As the bullets rip through me it occurs to me just how spectacularly bad of a decision I'd made. And proves once again why letting your anger do the talking is a horrible idea. Then suddenly I'm... Okay, I have no idea where I am. Just that I slid down a pizza slice and there's a bunch of clown cars. Also, that I'm somehow not dead. As I numbly realize the rifle is still with me I preform the most well known of maneuvers... the facepalm.

Slowly I get to my feet and look around. Well, at least it looks like there's civilization here. I can't understand what anyone is saying, but I do recognize the panic in their voices. So instead of acting threatening I calmly shrug out of my pack and retrieve the water bottle. Well, as calmly as someone who had just been shot in the chest can be that is. Still don't know if the water's safe to drink yet. But it's there, and I'm still thirsty. As I wait for whoever is going to come I sip at the water I have with me while donning the pack once again.

Deep breaths and calming down are the order of the day. After thinking about it for a moment, I take off the pack again. From inside it I pull out a copy of the Pathfinder core book. I sit down on in the grass with my pack next to me, and start to read. My guess is that someone is going to be arriving in the near future. Maybe they'll know what's going on? And maybe they'll be willing to accept that I'm not some alien invader? Seriously, what is a thanos situation suppose to be anyway?

Wait, thanos... name for one of the death gods, can't think of which pantheon off hand. Also a major league villain in the Marvel comics universe. As in 'almost wiped out two thirds of all creation in one storyline' level of threat.... Oh. They thought I was some sort of megalomaniac monster?!

You're sitting down with your Pathfinder book in an open pasture of about twenty acres. In the two acres around you are eight vehicles.

One Volvo, three Mercedes Benz's, one car you don't recognize, an APC or Armoured Personal Carrier marked 'Polizei' on its side, a Ducati motorcycle that's skidded and crashed, a man with a dolly, and a lady with a baby carriage are the vehicles.

There are no signs of roads or tracks of more than skidding distance long.

There are about fifty people in that same area, most with looks of shock, or dismay on their faces. One is bowing, and praying.  Another fellow twenty feet away seems to be napping on a pillow with his textbook on his chest.  He's snoring.  There is a policeman near the APC who is trying to call HQ on his walkie-talkie with no luck.

"was ist atomwaffe?"
"Russe da." Is one conversation you hear.

Reading a book had definitely helped me calm the rest of the way down. And when someone finally arrived my fears were confirmed. Nope, I didn't understand what they were saying. Not surprising since I don't speak German. Okay, introductions take two. At least they aren't pointing guns at me. That's an improvement at least.

"I'm sorry, but I can't understand you. Do any of you officers speak English?" I call out while closing the book. "Don't be alarmed, I'm just going to put some things down."

With that I slowly pull the rifle's shoulder strap over my head and place it on the ground, with the trigger away from me. I do ensure the barrel isn't pointing at anyone though. I then slowly pull both sheathes from my belt and rest them next to the gun. Maybe this will prevent me from getting killed, or whatever had happened earlier. It had been a rather unpleasant experience after all.

'You are American? British?  NATO? Did you see the bright flash of light. NATO and the Russians were jockeying over the Ukraine." The police officer says.
Next to him is another officer.
"Heinrich,he knows all this. Don't be stupid. Oh, pick back up your weapons, ja?"
"Franze, the American ask me, so I answer. Maybe he's in shock."  He peers at your eyes, and feels your wrist for your pulse.

 A man comes up, starts talking to the police, ignoring you.
Another guy comes up.
"How do I get to my house near Leipsplatz?"
Several others also come up to the police, begging for answers, but in German.  There is a sense of barely suppressed panic, and you can see by the officers faces that they are very far from the killers you met, and they are baffled themselves.

OOC: You have 21 rounds in your AW-17 which is what it says on the side of it.  Mfg. by Finnish Firearms is also there.

"American, but not military. Actually, I'm not sure what's going on. Last time I saw a brit, they started shooting at me for some reason. Come to think of it, so did the people I got this thing from. So I figured disarming would be a good way to show I'm not hostile. Say, where is 'here' anyway? I was kind of just dumped in the area without any explinations."

