Posted using PostyBirb",
"writing": "Pain wrenched the scream from him. The doberman shifting as they were weightless in the fall, and hitting his leg. The thing biting ever deeper into his wrist as the pedestal pulled him down.\nThen came a grinding, the light diminishing. Niel saw motion above them as the hole they were falling into closed, the way old camera irises did. He thought he saw someone, then he saw nothing anymore, and his thoughts turn to what would happen when they slammed at the bottom. He couldn’t believe it was going to end like this, in the dark by—\nThe pedestal slowed softly enough Niel’s foot touched down on the floor, instead of slamming into it. The doberman moved, and Niel’s leg finally felt relief.\n“Fucking son of a bitch of—”\nNiel punched the doberman as hard as he could, then screamed again at the pain from the hand added to that his shift in balance caused to his injured leg. \nThe doberman moved. “Oh, that’s it, I am going to fuck you—” Something impacted with a wet sound. Warm liquid splashed Niel. He cursed and wiped his face. Had someone thrown a large bag of… there was coppery smell to his hand. There was motion within splotching and gurgling.\nThe doberman screamed; something slid away.\nThe descent came to a stop.\nSomething clicked, and Niel screamed again as he moved his leg to maintain the balance he nearly lost once his hand was released. \nThe walls glowed softly and revealed a blood covered Doberman, who started screaming again as he looked at himself. The upper half of a collie in the Neo-Nazis uniform, a Pallas cat, curled up and crying on the floor. Dario stood, hand still in the crevice, looking at it, as if he was unaware that anything had happened after putting his hand in it. Wieland was sprawled on top a struggling Pomeranian, seemingly unconscious. And the white furred kishu—\nThe Neo-Nazi screamed as the smaller dog grabbed the hand reaching for him and twisted. The kishu glanced around, and kicked at something. Niel barely registered the series of a ricochet, then another Neo-Nazi screamed and grabbed his head. The kishu tripped his guard and, with a hand on his head, helped him reach the floor fast. He pulled the gun out of the man’s holster and lobbed it at Niel.\n“Catch.”\nNiel reflexively moved to catch the wide throw, then screamed as his leg buckled under him as his fingers closed on it. Someone kicked his back, then the Neo-Nazi let out a series of cursing in German as he fell over the raccoon.\nNiel screamed again as the rottweiler glared at him, but this time it was an angry sound as he unleashed it by hitting the dog with the butt of the gun, with the chains from his manacles adding to the damage, until he was panting.\n“Feeling better?” the kishu asked in a mildly accented English.\n“I will,” Niel replied through gritted teeth, “once someone tells me they know a way to heal me and Wieland. Fuck, getting shot hurts.”\n“That was brave of you.” The kishu gave a small bow. “I am Isamu. Isamu Suzuki.” He knelt next to Niel. “You are of Irvine blood?” \n“Not by choice.” From where he lay, Niel saw three unconscious Nazis he was confident had been standing when the platform came to a stop. “Precision, huh?”\nIsamu looked at him quizzically after studying his leg. \nNeil nodded to the unconscious men. “Fedor said your family’s power is precision.”\n“That is not the accurate word.” He took Niel’s palm and traces a design in blood, the red on the finger bright in the white fur. “The bullet went through your leg. This is safe to do.”\n“What’s the right word for taking out a bunch of guys without moving from where you stood?”\nIsamu shrugged.\nNiel sighed and went limp as the pain vanished. He closed his eyes as the kishu left his side.\n“Irvine.”\nSomeone shook his shoulder.\n“Five minutes, Coach.”\n“We do not have more minutes. I need your help,” Isamu said.\nNiel sighed and opened his eyes. “It’s Niel. Niel Leslie. Irvine’s just my biological father’s last name.” He took the kishu’s hand and was pulled up. His leg was sore when he put weight on it, but he’d felt worse from solid tackles. The chains around his ankles were more of a problem to him moving. He followed Isamu to Wieland, he’d been moved off the now unconscious and restrained Pomeranian. By the bloody lips, Isamu work. Every Nazi was tied up, with Fedor finishing tying one of them.