Callanish Stones
_{At Twilight}

Justice had been all over the world--seen sites after sites, but he seemed to always find his way back to the same places. These were the places where his sire had brought him. This evening was no different. A part of him longed to find the man who had made him--and that loneliness, that ache for companionship brought him back to these old memories. How many times had he and his sire approached these standing stones.

Thirteen stones with a monolith near the middle made up the core of what was known these days as the Callanish Stones. Five rows of standing stones connect to this circle. Two long rows of stones running almost parallel to each other from the stone circle to the north-northeast form a kind of avenue In addition, there are shorter rows of stones to the west-southwest, south and east-northeast. The stones are all of the same rock type, namely the local Lewisian gneiss. Justice strolled up through the mock avenue. It was not the stones that he really came to see. But within the stone circle was a chambered tomb. It was just to the east of the central stone.

His sire had never told him the story of what drew them to this spot--or what memory led the ancient back to this tomb. But they had come time and time again. First right after Justice had been turned. He'd destroyed most of those living nearby. Their visit had been remembered by the mortals as a terrible sickness that appeared without warning and vanished just as quickly. Justice had been out of control in those times. He hardly could remember standing before these stones then. He had been too blinded by bloodlust.

But the later visits, those he remembered. They had come back in 1137 or perhaps 1138. Fighters for hire in the civil war that King Stephen and the Empress Matilda were waging in England. It was back to India for awhile after that, but then in 1297, they can come back to the stones again, when they had been back in Europe to fight against the English with William Wallace. For the next few hundred years, the pair had floated about Europe and Asia--fighting for all sides and against all sides as years passed. Having been in France in the late 1300s and early 1400s, they came to the site on a number of occasions whenever his sire deemed it worthwhile. That was during the Hundred Years War. They had been employed by both the French and Henry V at various times during that lengthy conflict. They'd come back to this site in the mid-1500s, in the times when England had been most fond of setting heretics, as they called them, ablaze. So, many times they had returned here, for his sire to revisit something that he would never share with Justice.

The last time the pair of them had stood amongst these stones had been in 1749. It was a farewell of sorts for his sire and whatever pulled him here. Because after that, he and Justice crossed to the New World. But surely, his sire had returned here since then--that belief, and a fool's hope for the off chance that the pair would end up coming back here on the same evening, brought Justice to this place.

He missed his companion. Immortality was a very long time to spend alone. Justice felt closer to his sire amongst the ancient stones. They were something like him, too, unchanged over centuries. They stood and bore witness to the rise and fall of kings. While they were present in the world, they were still separate from it. Kneeling before the chambered tomb, Justice let his palms push down flush against the ground. His dark attire made him blend into the surroundings. Thoughts swirled in his mind as his eyes closed. There was no supernatural connection to his sire--he could not call out to the man and be heard, but still he thought of the man who had made him, who had taught him languages and showed him the world.

A stirring of feet against the grass made Justice shoot upright. Sharp, icy blue eyes searched for the source of the sound. Could it be the man that he so longed for?

Open | outfit | 700+

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[attr="class","title1"]Callanish Stones

[attr="class","subtitle1"] when darkness lays her crimson cloak

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Her magic was near gone, and Gemma didn't. . .

Gemma couldn't. . . she didn't understand, no. Theories, there were a thousand theories as to how this could happen, but who got it and who was spared. . .it seemed so random. There had been a few theories as to how, some sort of line from one to the other to explain the large majority of those spared, but the adults themselves. . . It came, and it took. Everyone who caught it suffered differently, with the same ending impact, no matter how much the illness caught the victim. She was sure if she'd been able to meet all those who hadn't caught it, there might some thread of how it had all connected, or enough of one to piece together what went on.

There were a thousand things that Gemma found herself missing about magic, this alien loss invading her. She would have preferred to lose an arm or a leg, be forever enclosed in a wheeled chair than lose her magic. At least then she'd still have her ability to-- she wouldn't be so broken. She could, at least, take solstice in the knowledge that she wasn't alone in this, that so many suffered this at well. It cut off, that was what mattered. They lived, as of yet-- unless their lifespans were reduced by this traumatizing loss of magic, reduced to that of a common Muggle's.

Gemma could accept that for herself, she knew. She was middle-aged for a Muggle, but she was also from a family of dragon keepers. There were some who took care of themselves and lived the usual lifespan. Her great-grandmother Iona had, after all, still living at the age of almost one hundred thirty. Her great-great grandmother had lived until one hundred twenty-three, passing away Gemma's third year in Hogwarts. On the other hand, she apparently also had uncles who died young in accidents. There were two large sides of living to fall on after all, and Gemma's chosen profession might be less dangerous if she didn't experiment so much.

But she was a necromancer. Had been? She didn't know, technically, if she still might be considered one. She doubted she'd be able to control the corpse of a jellyfish with something other than string. She wasn't going to pretend on like she had magic-- no, that would be far too dangerous. Best to display weaknesses. She still had her weapons, even if not her magic. Her trainings, her knowledge, her papers and everything but her bloody magic.

Greg wasn't sick for now, and he was helpful-- he was taking her places she needed to go. And now, she'd needed to be outside in the open air, away from students and away from their worries. The Callanish Stones could always be used in a lecture for the historical aspect, as well as the accounts of another illness in the area. A comfortable sidenote, opening the classroom up for debate on their thoughts of the accounts a thousand years old. Tales twisted as time went on after all.

Greg was going to pick her up in two hours, he'd sworn. She'd accept it easily, he was visiting his family after all. If he lingered, it was of no matter. Sudden movement caught her eye, and Gemma reached instinctively for a wand that did nothing, hand falling flat halfway to her holster. "I do apologize. I hope I'm not intruding?" Hells, if she was, ought she just. . .wait somewhere? Hike? Having almost no magic was a curse.

[attr="class","tags1"]☆ @stranger , 587 words☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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