Okay, the brits shooting at me was probably my own fault. Always knew my temper would get me in trouble. As I gathered my stuff back up, and it felt wrong to consider a rifle mine, I had to think. I don't usually carry money. And I didn't have any local currency anyway. Which meant I needed paying work soon, otherwise I'd be out of food real fast. Unfortunately, I didn't exactly qualify for much beyond unskilled labor. Maybe if there was need of knowledge involving medieval siege warfare and identifying ancient weapons, but how likely was that.

"Wouldn't know if there's any work for a medieval warfare and weapons expert by any chance?"

Heinrich asks. "Are you criminal? We do appreciate your good manners, Amerikaner."

Franze says.  "If you get permit, then yes, in Berlin....But where is Berlin?"

And then from the edge of the very tall and sturdy tree five acres away you hear a metal bendingly loud screech. A creature with the head of an eagle, the body of a lion, and wings thirty feet from wingtip to wingtip rises from the treetops.  Its huge eyes are looking your way.

"Criminal? No, but I've had my share of encounters with them. Usually I can convince them to back down."

Then a creature right out of myth and legend appeared. A griffin, an actual griffin. Just great, how much more insanity do I have to deal with. I consider pulling out the dagger, but to be honest I don't want to get that close if I can help it. Can't believe I'm actually considering taking this thing on either. Maybe it's the fact I just got shot up, yet am alive and whole. Or maybe I've played too many roleplaying games and first person shooters. Or maybe I'm just crazy. I vote for being crazy.

As I pull up the rifle I say "You only live once I guess... I'll keep the griffin busy, start getting people out of here."

I aim at the monstrous animal as best I can. If first person shooters have taught me anything, it's that the whole 'spray and pray' method doesn't work. The problem is I have no actual experience firing an assault rifle, it's all from video games. Still, when I pull the trigger it's as brief as I can, trying for only one round. I fire into the air, not really trying to hit the creature yet, just not hit anyone else. I then start moving away from everyone else.

"Come on you overgrown turkey, let's dance!" I scream at the griffin before trying to fire a three round burst at it. Hopefully the experience from firing the first time will help me account for the recoil. Equally hopefully any missed rounds hit a tree or nothing at all. I do not want to hit anyone.

"Ja, remember that thief, he tried to ...what is that?!?" Heinrich says as the griffin launches itself.

"Jawohl, mein herr." Franze snaps out a salute, and begins to yell at the people.  Heinrich joins in a second later.

As you move in on the beast, your first shot only endangers a passing cloud.  And then the griffin locks in on you.  Before it had been looking at everyone wondering what tasty, snack treat it should try first.  Now, its angry that you've challenged it.

Your first shot clips its wing, and two more bullets speed out, hitting the tree line.  People are running, helping each other, screaming, and diving under cars.  It screeches in shock loud enough to be heard a mile away.

You fire again, and this time hit it with one bullet spent in the left leg.  This time it screams loud enough to slightly deafen you.  Its now fifty feet away, and starting its sloping dive down toward you.

1@1 autorifle.

"It's called a griffin," I call out as I line up the next shot using the iron sights.

I aim for a little below it's head, hoping to actually hit that spot. But more likely I realize it'll go wild, thus hopefully at least hit the creature. If my aim is true, then I have the pie in the sky hope the recoil will put a round or two in the thing's brain. Unlikely as it might be.

"They're mostly solitary hunters, but can be encountered in mated pairs so there might be another one nearby. Carnivorous, animal intelligence. But the high end of animal intelligence. Thankfully they aren't supernatural, so you don't have to worry about weird powers and abilities. Watch out for the beak, it can tear through steel."

I pull the trigger and do my best to keep my aim true. And may I say, holy moley that thing's fast. I prepare to dive to the left as it gets closer, hopefully to avoid being disemboweled. Doubt I'll get another shot, so knife fighting it is after this. Since when did my life become an action movie anyway?

Your first shot goes just over its head you think. Yanking it down, you go for another shot, and hit it in its throat.  You see blood spurt, and it crashes to the ground twenty feet from you.

It staggers back to its feet, one wing hitting a Benz's windshield shattering it.