\nDario was seated against the wall, holding his knees.\n“Why haven’t you healed him?” Niel asked.\n“I do not know a greater healing phrase.” He indicated the broken ankle as he took hold of the leg below the knee. “We must set first. Take and pull.”\n“I don’t want to cause anymore damage.”\n“It takes more strength than you have to cause damages this way. It aligns the bones, I heal him, then we leave.”\nNiel took the foot, just below the ankle. “That’s going to be hard to do with chains on.” He hesitated, then yanked. The only sounds out of Wieland was a whimper and Niel relaxed.\n“For the chains.” He lobbed a set of bloody keys, then motioned to the half body. “From him.” It took two tried to find the right key, then he was free. He undid Wieland’s while Isamu traced sigils on the German shepherd.\nSince he wasn’t needed, he headed for the capybara. “You okay?” he asked, testing a key on the manacles.\nDario shook his head. “I do not belong here. Not important.”\n“Most of the time,” Niel said, a key turning in the lock. “It’s the people who aren’t important that matter.” He took the manacles off. “We’re going to be okay. Isamu’s a bad-ass, and it isn’t like we have to worry about food since we can have sex. As for the Nazis, we can—”\nA bloody white hand offered him a gun. “For the Nazis.”\nHe pushed it away. “What? No. We’re not killing them. They’re tied up. I was about to saw that we can relax. The danger’s up there. They can’t get us.” His words were punctuated by an explosion above them.\nDario looked at him, eyes wide. “Suvey what you say.”\n“It’s watch,” Niel replied, looking up and annoyed at himself. “And yeah. I should.” He stood and pulled the capybara up. “Okay, anyone think that our blood causing us to go down here has taken off whatever magic stopped them from blowing up the door before?”\nFedor and Dario looked at him in surprise.\n“Come on, they’re Nazis. It’s not like they’d respect this place enough not to try blowing the door up before resorting to kidnapping us.”\n“Maybe not the door,” Wieland said, looking up into the darkness. “But whatever closed after we moved down will not be as strong. We cannot stay here.”\n“Door,” Fedor pointed to an opening in the wall.\n“We’re inside some unknown German ruin, about to set out into the unknown.” Niel said with a\tsigh, heading for the opening. “Yay,” he added dejectedly. “What I always wanted. I get to be Indiana Fucking Jones.”\nThe short hall ended at a stone door with what could be waves carved on it. It had no handle or hinges. Only the knowledge—he told himself it was knowledge, and not hope—that those who made this place had expected whoever came after to follow the way. Wieland put his shoulder against it, but even with his considerable strength, it didn’t move.\n“Magic, then?” Niel asked.\n“Old,” Fedor offered.\n“Trap,” Dario whispered.\n“There is magic to lead us down,” Isamu said. “There will be magic to continue.”\n“Okay.” Wieland looked at Niel. “How do we magic this open?” The others followed the german shepherd’s example.\n“What?” the raccoon asked.\n“You are Indiana Jones, Da?” Fedor smiled. “Love Michale as actor.”\n“Philistine,” Niel replied, and the Pallas cat stared at him. “Ford is the only Indiana Jones. I guess my sarcasm didn’t make it through the language barrier.” He sighed. “Look for holes we can put our hands in. It’s what they did up there, makes sense they’ll stay with the theme. It might look like some internal organ.” He shudder.\nThe search went faster once Fedor found a flashlight among one of the nazis’ things.\n“There,” Wieland said as the light passed over the wall. Fedor moved it back. The German shepherd wiped the surface and revealed a polished ivory plaque.\n“Now what?” Niel mused.\nFedor ran a hand over it, and stopped. He touched the edge. “There is letters.”\nWieland shown the lights closed. “I don’t seen anything.” He rubbed, but nothing appeared.\n“Faint.” His finger reach the left and he started moving right. “W” “H” “E” “R” “E”.\n“Where,” Niel said.\n“There is more.” He continued, naming the letters as his finger moved over the, as far as Neil could tell, featureless stone.\n“Where did it begin?” Niel said once he was done.\n“Other line.” Fedor recited that one, which made no sense to Niel.\n“Wo hat es Angefangen?” Wieland said. “German, it asks the same question. Antarctica.”