New Tale: Grail Bait

[Lagwolf]

The Sage was settled in his office to work. Somehow, instead, he was relaxing and gazing contentedly at the comfortable room. He looked at the bookcases around him, admiring all those things that appeared on their shelves, books and art objects. Arrayed around his computer were articles related to his work, serious tomes or related to some Cthulhu foolishness. He had kept several of the line of Cthulhu plushies, as we at least one artist's attempt to represent the evil entity and his minions. Most Cthulhu art that the Sage possessed was well away from his home because it mildly, or even deeply, disturbing. If the Sage wished to recall the look and feel of some of these vile creatures, all he had to do was close his eyes and think about them. In his line of work, he had seen a few a wee bit too up close and personal.

Then too, over on that other wall was the non-cult produced music inspired by various writings on the subject. Next to Ziggurat's latest efforts, sat the excellent dark symphonica of Nox Arcana. There were cds from Metallica and Therion , and of course book from Lovecraft and Derleth. Next to those stood books with titles like "The Gathering Dark & Other Tales," "The Simon Necronomicon: complete and An Idiots Guide to Cthulhu." One of the Sage's hobbies was collecting and studying the influences, unintentional or intentional, of Cthulhu and his ilk on our culture. Sometimes, surrounded here as he was by literature and music, and art, it was necessary to remind himself that all these artists had not made up the Great Old One. Neither the threat nor the incidents were outgrowths of the imagination. He had just read in one of his news posting of a new group of warriors, Codenomicon, battling a seeping menace in the internet. At this, the Sage suddenly thought to himself, "Surely, this is my imagination...working too hard. Perhaps, I need some rest." And so it was that he drifted serenely back into contemplation of his comfort.

Further away from the computer and its desk was collection of more
mainstream religious objects, or at least ones purporting to be such. His collection of books included all manner of works about the Grail and other related items. Few of his many visitors knew that one object was "The Grail," more precisely, it was thought for many, many years to be The Grail. Only in recent times did materials tests determine the piece to be merely a 13th century representation of the longed for Grail. The amusing aspect of this for the Sage was how he had gotten hold of this admitedly lovely forgery that had fooled so many for so long.

You see, this Grail was being used as bait to bring in the punters. Bait that worked rather well indeed. Never more so since the publishing of "The Holy Blood & Holy Grail," then topped off by that book, " The DaVinci Code." The whole wheaze went a bit up the swany when the press got wind of it and the bloke from the Time Team showed up to nose around. Nothing happened to that pint-sized investigator but he managed to attract quite a bit of attention to a large house in the Suffolk countryside.

As is standard with these things, the Sage got involved when it all got to the stage of the "young reporter sneaks in and disappears" cliché. The odd thing was that at the time he went missing, the reporter, in a surfeit of braggadocio, was using his mobile to broadcast what he was observing to a mate. The reporter, working as a stringer for the Ipswich News, not only got himself killed, but his zeal to share his adventure drove his mate insane. The Sage referred to the house as 'Hotel California,' even before going there. Ironic, in the event, since its owner was from that state.

The actual tale was not so exciting. One of the Sage's contacts had informed him that local hospital contained a drooling fool babbling on about tentacles and people being eaten alive. The phone which the lad was babbling about could not be used to extract information or photos as it had been fried, conveniently for the house occupiers, right after things went seriously awry.

So the Sage hurtled across hill and dale from Pembrokeshire to Suffolk, a bit like the tale of the tourist meaning to be off to Stratford and back in time for tea. The end was almost anti-climatic. When he arrived to see where he was needed, there was no giant battle with the forces of darkness. It was more a long waiting around and realising everyone had buggered off type thing.

In keeping with much of this sort of occurrence, there were no bodies, just a toasted phone and lots of odd bric-a-brac. In fact, there was not much of anything in any other rooms in this splendid house, but the one that
contained "The Grail". It was, as you expect for this sort of thing,
carefully placed in the middle of the room on a pedestal. Unique, for maximum effect. A nice setting really. But then again you would not have expected to see a large circular stripe around the pedestal camouflaging an even larger circular pit around the pedestal. Not decorative. Very threatening if one got close. It was not the best hidden track, but the Sage observed that the attraction of the "real" Grail would distract anyone even one with any trap sense. The Sage wondered if someone here had seen Indiana Jones.

The rest of the large house looked long unoccupied, all traces of any kind life absent. Where you normally found this sort of place creepy, unkempt and dreary, this place was well lit and airy.

It was a shame that the house, though not old by Suffolk standards, would
have to be pulled down, fully destroyed down to the lowest cellars. Rupert and some of his spelunking colleagues would make sure all the tunnels under the house were closed and properly sealed before the destruction. Yes, it is probably correct to say, ritual destruction, prophylactic destruction.

There was not any real adventure to speak of here. For the Sage, it was a case of figuring out what to tell the press, the police and the family of those who were consumed in body or in mind. He might have to spend a few minutes with the town councilmen assuring them that the local attractions would not suffer, that nothing of consequence had occurred.


Claire appeared at the door to his study. The Sage looked up from his reveries.

"So what do you think Claire? I have a hard time writing down these tales in first person, as it makes me self-conscious."

"Well to be honest, your tale is a bit boring. It reads like a newspaper report written by that young lad who died." Claire responded in her normal blunt way.

"You think?"

"I am afraid so. If you insist on writing them yourself, you really need to write them first person. This story made it sound like a walk in the park. Way too matter of fact."

"Bugger," said the Sage as wandered back into his office, "guess I better re-write it in the first person."

"That might be best," said Claire as she blew the froth of her cocoa. In attempt at humour, she added, "See, Eden is still asleep it was so boring. And how come you forgot her part?"

"Ugh…" he turned for a moment, "How come living the story is easier than writing it?"

"Heh…"

"I'm off to get a pint…You and Eden want to come?"

"Yeah sure…"

Eden answered the invitation by ambling off to get her leash (required to go to the pub), before catching up with her master and her favourite witch.

[Aleister]

Lots of product placement in that one *grin*

A little reflecting on past events is always good

[Lagwolf]

Yes, I wrote it as a bit of self-mocking. Not sure if it necessarily works but what the hell.