Right, I think when it hits a car with one wing. Don't get hit by the wings. I fire off one last burst at the thing, trying to aim for center mass. After that I move to the left as originally planned. I consider letting go of the rifle and drawing my dagger once more. I eye  the beaks and wings warily. This is an alpha predator after all. Trying to engage in hand to hand is likely suicide. I know this intellectually. But I also know I've been getting lucky. I don't know enough about firearms to rely on them.

It's times like this I wish I owned a good hunting bow. Or at least had my crossbow with me. Keeping my distance is a great idea. Maybe if I had more training, good armor, and a trustworthy sword I'd be more willing to get in the creature's face. But I don't have those things. So I decide to continue using the rifle, for now. I don't dare take my eyes of the thing. I need to be ready to dodge at a moment's notice after all.

"Are the civilians out of the area yet? Because I could use some backup!"

Okay, not something your typical action hero would say. Then again, I'm not an action hero. I'm a slightly overweight middle aged man who plays too many video games. And I am so far out of my depth it's not even funny. It's only my usual reaction to fear that makes me seem as calm as I do.

You hit it once in the wing bone, and the rest climb into the sky.  It looks at you with hate and fear, and you realize no matter what, you've saved the people.  Its got a mortal wound, and it knows it, but its determined to take you with it.

It leaps and you dive just a little slowly to the left.  It rips open your right arm.

As it does, Heinrich fires, or tries to.  His gun doesn't shoot.

Franze hits it in the head.  And it dies, and you pass out.

You wake up a bit later, your right arm throbbing, and a beautiful fraulein bending over you.  She's just finished clipping a gauze roll around your arm.

She hands you some pills and another concerned looking man hands you a water bottle already opened.

"Ibuprofen. Its not much, Amerikaner." She says.  "I'd like to have you in the hospital.  The griffin went down to your bone."

+@1 to your shooting skill for using burst successfully, and +@1 for the fight so 1@3 shooting which translates to low amateur.

"Hospital... good," I manage to get out past the incredible pain.

I've felt worse, the time I broke my ankle walking down a flight of stairs for example. But this hurts entirely too much. I accept the pain medication because again, OUCH. And yet I'm still alive. A fact which almost makes me start singing a certain song from the end of Portal. In fact, before I can stop myself I begin to quote the song.

"This is a triumph. I'm making a note here, huge success. It's hard to overstate my satisfaction. I take it you don't deal with mythological predators often?"

The nurse  you guess bursts into tears.

"No hospital, mate. Just this pasture.  Good sheep land.  And the trees, and some mountains aways off that don't look like the Alps. This is bar none, the weirdest trip I've ever taken, and I include that time my socalled friend put magic mushrooms on my steak." The concerned man, revealed to be Australian by his voice, squats down next to you.  "All of us were in Berlin when it looks like the balloon went up, which is what you Yanks say, yeah?  I saw a missile go over head, and then the big light, and ....here. Oh, my name's Mike."

You speak to the nurse, and she dries her eyes.

"No. I was on lunch break from the hospital, and then I was here.  We have no monsters in Berlin, well except for the tigers in the zoo. My name is Sharon."

"Good thing I'm something of an expert on them then. Mostly I research the fair folk. But you'd be surprised how often eclectic knowledge comes in handy. Name's Andrew, by the way. And might I say... Ouch."

I groaned due to the pain. Still, pain and me are old friends. Unfortunately.

"Wish I had my crossbow. Today's been weird enough that I should have brought my bob."

Someone runs by.  "We're having a meeting over by the trees." Sharon translates what the runner says.  Mike and Sharon help you to your feet.

You walk about an acre over to the shade under some very tall trees.

Heinrich begins to talk, and Sharon translates.

"All of us are alive.  Thanks to the Amerikaner."

This provokes some applause.

"Clearly we are no longer in Germany, or Berlin.  I do not think we would want to be because I've a half dozen eyewitness accounts who say they saw a nuclear fireball.  I think we must assume the war with the Russians started.

But we are alive.  By some miracle.  Somehow we have been translated to Oz."

Mike chokes out a laugh at that.

"I have made contact, poor tho' it is, with a British tank squad of ten tanks an unknown distance away.  He says he is in a forrest with a cobblestone road, and a 'fair bit of trees'

I am open to suggestions as to what to do.'

Still wincing in pain I followed the others to the meeting. The entire time I was thinking on the implications of fighting a griffin. They weren't very nice implications. The comment about being transported to Oz I found amusing. And yet, that would have been preferable to what I thought was going on.