\n“Where what began?” Niel mused, and the others looked at him. “If the question is about the Survivor, then you’re right. But if it’s about the expeditions themselves, or what if they mean the events that led to the expeditions being mounted?”\n“Power,” Isamu said. “The search for power is always where it begins.”\n“Knowledge,” Dario whispered. “That is story told,” he added when pressed.\n“Knowledge is power,” Isamu said dismissively.\n“That is true,” Wieland agreed.\n“Not know,” Fedor said. “Family not talk about bad times.”\nIsamu ran a finger over the plaque. “How is the answer written?”\n“Carved?” Wieland offered. \n“Better hope not,” Niel said. “I don’t think we have anything that can carve that.”\n“One has knife.” Isamu nodded to where they’d come from.\nNiel shook his head. “No, carving it makes no sense.”\n“Survivor,” Fedor said, and Niel nodded.\n“This needs Survivor magic,” Wieland said, and Dario shuddered, taking hold of his wrist.\nNiel almost voiced the question. How had they gotten blood out of the capybara? He was indestructible. The misery on Dario’s face stopped him, and the answer came of its own.\nMagic, of course.\nNo wonder Dario was out of it. Had he ever felt pain before now?\n“Nothing,” Wieland said. On the plaque, Antarktis was written in blood.\n“The question is in english too,” Isamu said. “Needs both?”\nWieland added Antarctic, then looked at the door.\n“So that’s not the answer,” Niel said.\n“Cum?” Fedor asked.\nNiel glanced at the capybara, who’d edged away. “Blood brought us down,” he said.\n“And blood is stronger.” Wieland added. “It is His. It is vitality and potency.”\n“So, it’s the answer that’s the problem,” Niel said.\nWieland wiped the blood off and the plaque was pristine again. None of the blood smeared. As if the plaque didn’t want it there. Because it was blood, or the wrong words? How could the plaque know, or care?\nMagic, of course. He rubbed his temple. Hadn’t he thought magic should make everything simple? Now it made this puzzle, that magical lock. He had no idea Survivor magic could do that. Could even Society magic manage it? Weren’t they the same? They followed the same god after all.\nHe was getting a headache, so decided to focus on what he could solve instead of the puzzle of how this place could even be. \n“Okay, it’s not Antarctica,” he said.\n“Where they leave?” Isamu asked.\n“How precise does it need to be?” Wieland asked. “The country, city, the port?”\n“Alright,” Niel said. “What could the people who made this expected anyone coming after them to know?”\n“Everything,” Isamu said, “if they are Survivors.”\n“Really?” Niel looked around. “Which one of you knows anything solid about what this could want?”\n“You are Survivor also,” Dario stated with hint of bitterness.\n“As of a few weeks. Jarod never expected me to exist, let alone get initiated. It’s pretty clear that whatever it means for an Irvine to be a Survivor, he doesn’t want me to be that, or anyone else I expect,” he said bitterly.\n“I’m sorry,” Jarod said when he’d learned of Niel’s mother’s death. “That is another thing you will have to get used to.” Shouldn’t that make him want to have someone else around who wouldn’t die of old age?\nDid he make the decision as far back as Antarctica? Or did he have to lose friends and family first? Stewart had known about him, so it wasn’t a complete severing, but it also sounded like he had been keeping his distance, even then. Was the decision not to initiate any of his sons his safeguard against someone unlocking this place?\nHad Jarod been willing to doom himself to always ending up alone to protect whatever was hidden here?\nFuck, he wished he knew the man better.\nOkay, he’s Jarod, this is being made. He might not want anyone to get in, might not expect there to be anyone of Irvine blood to be initiated, but the man wasn’t stupid. Whatever was in here might be needed one day, and he had to account for not being there to unlock it. Which meant that he’d leave something behind as …what, a clue? The answer?\nJarod hadn’t given him, or anyone anything.\nAlright, he’s Jarod. He’s not giving out the answer or any clues about it, so what can he expect one of his bloodline to know?\nNo, to be.\nLong lived.\nSomeone who would have a lot of history, who has learned the value of remembering the past. Looking, finding.\n“It’s in the historical records,” Niel said. “The answer is something that can be found in the records. Not the countries, he said as Wieland put his finger to the plaque. “That’s too obvious. That leaves the city, or the port.”