain of how much to say. 


"I tried to guide her. Gently. But she would have none of it. She is a stubborn one!" he added, with a little smile. "I let her have use of the ruined church. It seemed to suit her, and I hope its presence might...guide her" he sent, gently. 


He sipped his tea. 


"Lot of folks round here have been seeing ghosts, or feeling perturbed. Rumours, maybe. Still, some say its Morgen. Would you happen to know whats going on? Do you know her?"

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Whilst she didn’t have the same problems as Dreadnaught she did sometimes struggle in a world not designed for a seven-foot woman, so she was used to getting comfortable in strange places.


“And please call me Klara. Morgan doesn’t seem the type to engage in spiritual debate, though if at a later date you ply me with such excellent tea and biscuits!” her beliefs weren’t aligned with  the church but she was fascinated how her beliefs matched with them


“But we must first find out what happened to Morgan. It seems that this church has some link to what happened to her, could you tell us more about this abandoned church she was interested in?”

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"Klara...yes" replied the Revrd, giving a small efficient nod of his head with vague suggestions of a bow. 


"I'm not a historian" he conceded, aplogetically. "The local library may have more information on it, I suppose. Its been in a state of Ruin for as long as I have been here, and I have been here all my life. I understand there was some attempt at restoration in the 19th Century but it was called off. The rumour mill of the time talked of superstition, ghosts, evil malign forces, Satan himself, I would imagine" he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. 


"Its not in fantastic shape, but its a roof, and has a certain sanctuary, of sorts. Morgen seems quite immune to cold and chills, even snow. I...ah....had to work quite hard to get her to wear clothes" he said, blushing. 


"Its a ghost church, you might say. Haunted. And as you may have guessed, a lot of the townsfolk right now claim to be seeing ghosts, feeling that same malign presence, and so on. I have had many requests for blessings and exorcisms..." he sighed, shaking his head. "But I can't do anything for mass panic other than tea and sympathy, I am afraid. And you are most welcome to both!" he smiled. 


"I'm not sure if the presence of you two...ah....tall folk will throw more fuel to the fire of panic, or smother it, to be honest. Tell me, what is your intent here?"

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"We came to see what was up with morgen, she kinda just vanished on us." Dreadnought reiterated as he rubbed at his chin.


"Though if we can figure out what's going on with these ghosts we'll see if we can fix it." He reasoned.


"You give us some directions t' the church?"

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And so...


Despite the wet climate, the grey skies, the drizzle in the air, it was a pleasant enough walk through green fertile hills complete with sheep. It was at least not too cold (although Dreadnough would hardly have felt the most bitter climate). It took less than half an hour to get there, and the directions were easy enough to follow. 


There it was, a ruined church ontop a hill. It felt a little chilly up here. Perhaps it was the light winter wind, perhaps...perhaps it was something else more ancient and primal. Dreadnough could remember the ancient gods of ice and fire that danced in these hills, and perhaps this was their distant echo. 


For the most part the Church was intact. A door, a roof, most of the walls. One could guess it had been half repaired as the Revd had told them, but the repairs had not been completed. It was still a fragile thing, with rotten wood and plenty of whistling holes in its cracked walls. Somehow, a bell tower was still active, as was the bell, although it looked like it might fall at any moment. 


There was a feeling of something ancient and spooky here that crept into the heart and spine. Perhaps it was the stories and the view. Perhaps it was something more...

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She might not be as resilient as Dreadnaught, though she wasn’t a slouch in any measure, but she’d grown up in the mountains of Altai so was used to the rarefied air up at heights so this was nothing but bracing. She wondered a little about the possible spirits of this land, and how they’d react to there presence. Back how they interacted with spirits fairly regularly, having long arrangements with some that went back to the founding to her people. But she’d been away from there for a very long time, and the agreement of those there didn’t translate to the spirits of this one village in Wales.


“We don’t know what we’ll find so I suggest that we go in with a soft touch, Morgan can be a bit of a blunt instrument so there may be another side going on here.”

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"oh believe me, you have no idea, I went to a...party with her waaay back when." He chuckled bemusedly.


"Very assertive woman" He added with a nod of his head.