"To start with, I'd suggest someone who likes hunting should probably deal with the griffin carcass. We're going to need food after all. And weapons. What ever happened, ammunition is probably not a renewable resource. That means we'll need to make spears, knives, and possibly javelins. Of course, if anyone here knows how to make one, I for one would appreciate a bow and some arrows. The griffin's beak and talons are incredibly sharp and could be used to make some crude knives. The bones likely aren't hollow, so could make some effective short spears for fishing and self defense out of them too. And if anyone knows how to cure the pelt, that could be useful too. And of course, we'll need to find a source of water.

"Safety wise, keep on the look out. Griffins are generally solitary hunters, but they do mate for life. So there might be another one in the area. It's presence also tells me that other mythological creatures are likely around. The woods suggest there may be a colony of fair folk around, among other things. Which means respecting nature is a Good Idea. Since we don't have any cold iron, and salt is probably not handy either, one effective means of defense if they are around is turning your cloths inside out. They'll laugh at you, but leave you alone. Also, if you see a circle of mushrooms Do Not enter it.

"Until we know more about the area, that's the best I can think of. Oh, whoever is in contact with the armored division should relay these warnings too. A cobblestone road could indicate a13th century European style civilization. In which case our money is likely worth less then the materials used to make it. On the other hand, it does indicate that a barter system is likely in place too. Which means trading services for goods my be a possible means to acquire supplies.

"Another thing the griffin's presence indicates is that while we may have superior weapons in the form of firearms, we do not have superior firepower. Magic likely works here. So the possibility of eating a fireball or lightning bolt, or even a bolt of acid to the face is very real. If we come across a group of armed and armored men and women, I'd suggest being polite to them. They could probably kick our rear ends from here to the nearest mountain range... without trying. Similarly if you see a giant flying reptile do not annoy it. For according to dragons we are crunchy and go good with ketchup."

"I know a bit." A skinny guy says.  "I will start chopping up the beast if someone has a good knife."  That is available.  Another couple guys volunteer to help.

"We need to do an inventory of everything we have." Franze says, and a couple inventory takers are appointed.  They check your stuff as well as everyone elses.

"I used to work in an archer shop." Mike says.  "I can probably put together a bow suited for small animals."

"I can cure the pelt.  I own, or used to own, Black Forrest Leather." A gray-haired man says.  This provokes some comments as it seems several others had shopped there in the past as it was nearby where everyone vanished.

Inventory turns up two shotguns, and three pistols, all properly and uselessly stored inside containers in the trunks of cars.  The next griffin might have a harder time however.

There is a two person tent, and a tarp.

Franze goes off with a few guys to look for water.  The griffin is getting butchered led by the skinny guy who is a butcher.  He's wishing loudly he had proper tools.

A campfire is started.

OOC: A fair bit of this was GE or General Effect Rolls.  If I did it properly, it would be 3d10 with the number distribution in a bell curve.  This is used to decide sometimes when the ref hasn't a position yet.  16 is 'normally expected'.  3 is beyond your best dreams.  30 is massively, totally awful.

Like to the question of a pelt, my inclination was to say no, but the dice liked you.  Now if you'd gotten a 3, you'd have an excellent taxidermist with all his tools perhaps.  A 16 and nothing.  A 30 and a weird guy would say 'yes, yes, let me get my knives from the trunk.' and then he would giggle.  Because every stranded extradimensional group needs their very own serial killer.

Don't worry, the odds of getting a 30 are almost 1 in a 1000.

While not ideally suited for the task, I offered up my dagger for dealing with the griffin's remains. It wasn't like I could do much to help out until my arm healed. Although, it occurred to me I did know some things that might aid in defense if another one showed up, or something more dangerous. From my pack I pulled out my copy of SAS Survival Handbook, revised edition. While I mostly used it as a gaming reverence, this was the type of situation said information was ideal for.

After checking the table of contents, I quickly found myself reading the information on pages 306 and 307. This seemed ideal information since it dealt with making tools out of stone and bone. After reading the information I headed over to where the others were working on the griffin.

"It's not much, and will take work. But I have information on how to make stone axes, as well as saws and needles out of bones. You guys need any help?"