\n“I don’t know that,” Wieland said, slumping.\n“Norddeich,” Isamu said before Niel even had a chance to hope to remember it from his research. “I was told stories.”\nWieland wrote it and looked at the door.\n“It asks in English,” Isamu said.\n“That one’s Bournemouth,” Niel said as Isamu opened his mouth. “I’ve been researching the expeditions since all I’ve been getting are vague oral histories.”\nWieland added that.\nNiel cursed when the door didn’t open. The German shepherd pushed, and it didn’t move.\n“I was so sure.”\n“The ports?” Wieland offered.\n“They’re named after the cities they were in,” Niel said. “Okay, what else? What else would be part of the historical records that could be considered where this started. Try Oxford and… Fuck, I don’t know where the German made that decision.”\n“When they start travel?” Fedor asked, and Niel stared at the Pallas cat.\n“The start. The expedition started when they set sail.” Niel turned. “The German ship was the Seeliger.” The Englihs one …. Come on. I know that one too. Knight of the Water!”\nThe german shepherd wrote, and as he stepped away, it was evident something was happening. The red letters on the white ivory turned dark. they peeled, then flaked off as if everything that made them… it, was sucked out.\nGrinding came from the door, and Niel fist pump, then went to it.\nIt opened slowly, so slowly, that Wieland tried to help it along, but it wouldn’t move any faster.\nIsamu took out the gun and started for the room with the pedestal.\n“What are you doing?” Niel demanded, grabbing his arm.\n“Ending them,” the kishu said hatefully. “They are dangerous.”\n“They’re tied up. They’re not going to be able to do anything.”\n“You do not know them.”\n“Yeah, and you do? What I do know is that we’re not committing cold-blooded murder just because they’re a bunch of Nazis.”\n“They will not hesitate to kill you.”\n“Yeah, well, that’s what makes them Nazis,” Niel replied. “Are you telling me you want to be anything like them?”\nIsamu ground his teeth, glared in the direction of the tied men, then holstered the gun and returned to the opening door.",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": "Pain wrenched the scream from him. The doberman shifting as they were weightless in the fall, and hitting his leg. The thing biting ever deeper into his wrist as the pedestal pulled him down. Then came a grinding, the light diminishing. Niel saw motion above them as the hole they were falling into closed, the way old camera irises did. He thought he saw someone, then he saw nothing anymore, and his thoughts turn to what would happen when they slammed at the bottom. He couldn’t believe it was going to end like this, in the dark by— The pedestal slowed softly enough Niel’s foot touched down on the floor, instead of slamming into it. The doberman moved, and Niel’s leg finally felt relief. “Fucking son of a bitch of—” Niel punched the doberman as hard as he could, then screamed again at the pain from the hand added to that his shift in balance caused to his injured leg. The doberman moved. “Oh, that’s it, I am going to fuck you—” Something impacted with a wet sound. Warm liquid splashed Niel. He cursed and wiped his face. Had someone thrown a large bag of… there was coppery smell to his hand. There was motion within splotching and gurgling. The doberman screamed; something slid away. The descent came to a stop. Something clicked, and Niel screamed again as he moved his leg to maintain the balance he nearly lost once his hand was released. The walls glowed softly and revealed a blood covered Doberman, who started screaming again as he looked at himself. The upper half of a collie in the Neo-Nazis uniform, a Pallas cat, curled up and crying on the floor. Dario stood, hand still in the crevice, looking at it, as if he was unaware that anything had happened after putting his hand in it. Wieland was sprawled on top a struggling Pomeranian, seemingly unconscious. And the white furred kishu— The Neo-Nazi screamed as the smaller dog grabbed the hand reaching for him and twisted. The kishu glanced around, and kicked at something. Niel barely registered the series of a ricochet, then another Neo-Nazi screamed and grabbed his head. The kishu tripped his guard and, with a hand on his