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Something Old, Something New (IC)


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The Hunter Museum of Natural History was an imposing structure, its classical Greek face a welcome break from a city center filled with glass-walled skyscrapers. Inside the theme of quiet, unobtrusive majesty continued with inlaid tile floors, dark wood walls, and polished brass fittings. all of it was carefully understated though, so as not to distract from the exhibits: pieces from prehistoric societies like the Lemuria and Atlantis, all the way to artifacts from selected future timelines.

The bones of the building, though, were far more prosaic. Unpainted concrete walls, tile floors with colored lines painted on, and lighting fixtures with bare bulbs were the order of the day in the museum's sub-basement. Patricia Wellsly, head of security, was a plump, older woman who nevertheless had a drill-sergeant air of command about her. The sharp clack-clack of her low pumps was a sharp contrast to the sneakers of her guest. Aside from the odd squeak and a rustling of fabrics, Warlock didn't make any noise as he followed the older woman.

"Of course, when we first became aware of the intrusion, we alerted the Freedom League," Patricia was saying, not bothering to look back at her guest, "but Daedalus is apparently off in space with the Star Knight. When we got a hold of Eldrich, well, he recommended you." She glacned back at him and sniffed, as if she was reconsidering the wisdom of the Master Mage.

'The intrusion' turned out to be a tunnel dug out of the earth, roughly circular and at least seven feet wide. It intersected the corridor at a gentle angle and ran back a dozen feet or so before disappearing into the earth.

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Warlock scratched his chin, which had grown scruffy. He examined the hole, looking at the walls surrounding it. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as he got a closer look. He pondered the space, wondering what could have possible made it. After about two minutes of examination, he shrugged.

"Mole people?"

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Patrica sniffed derisively. "I don't care if it's acquisitions agents from China. They ransacked the antiquities department and grabbed a number of valuable prehistoric artifacts. Not to mention put three of my guards in the hospital." She eyed the young hero, not trying to hide her disappointment. Maybe she had been expecting someone in a cape and tights. "Of course, if you can just figure out who took the items, I'm sure another hero could actually get them back."

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Blake looked at her, his expression turning to annoyed for a tenth of a moment. "Of course I can find them. Just tell me what they've stolen exactly, and I'll try and deduce who would want them. I'm better at this detective stuff than most superheroes are, so you've nothing to worry about, Ms. Wellsly. The items will be returned in short notice." He adjusted his tie and turned around to face her. "So where's the room they took the items in question from?"

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Patricia gestured and they were walking again. "The museum recently received a number of Atlantean and Lemurian artifacts. Some of the pieces have already been processed and put on display, but most are still waiting to be appraised. That's where the thieves hit." Processing, as it turned out, was a large, auditorium-like room, subdivided into smaller areas by hanging curtains. Most of the room was open now, though, filled with long tables. The tables supported various artifacts, mostly stone with the occasional gold or patina-encrusted bronze piece.

One table was conspicuously empty. An older man with a shaved head was half-sitting on it, leafing through a clipboard. He looked up when Patricia and Warlock entered and set the clipboard aside, walking up to the pair and smiling weakly. "Hello," he said, offering the hero his hand. "Bruce MacKenzie. I'm a professor over at FCU, with a specialty in pre-history. I volunteered to help the museum catalog the new pieces. I, um, assume you'll want to see what was stolen?" He let Warlock over to the bar table and handed him the clipboard.

There were ten pictures there, all black and white. None were particularly note-worthy: a stone bowl, a dark knife, the metal remains what might have been some kind of headdress or crown. When the hero reached the last page, MacKenzie peered over his shoulder and began talking. "That's the only rally notable piece that was taken. It's a mural, and you can see that much of it is missing, but we think it's the most complete recipe for orchalium in surfacer hands."

It wasn't much of a recipe. It started with human figures putting three bars of what was presumably gold into a dish or crucible. Intermediate steps showed the addition of leaves, jagged lines, spirals, and other details worn away by time. At the end of the line a single bar of metal was divided into a sword, a disc - or maybe a shield? - and a crown.

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Warlock's expression went to one of concentration as he was led over to the table. As the professor flipped through the book, his mind was already at work. Although he had not faced against any of the major villains, he had a few ideas on who the culprit might be.

"That's interesting, Professor MacKenzie. It seems to me that whoever broke in was after more than money. The artifacts themselves could be worth quite a bit, especially from a museum, but there could be more sought from the orchalium. I believe that's Atlantean in origin, right? It's supposedly indestructible. I can't pin down anyone in particular who would want it, but anyone able to decipher the mural could use it for their own purposes."