They use the dagger as well as some other tools.

"Yes. Da. You help." One says.  You and he start working on the procedure of making a needle since it seems easier than making a bone saw.  You and he make a crude one, then a good one, then one breaks and another just doesn't work.

With the work, the stress of constantly listening for another griffin, your arm's pain you're finding yourself tired.

The water hunting party comes back with tales of a sparkling creek a hundred yards into the woods, and they have some fish.  Food is gathered from various stores.  Its heavy on snack bars.

You get a bite of fish, a mug of tea, a Snickers bar, and a handful of crackers with Cheez Whiz on them for dinner.

Night is coming on.  You and the lady with the toddler are offered the only spots in the tent.

With my injured arm in a makeshift sling, shaping bone is a difficult task. With one of the razor sharp claws in hand, I spend the afternoon laboriously chipping away at a large shoulder blade then trying my best to shape the bone chips into needles. It's a hard task, made harder by having to do it one handed. By the time it's too dark to continue working I've only managed to make four acceptable needles. On the other hand, there are fourteen chips that might do well as arrow heads. And the shoulder blade is just starting to take on the shape of a crude sword. It's not pretty, but it just might eventually be functional.

After supper I pull out the ruined saber's blade. Using the same talon I begin sharpening the top half of the edge. While it's useless as a weapon, it might be useful as a tool. And may be possible to turn it into a sort of pole arm. Maybe a naginata or yari. After that I tend to my dagger, cleaning and checking it for nicks that need to be taken care of. The rifle probably needs to be cared for too, but to be honest I have no idea how to do that. I figure someone else might though.

That night chivalry and practicality war with me. In the end practicality wins out, so with I thank them for the honor and bed down in the tent. Sleeping in the dirt isn't a great idea when injured after all. My dreams are troubled. The fact I killed twice finally hitting me through the shock of the day's events. By the time morning comes along I'm not feeling particularly well rested. Then again I'm not a morning person and I was up sort of late caring for my weapons.

Taking my own advice from the previous day, I reverse my pants before laboriously pulling them back on and buttoning them. My shirt's being used as a sling, so I don't worry much about that. Not feeling particularly hungry due to being use to eating a few small meals a day, I continue working on the bone sword, as well as turning what bone chips I can into needles and arrow/spear heads. Those could be useful. After a short while I stop and retrieve my survival guide again. This time I flip to page 136 and start reading about how to identify edible plants.

Gods, my arm hurts. Dag nabbit, what was I thinking taking on a griffin?! Hopefully my guess that magic exists in this place. Even further, hopefully white magic exists. The thought of infection is not a pleasant one. After turning over the few needles and arrow heads I've made to those who can use them, I gear up. Once that's done I kneel on the ground and pray. Not to God, I don't exactly believe in the christian god. Instead I take a gamble and pray to nature herself to guide my steps.

Finally I stand and call out. "I'm going to look for edible plants. Anyone want to come with me?"

OOC: Your strong arm is right?  If so, you're using  your left arm for a lot more than you're used too, and that gets you +@1 to partially offset the weak hand disadvantage.

Sometimes it feels as if the bone wants to be a sword.  Its an odd feeling that comes and goes.

One of the guys knows how to clean a rifle, and introduces himself.  "My name is Max.  This is an odd weapon.  I've never heard of Finnish Firearms.  And it shoots an 8 millimeter or 8 mm bullet, which I've never heard of.  However, cleaning it is simple."

The lady's toddler is well behaved, but he is very curious about your shoulder.  When you wake, the two of them are already gone.

You do notice that the gravity seems a bit lighter, and you feel a bit stronger than you would expect.

You pray, and you feel a searching mind, not human, terrifyingly old, and contemptuous touch yours.

"You pray to Yanon, human.  But, I, the Count Irizyn Dilianvamecia do answer...."

If you survive that, you and two others with reversed jackets find some dandelion.

OOC: "Gods".....no.

"Never heard of bullet that calliber either," I told Max when he mentioned it. "Got it off a cartel member who was shooting at me."