head, helped him reach the floor fast. He pulled the gun out of the man’s holster and lobbed it at Niel. “Catch.” Niel reflexively moved to catch the wide throw, then screamed as his leg buckled under him as his fingers closed on it. Someone kicked his back, then the Neo-Nazi let out a series of cursing in German as he fell over the raccoon. Niel screamed again as the rottweiler glared at him, but this time it was an angry sound as he unleashed it by hitting the dog with the butt of the gun, with the chains from his manacles adding to the damage, until he was panting. “Feeling better?” the kishu asked in a mildly accented English. “I will,” Niel replied through gritted teeth, “once someone tells me they know a way to heal me and Wieland. Fuck, getting shot hurts.” “That was brave of you.” The kishu gave a small bow. “I am Isamu. Isamu Suzuki.” He knelt next to Niel. “You are of Irvine blood?” “Not by choice.” From where he lay, Niel saw three unconscious Nazis he was confident had been standing when the platform came to a stop. “Precision, huh?” Isamu looked at him quizzically after studying his leg. Neil nodded to the unconscious men. “Fedor said your family’s power is precision.” “That is not the accurate word.” He took Niel’s palm and traces a design in blood, the red on the finger bright in the white fur. “The bullet went through your leg. This is safe to do.” “What’s the right word for taking out a bunch of guys without moving from where you stood?” Isamu shrugged. Niel sighed and went limp as the pain vanished. He closed his eyes as the kishu left his side. “Irvine.” Someone shook his shoulder. “Five minutes, Coach.” “We do not have more minutes. I need your help,” Isamu said. Niel sighed and opened his eyes. “It’s Niel. Niel Leslie. Irvine’s just my biological father’s last name.” He took the kishu’s hand and was pulled up. His leg was sore when he put weight on it, but he’d felt worse from solid tackles. The chains around his ankles were more of a problem to him moving. He followed Isamu to Wieland, he’d been moved off the now unconscious and restrained Pomeranian. By the bloody lips, Isamu work. Every Nazi was tied up, with Fedor finishing tying one of them. Dario was seated against the wall, holding his knees. “Why haven’t you healed him?” Niel asked. “I do not know a greater healing phrase.” He indicated the broken ankle as he took hold of the leg below the knee. “We must set first. Take and pull.” “I don’t want to cause anymore damage.” “It takes more strength than you have to cause damages this way. It aligns the bones, I heal him, then we leave.” Niel took the foot, just below the ankle. “That’s going to be hard to do with chains on.” He hesitated, then yanked. The only sounds out of Wieland was a whimper and Niel relaxed. “For the chains.” He lobbed a set of bloody keys, then motioned to the half body. “From him.” It took two tried to find the right key, then he was free. He undid Wieland’s while Isamu traced sigils on the German shepherd. Since he wasn’t needed, he headed for the capybara. “You okay?” he asked, testing a key on the manacles. Dario shook his head. “I do not belong here. Not important.” “Most of the time,” Niel said, a key turning in the lock. “It’s the people who aren’t important that matter.” He took the manacles off. “We’re going to be okay. Isamu’s a bad-ass, and it isn’t like we have to worry about food since we can have sex. As for the Nazis, we can—” A bloody white hand offered him a gun. “For the Nazis.” He pushed it away. “What? No. We’re not killing them. They’re tied up. I was about to saw that we can relax. The danger’s up there. They can’t get us.” His words were punctuated by an explosion above them. Dario looked at him, eyes wide. “Suvey what you say.” “It’s watch,” Niel replied, looking up and annoyed at himself. “And yeah. I should.” He stood and pulled the capybara up. “Okay, anyone think that our blood causing us to go down here has taken off whatever magic stopped them from blowing up the door before?” Fedor and Dario looked at him in surprise. “Come on, they’re Nazis. It’s not like they’d respect this place enough not to try blowing the door up before resorting to kidnapping us.” “Maybe not the door,” Wieland said, looking up into the darkness. “But whatever closed after we moved down will not be as strong. We cannot stay here.” “Door,” Fedor pointed to an opening in the