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"We believe orchalium is Atlantean in origin, yes. It's an alchemically derived metal, supposed to hold magic well and next to impossible to even damage." The academic wrung his hands, unaware or uncaring that he was talking to someone who probably knew a lot more than him about the properties of the mystical metal. "I can't imagine the other pieces would be of interest, except to someone with a fetish for prehistoric Lemurian artifacts. The mural is the only thing I imagine would have real value -- but you saw all there is! Half of the inscription is gone and the other half would only make sense to an ancient Atlantean alchemist, I'd bet."

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Blake's eyes opened with a start. "I think I know who might have taken them. It does seem odd that he took them this way...but I believe the mystic Malador might have stolen the artifacts."

He started pacing, pausing to look at the stolen artifacts. "I don't know what he wants with the orchalium, but it isn't good."

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"Malador the Mystic?" MacKenzie tilted his head to one side, then the other, searching Warlock's face. "I don't think I actually know who that is. But you can track the villain and recover the artifacts, right? Even if he only intends to sell them, ti could be disastrous. They might never be recovered, and those pieces are part of a historical legacy that the whole world has a right to."

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Warlock nodded. "Absolutely. And so I shall!" He walked proudly from the room, a confident (almost smug) grin on his face. The door swung open as he practically kicked it open, and the young wizard bravely marched into the hole.

As soon as he was sure his bravado would remain intact, Warlock shuddered and pulled out his lightning wand. It sparked a few times, but eventually emitted a soft light, and he started to explore the hole.

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The tunnel ran straight for a dozen feet, then dipped down at a sharp angle. The teen hero skidded down the slope, his free hand steadying him against the packed earth. The ride lasted about ten minutes before the hole leveled out to an easier grade, but glancing up Warlock could see that he had traveled at least fifty feet almost straight down. How had the criminals climbed that while digging the tunnel, not to mention while handling the artifacts on the way back?

He put the question out of his head and continued down the path. It broadened to twenty or thirty feet, an oblong tube in the earth, but the walls stayed smooth to the touch. Before long, he could hear voices echoing down the path; extinguishing the wand and activating his sunglasses, he crept forward stealthily. He edged around one bend and came upon a group of humanoids painting something on the walls of the tunnel. He zoomed in on the figures and noticed their slimy skin, unnaturally elongated skulls, and their blank, black eyes. His training let him recognize them easily -- Deep Ones, Atlanteans corrupted by the ancient Lemurian gods!

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Warlock gasped in surprise, then pushed his back against the side of the cave, hoping to escape their notice. However, a huge rock fell from the ceiling and crashed onto the floor. He gritted his teeth, and allowed himself to breath deeply. He had been spotted, and he knew it. A bead of sweat hit his Converse trainers as he slowly made his way to the middle of the passage.

"What's up, guys?"

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The twisted creatures turned at the sound of the crashing rock, and did a collective double-take when they saw Warlock. They paused when he spoke and exchanged a few sibilant hisses before advancing on the hero menacingly. One pulled a wide, slightly curved dagger of tarnished metal from his belt; another bend and hefted a had-sized rock; and the last flexing his wide hands, opening his mouth to reveal row after row of sharp, needle-like teeth. The one with the dagger pulled ahead of the pack though, charging the hero and scoring a long, deep gash down one leg.

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Warlock cried out in shock and pain as the dagger cut deeply into his ankle. He hissed in pain and tried to back up, his leg spurting blood on the cavern floor. This is bad. Deep Ones? What would they want with Orichalcum? Unless...they're working for someone. His Converse, quickly becoming crimson with his rapidly spilling blood. This hurts like a mofo. Hopefully I'll have a chance to teleport away and use my healing potion. What I wouldn't do for help...that's it! I'll call Jessica, if I can get away from these guys.

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The Deep One raised his bloody knife high and behind him the other two mutants called out in their hissing tongue, either teasing Warlock to cheering the knife-wielder on. Knife turned to sneer at the hero, waving the blade through the air and letting some blood drip off the end. Then it spoke, in nasal, accented English. "The h-h-hero of the su-urface," he mocked. "Out master sai-ud you wou-uld breah-hk us with a loo-ook! Now you-ur bloo-ood is on my dagger, and soo-oon I will gn-kaw on yo-our bones!" The creature grinned madly and advanced on the young hero.