Now, hearing voices is rarely a good sign. And I hadn't been expecting a response to the prayer at all. It's just that I know a lot more about the fair folk then most people, and have seen enough to be respectful of nature. Especially considering I fought a griffin the previous day. Speaking of which, again... ouch. So when a voice responded inside my head I blinked a couple times in shock. That shock quickly morphed into a low level of horror

"Pardon me if this seems rude, but may I ask who you are?" I think, trying to project it towards whoever or whatever it was that had contacted me. Even as I did that I started searching with the other two.

"How are you holding up?" I asked them as we searched.

"Cartel? Like Medellin Cartel? And you survived. This is guten." Max says.  He seems a bit impressed.

.....Did you not hear, I am the Count Irizyn.  I am Ellala, Human.  And I am your master.  Soon I will send cavalry to the Northern Sheep Meadow.  You would do well to tell your fellow slaves to not resist, or else it will go poorly for them."

You catch a flickering image of poorly....a tall, thin man with paper white skin, and pointed ears, and dark eyes in chain mail on a horse using his sabre to chop someone's arm off.

....if you do this, I will promote you to the leader of your rabble.

There is no question in his voice that he will have his way, one way or another.  And as cold and nasty as the Cartel guy's eyes were, this being feels worse.

You've been picking a half basket of dandelions...

As the voice spoke I paled slightly. The words relayed were not good ones. And while normally it's a bad sign to be hearing voices in your head, I had a feeling this time it was much much worse. I suspected this was because the other voice was probably an actual entity outside of my own pain addled mind. And while I had somehow survived being shot multiple times in the chest, I didn't like the idea of being a slave. Favored or otherwise.

Then again, I'm not a fan of bullies. And those who keep slaves, well, they're some of the biggest bullies. The question was, did I have the heart to stand up and fight? I've always liked to think I do. But until this insanity had started I'd never actually been tested. Oh sure I've intimidated a few incompetent muggers. But I'd never actually been forced to face my own fear. Let alone fight a real battle. The cartel idiots had been my first actual life or death confrontation. And the ill advised confrontation with those soldiers had been more a case of me running on pure adrenaline and stupidity.

Now here I was, injured after doing battle with a griffon of all things. I was armed with a griffon claw, a ceremonial dagger, and an unfinished bone sword. Really, more of a club at the moment. If honest with myself, something which I try to be, I was scared. Well... terrified was more like it. Yet pants wetting terror wasn't in any way shape or form useful. Not when everything was stacked against you. Yet the question still haunted me. Could I really step up like one of my roleplaying  or video game characters?

“We need to get  back. Now. There's some serious trouble heading our way and the others need to be warned. So do those people with the tanks.”

While traveling I wracked my brain for anything I knew of ritual magic. Which admittedly wasn't very much. What I did know had been learned as a sort of happy accident while researching for  a short story. From what I remembered, it's more intent then actual structured spells. Real magic, or rather magik, as I understood it is rather understated and subtle. Unlike in the  movies where it's all flashy fireballs and throwing lightning. Still, when combined with my rudimentary knowledge of symbol and knowing the name of what apparently is this place's goddess of nature maybe it would be useful.

“I've been contacted by something old and powerful. And it is sending troops, probably horse mounted but maybe more exotic animals instead, to take us as slaves. With my arm like this, I'm pretty useless in a serious fight. And make no mistake, a fight is coming unless you like the idea of being a slave. So while you tell the others, I'm going to try a hail mary. Ideally it'll fix my arm. Hopefully it will get us some much needed backup. If lucky it'll actually do one of those two things. But there's a good chance it'll do nothing, or explode in my face.”

Once back at the camp I used the claw to carve a nearly complete circle in the dirt. This circle was large enough for me to sit in the middle with a series of symbols surrounding where I would be sitting. Remembering what I had read years ago, I was careful not to close the circle yet. I had to think for a moment about what symbols to use since I'm not an expert in runic languages. Finally I settled on several I'd read about and studied in The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs nd Symbols. A rather large tome which I'd used as reference multiple times in various games when playing a spellcaster or occult detective. Within this circle I first drew an elvenstar, or seven pointed star. I did so carefully and without removing the claw from the ground at any point. Doing so would have ruined the purpose of this symbol. The center area formed in the drawing of the elvenstar would be where I would sit. I chose that instead of a pentagram due to the elvenstar's symbolic connection to nature via representing the seven planets and seven days in a week. The fact it's also called the faerie star made the choice easier still

As I worked I told anyone watching me "I'm about to try something possibly dangerous, and likely stupid. So what ever you do, don't damage the circle or anything I draw inside it. And don't cross the thresh hold until I break the circle from the inside. It's there to protect you from any backlash from what I'm attempting."