"I should tell you how stuff played out in detail sometime, get morgan to fact check me." He commented as with a thick finger he tapped upon the door a little.

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"Who is that?"


"Go away!"


Mumble mumble mumble...


It was Morgen's voice, for certain. She seemed a bit sleepy, a bit irritable, a bit...crazy. Rather like she normally did, by Dreadnough's etimation. But there was perhaps an edge. She had lost her certaintity, and gained a fleck of anxiety, or fear. Which was odd, for she was normally the boldest of the bold. But then, what was Morgen normally? For she certainly was not normal. 


"This place is not for you! It is not safe! This is the abode of old and terrible Gods!" she said, more loudly, although the door remained closed and she was out of view. 


Given Dreadnought's strength, even a finger tap might send the Church crumbling to the ground...

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Klara didn’t know Morgan as well as Dreadnaught, but she’d known her enough to suspect that something was very wrong and that if they rushed in they might make things worse.


“I know some pretty ancient gods and spirits, why don’t you enlighten me?” she sounded confident and in control, but dropped down to a whisper when talking to her college


“The church might be containing whatever’s trapped in this place, try not to damage anything!”

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"yeah...sods law says I take a step back and it crumbles cus I stepped on some ancient leyline or something." He grumbled back as  he carefully withdrew his finger from the aged wooden door.


"Bloomin' magic at it again." He whispered as he waited to see how things would turn out.


"Yeah morgen, let us help you with this stuff, it's what we're here for ya know?"

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Slowly, the door creaked open. It looked like it might split in two for a moment, and an old rusty nail theatrically fell out and clinked on the stone below. 


Morgen's head popped out. It was hard to miss. Her pink pale flesh, that burnt out eye (that stared at them despite being scar tissue and opaque whiteness) and her red hair that looked like a birds nest right now. 


She did at least appear to be wearing clothes. 


"Giant!" she said. "And...you!" she said, remembering Voin but less clearly. 


"Wheres the chilly one?" she said, coldly, not fond of Comrade Frost. 


"What do you want? How are you going to help me? I'm on my own path! I don't need any help!"

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Klara had lived long enough that she understood people pretty well, even though Morgan was ancient the same tells still applied down all these years. And something was definitely off with Morgan, more so than her normal grumpiness.


“Be careful something off about this,” she whispered to Dreadnaught, though they’d already knew that something weird was going on


“We wanted to make sure that you were okay, and you know that in matters like this is something to be done as a tribe, and Dreadnaught here is one of your tribe.”


She hoped that they shared some traditions that her own ancient culture followed even now.

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"ah don't worry frost ain't here today." He answered bluntly as ever as he rubbed his hand against the back of his head.


He wasn't really sure what was wrong but something was, he'd felt it in his gut for days...maybe it was just coincidence but then again...


"Gotta be honest Morgan, I've been having a bad feeling I can't place for days...maybe it's embers touch still smouldering in me but something just ...feels wrong? Agitated even." He explained as he returned to his stock still standing position


"Anything like that up with you?"

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"Ember? Ember?" said Morgen, scratching her filthy hair. "Yes...I remember Ember....old God. Gone. Dead..."


She turned and shuffled into the ruined Church, which was even more ruined on the inside than the outside. It smelled of rotten wood, fungus, and ancient earth. 


She started rambling, and it was not clear if she was talking to herself, Voin, Dreadnought, or arguably something else completely. "...old Gods. Old Gods. So many dead. Or sleeping. Perhaps it is the same. I hear them. I hear them whispering...." she croaked. "They should wake, you know!" she said, spinning round to point at Dreadnought. 


"Like we woke them in the past! Then, they would at least be honest and true, rather than infect dreams and visions when they turn in their slumber!"

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Klara had dealt with ancient gods and spirits and it wasn’t always clear cut what they wanted, and her people had a good relationship with them. Without the proper ceremonies and knowledge, it could have an effect on the mind.


“The gods might be sleeping but the land still talks! There is a Y Dderwen a tree that walks like a man and even Britannia who channels the nation's hopes and desires. Maybe they could answer their questions and help you find your place in this time?”


Klara knew she was from well before those people of the lands, but it might be enough of a link to allow her to find a place.

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