wall. “We’re inside some unknown German ruin, about to set out into the unknown.” Niel said with a\tsigh, heading for the opening. “Yay,” he added dejectedly. “What I always wanted. I get to be Indiana Fucking Jones.” The short hall ended at a stone door with what could be waves carved on it. It had no handle or hinges. Only the knowledge—he told himself it was knowledge, and not hope—that those who made this place had expected whoever came after to follow the way. Wieland put his shoulder against it, but even with his considerable strength, it didn’t move. “Magic, then?” Niel asked. “Old,” Fedor offered. “Trap,” Dario whispered. “There is magic to lead us down,” Isamu said. “There will be magic to continue.” “Okay.” Wieland looked at Niel. “How do we magic this open?” The others followed the german shepherd’s example. “What?” the raccoon asked. “You are Indiana Jones, Da?” Fedor smiled. “Love Michale as actor.” “Philistine,” Niel replied, and the Pallas cat stared at him. “Ford is the only Indiana Jones. I guess my sarcasm didn’t make it through the language barrier.” He sighed. “Look for holes we can put our hands in. It’s what they did up there, makes sense they’ll stay with the theme. It might look like some internal organ.” He shudder. The search went faster once Fedor found a flashlight among one of the nazis’ things. “There,” Wieland said as the light passed over the wall. Fedor moved it back. The German shepherd wiped the surface and revealed a polished ivory plaque. “Now what?” Niel mused. Fedor ran a hand over it, and stopped. He touched the edge. “There is letters.” Wieland shown the lights closed. “I don’t seen anything.” He rubbed, but nothing appeared. “Faint.” His finger reach the left and he started moving right. “W” “H” “E” “R” “E”. “Where,” Niel said. “There is more.” He continued, naming the letters as his finger moved over the, as far as Neil could tell, featureless stone. “Where did it begin?” Niel said once he was done. “Other line.” Fedor recited that one, which made no sense to Niel. “Wo hat es Angefangen?” Wieland said. “German, it asks the same question. Antarctica.” “Where what began?” Niel mused, and the others looked at him. “If the question is about the Survivor, then you’re right. But if it’s about the expeditions themselves, or what if they mean the events that led to the expeditions being mounted?” “Power,” Isamu said. “The search for power is always where it begins.” “Knowledge,” Dario whispered. “That is story told,” he added when pressed. “Knowledge is power,” Isamu said dismissively. “That is true,” Wieland agreed. “Not know,” Fedor said. “Family not talk about bad times.” Isamu ran a finger over the plaque. “How is the answer written?” “Carved?” Wieland offered. “Better hope not,” Niel said. “I don’t think we have anything that can carve that.” “One has knife.” Isamu nodded to where they’d come from. Niel shook his head. “No, carving it makes no sense.” “Survivor,” Fedor said, and Niel nodded. “This needs Survivor magic,” Wieland said, and Dario shuddered, taking hold of his wrist. Niel almost voiced the question. How had they gotten blood out of the capybara? He was indestructible. The misery on Dario’s face stopped him, and the answer came of its own. Magic, of course. No wonder Dario was out of it. Had he ever felt pain before now? “Nothing,” Wieland said. On the plaque, Antarktis was written in blood. “The question is in english too,” Isamu said. “Needs both?” Wieland added Antarctic, then looked at the door. “So that’s not the answer,” Niel said. “Cum?” Fedor asked. Niel glanced at the capybara, who’d edged away. “Blood brought us down,” he said. “And blood is stronger.” Wieland added. “It is His. It is vitality and potency.” “So, it’s the answer that’s the problem,” Niel said. Wieland wiped the blood off and the plaque was pristine again. None of the blood smeared. As if the plaque didn’t want it there. Because it was blood, or the wrong words? How could the plaque know, or care? Magic, of course. He rubbed his temple. Hadn’t he thought magic should make everything simple? Now it made this puzzle, that magical lock. He had no idea Survivor magic could do that. Could even Society magic manage it? Weren’t they the same? They followed the same god after all. He was getting a headache, so decided to focus on what he could solve instead of the puzzle of how this place could even be. “Okay, it’s