In the northern part of the star I used the claw to draw a caduceus to call forth healing and guidance. Not my best artwork to be sure. Not my worst either. I hoped it would be good enough. Other symbols of healing, purity, and protection were drawn within the other tines of the elvenstar as well. These included a fleur de lys to call forth purification. I was seriously hoping that my mix and match magic circle wouldn't blow up in my face. Once the entire thing was drawn I stepped into the center, being careful not to disturb any of the lines or symbols I'd previously drawn. It probably would have been better if I could have used salt to draw it. Finally I used the claw to make a small, shallow, cut on the palm of my hand. The blood I used to draw an infinity symbol across the open part of the circle to connect the two ends, thus closing it.

It was a gamble to be sure. Odds were nothing would happen. If something did, who knew what it would be. Would my kitbashing a ritual circle even work as intended? Would it explode in my face? Or would my makeshift ritual do absolutely nothing? If this was my world, ritual magic is subtle and slow acting. I was gambling that here there were far more active deities, and that magic was far more responsive then my own world. Even so, I followed the rule of three. Three refrains of the chant and three requests. I also made sure to affirm that I am indeed a friend to Faerie. I've respected them and given offering to the wee folk.

And I too fully expected to be hit with the fallout, for good or ill, of said rule of three: Whatever you send out, shall be returned three fold. Of course, the fact I am even willing to entertain the idea of using magik is something many would laugh at. And once I would have been one of  the people laughing. Of course that was before I started researching faerie lore and magik for a story I was writing at the time. And as a friend once said, the more you learn about the supernatural, the more the supernatural pays attention to you.

I'd always believed there's things out there that can't be explained. Growing up I'd encountered too many odd occurrences to not believe this. But magic and the supernatural were not an explanation I had originally considered. That changed while writing a short story I'd called “The Dragonlord”. In that story I had a scientist who was obsessed with proving magic was real, and a pixie as his friend and mentor in magic. Mind you, I tend to research things for my stories. So I did a lot of research at the time on the fair folk and magic.

Not stage magic either, the real thing. And not the whitewashed disney fairytales, but the old ones. Celtic folklore, Germanic folklore, Scandinavian folklore too. You know, the real thing. And then the weird stuff had began happening. Books vanishing from plain sight, only to reappear right where they vanished from the day I had to return them to the library or to a friend. My modem constantly losing power was another of the unexplained things. In fact, at one point I set up a digital camera to record the back of my modem. And when I watched the playback, the power cord for the modem had been pulled out and pushed back in by something unseen multiple times.

Other odd things also kept happening. That had continued happening until I announced aloud that that if whoever was messing with my modem stopped, I would leave out a saucer of milk at night twice a week once I was able to buy groceries in a week's time. The problems with my modem stopped immediately. And they didn't start up again until I forgot to buy milk while at the store. A run down to McDonalds since the stores were closed already for a couple chugs of milk and the problems stopped once more. I'd been leaving out milk twice a week like clockwork since then. And each morning the milk would be gone.

Since then I'd had other weird things happen.  Including the central character in a story I wrote actually arguing with me. The words typing themselves on my screen as I watched. That had gotten... scary by the time the story was finished. But it had given me some possible evidence to support the multiple world theory. And now it seemed I was living proof. Hopefully the fact I had been faithful to the compact I made with whatever fae liked bothering me would be in my favor.

Sitting in my newly created ritual circle, I began to chant. “As friend to Faerie I beseech thee Yanon. As keeper of compact I request thy aid. Aid in healing. Aid in coming battle against Count Irizyn's forces. Aid to protect the innocent. As friend to Faerie I beseech thee Yanon. As keeper of compact I request thy aid. Aid in healing. Aid in coming battle against Count Irizyn's forces. Aid to protect the innocent. As friend to Faerie I beseech thee Yanon. As keeper of compact I request thy aid. Aid in healing. Aid in coming battle against Count Irizyn's forces. Aid to protect the innocent.”