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Warlock popped the cap off of his healing potion and poured it directly on the wound. The gash started to stitch itself back up, and he turned to face them. "Alright-" he said, casually flicking on his force field ring. It shimmered with a bright blue eldritch energy, and he smiled confidently behind it. "I think it's time I sent you guys back to Ry'leh where you belong." He cracked his knuckles, and brought a hand out. With a beckon and a wide grin, Warlock invited them forward.

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Knife waved his blade in the air again, grinning as he took two quick steps forward. Its pale foot caught an outcropping of rock as it advanced, though, and the mutant ended up pitching on its face. The creature waved its weapon spasticly in Warlock's direction as it fell, but it only succeeded in losing its grip on the weapon. Defenseless, the creature scrambled backwards from the hero on all fours. Its buddies exchanged a glance and Teeth stepped forward, gnashing and growling at the hero threateningly.

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Warlock stepped back a few paces, and reached inside his mojo pouch. He lifted a handful of his sleeping powder, tossing it at the faces of the Deep Ones. With his other hand, he quickly pulled out his cell phone and dialed Jessica. "Hey baby! Just thinking about you."

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Warlock's phone rang against his ear several times, then he heard a click and a familiar feminine voice in his ear. "Hey, this is Jessica. I'm not here, but do your business at the beep and I'll get back to you." A beep followed, recording only Warlock's stunned silence.

There wasn't silence for too long, though. The Deep One with a rock clutched in one webbed hand charged forward, swinging hard at the hero. It managed to connect with the mystic shield, throwing up a stream of multicolored spark that lit up the dark area for a brief second.

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Warlock parried the blow, and smiled briefly. His concentration was sharpened to a point. "Dude, you're using rocks against a guy who can do magic! What kind of craziness is that?" he said with a grin, as he pulled out his metallic lightning wand. He took a few steps back and fired at the Deep Ones, a jagged bolt of lightning flying straight at them! He held the phone to his ear and left Jessica a message. "So yeah! I'm fighting Deep Ones in the Hunter Museum of Natural History. Ask them up front and tell them you know me. Talk to you later! Love you!"

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Rock easily dodged the lightning bolt at such close range, the unleashed electricity bouncing off the tunnel walls and spalling chips of rock everywhere. The mutant raised his impromptu weapon for another blow against the hero's shield, brought it down -- and it promptly shattered in the creature's hand, impaling the limb and turning it into a useless mass of blood and flesh. The Deep One retreated swiftly, cradling his useless hand and mewling softly in pain.

Only one was left. The last mutant spread his clawed hands wide and hissed at the hero through a mouth of needle-like teeth. Without further warning, the creature charged down the tunnel, apparently intent on eating the young hero alive!

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Warlock easily dodged the running Deep One, and casually pulled out his wand, firing a bolt of lightning energy at the last Deep One. What the hell were these freaks doing down here anyway? There's obviously something going down beneath the Hunter Museum. His first thoughts went to who would be able to get Deep Ones to stand guard...and his mind went blank. He couldn't think of anyone who would be able to get them, but he was sure he'd find out soon.

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The energy bolt struck the Deep One mutant square in the stomach, tossing it the rough ground. The creature stretched out weakly to grab at Warlock's leg, but the hero easily kicked free. The twisted Atlantean curled around the pain in its midsection, breath hissing in and out harshly. It suddenly screamed out something, its voice reverberating oddly in the stone corridor. It might've been calling for reinforcements or cursing the hero; Warlock couldn't understand the language, so he couldn't say.

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Warlock, holding his wand with a loose hand, almost absentmindedly fired another energy bolt at the evil creature. He stood to make sure it fell unconscious- nothing would be worse than one of these unnatural things creeping up behind him. He examined the other two, noting their unnatural look. Whatever was ahead wouldn't be good, especially if he had Deep Ones at his disposal.

Blake watched the Deep One fall unconscious, and he grinned a little. He spun his wand between his fingers, and continued further into the cave. "Groovy."

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The mutant didn't have a chance. The lightning bolt struck it full on and spun it around slightly; when the creature came to rest, it was breathing shallowly, dead to the world. The remaining Deep Ones mewled softly to themselves and retreated deeper into the tunnels, beyond the hero's sight.

With the goons dispatched, Warlock had a chance to examine the runes they were daubing on the wall. His first impression was that they were painting in blood, but after a moment he realized it was a thick, red clay of some sort, with mica or diamond flecks mixed in. He didn't recognize all the sigils, but several seemed similar to signs for earth or dirt. They were conjoined with symbols for destruction, and everything was inscribed within a thaumaturgy circle. Either the magic was intended to affect something a good distance away -- or else it was meant to be triggered by something a good distance away.

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