not Antarctica,” he said. “Where they leave?” Isamu asked. “How precise does it need to be?” Wieland asked. “The country, city, the port?” “Alright,” Niel said. “What could the people who made this expected anyone coming after them to know?” “Everything,” Isamu said, “if they are Survivors.” “Really?” Niel looked around. “Which one of you knows anything solid about what this could want?” “You are Survivor also,” Dario stated with hint of bitterness. “As of a few weeks. Jarod never expected me to exist, let alone get initiated. It’s pretty clear that whatever it means for an Irvine to be a Survivor, he doesn’t want me to be that, or anyone else I expect,” he said bitterly. “I’m sorry,” Jarod said when he’d learned of Niel’s mother’s death. “That is another thing you will have to get used to.” Shouldn’t that make him want to have someone else around who wouldn’t die of old age? Did he make the decision as far back as Antarctica? Or did he have to lose friends and family first? Stewart had known about him, so it wasn’t a complete severing, but it also sounded like he had been keeping his distance, even then. Was the decision not to initiate any of his sons his safeguard against someone unlocking this place? Had Jarod been willing to doom himself to always ending up alone to protect whatever was hidden here? Fuck, he wished he knew the man better. Okay, he’s Jarod, this is being made. He might not want anyone to get in, might not expect there to be anyone of Irvine blood to be initiated, but the man wasn’t stupid. Whatever was in here might be needed one day, and he had to account for not being there to unlock it. Which meant that he’d leave something behind as …what, a clue? The answer? Jarod hadn’t given him, or anyone anything. Alright, he’s Jarod. He’s not giving out the answer or any clues about it, so what can he expect one of his bloodline to know? No, to be. Long lived. Someone who would have a lot of history, who has learned the value of remembering the past. Looking, finding. “It’s in the historical records,” Niel said. “The answer is something that can be found in the records. Not the countries, he said as Wieland put his finger to the plaque. “That’s too obvious. That leaves the city, or the port.” “I don’t know that,” Wieland said, slumping. “Norddeich,” Isamu said before Niel even had a chance to hope to remember it from his research. “I was told stories.” Wieland wrote it and looked at the door. “It asks in English,” Isamu said. “That one’s Bournemouth,” Niel said as Isamu opened his mouth. “I’ve been researching the expeditions since all I’ve been getting are vague oral histories.” Wieland added that. Niel cursed when the door didn’t open. The German shepherd pushed, and it didn’t move. “I was so sure.” “The ports?” Wieland offered. “They’re named after the cities they were in,” Niel said. “Okay, what else? What else would be part of the historical records that could be considered where this started. Try Oxford and… Fuck, I don’t know where the German made that decision.” “When they start travel?” Fedor asked, and Niel stared at the Pallas cat. “The start. The expedition started when they set sail.” Niel turned. “The German ship was the Seeliger.” The Englihs one …. Come on. I know that one too. Knight of the Water!” The german shepherd wrote, and as he stepped away, it was evident something was happening. The red letters on the white ivory turned dark. they peeled, then flaked off as if everything that made them… it, was sucked out. Grinding came from the door, and Niel fist pump, then went to it. It opened slowly, so slowly, that Wieland tried to help it along, but it wouldn’t move any faster. Isamu took out the gun and started for the room with the pedestal. “What are you doing?” Niel demanded, grabbing his arm. “Ending them,” the kishu said hatefully. “They are dangerous.” “They’re tied up. They’re not going to be able to do anything.” “You do not know them.” “Yeah, and you do? What I do know is that we’re not committing cold-blooded murder just because they’re a bunch of Nazis.” “They will not hesitate to kill you.” “Yeah, well, that’s what makes them Nazis,” Niel replied. “Are you telling me you want to be anything like them?” Isamu ground his teeth, glared in the direction of the tied men, then holstered the gun and returned to the opening door.",
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