The times are growing harder, for all of the worlds. In Lyra's world, the Armoured Bears and Witches grow anxious within the frozen wastelands of the north, where further south, dæmons grow fearful. Even in Will's World, people are beginning to feel anxious, though they are not sure why. A war is coming. A war that threatens to engulf all of the worlds. It is the war of the Authority and the Republic of Heaven, created by Lord Asriel himself to overthrow the monarchy of the Almighty. And thrown in the middle of this, are two children, destined to hold the greatest weapons known to all the worlds. So what will you do? Will you fight to defend the Authority, or join Lord Asriel to help bring about its destruction. Armies are mustering, and the time is drawing nearer. Every person makes a difference. What will your's be?
Lord Asriel has opened a bridge to the city seen in the aurora borealis, and he has taken it upon himself to travel to the city in the clouds. Accompanying him is Marisa Coulter, and together, they have travelled to the other worlds, leaving Lyra's World, perhaps for good. A furious Magisterium has excommunicated the both of them, and stripped Lord Asriel of his title, and his possessions in Lyra's World. The bridge itself is sealed, as the Magisterium is now struggling to prevent others from accessing it.
But Lord Asriel's act has triggered other anamolies in Lyra's World, as strange windows have opened everywhere. They are nearly invisible to the naked eye, but sightings of them have been reported, and they are growing in number.
Meanwhile, the Magisterium has to contend with a serious breach of security where a large group of Republican commandos have infiltrated the grounds of the College of St Jerome's. Stringent reviews are now being undertaken of the Magisterium's security measures.
And at Oxford, Ryan Whitman is testing something which could change the world as we speak...
All character profiles, new worlds, and other related pieces of work (RP and fanfictions included) belong to the respective authors/makers and may not be reproduced in anyway without permission from them. However, the world of His Dark Materials, The Golden Compass, and the general setting of the RP belongs to Philip Pullman. Site disclaimer here. No copyright infringement intended.
The Winchester was, naturally, his pub of choice at Oxford. It had the largest selection of whiskeys, (him paying for most of it didn't hurt) music which did not touch Wagner with a ten foot broomstick, and best of all, the widest selection of fish pies Morpheusa could stuff down her throat without nagging him about something or other. Women knew that The Winchester was a respectable establishment, and weren't as wary of it as other pubs.
And the proprietor was a staunch Republican and a starry eyed idealist. That really helped.
Richard entered the pub with Sophie and slid into the nearest empty booth. The establishment wasn't packed, but there were still a fair few people milling about with their drinks and food. Morpheusa yawned and dramatically flopped onto the floor.
The man was sure Jordan's College could feel her shockwaves.
Idiot. Keep a look out for me would you?
Don't call people idiots if you want favours from them.
But the white tigress kept half an eye out as her human settled down. A waiter immediately appeared and Richard handed him his flask.
"Fill that up with the best whiskey you've got. And for this lady over here..."
Lecture. Entitled Mask Of the Unknown: The Divide Between Experimental Theology and The World. Or so the paper in his hand told him. The only thing Richard Mackenzie could glean from the speaker in front of him was something, something, something, experimental theology, something.
Goddamn. And he had front row seats too, by virtue of his generosity towards Jordan's College. Something he was secretly regretting at the moment. Could he hold the lecture papers in front of his face and fall asleep without anyone noticing?
Don't you dare.
Morpheusa, reclining on three seats beside him, yawned.
Easy for you to say. You can yawn in public and get away with it.
I'm yawning. Not sleeping.
Her human frowned and poured even more whiskey into the cup of tea he was holding. There were two ways this was going to end. Him falling asleep up front, or him running out of whiskey up front.
Richard leaned against an old tombstone and surveyed the crowd before them.
"Richard! A tombstone is not something you should be leaning against!"
"It gives me the best view!"
The man turned towards the statue of a pig daemon beside him and nodded.
"Hope you don't mind..."
He squinted at the named carved in marble.
"Alegra. Oh for fuck's sake, don't look at me like that. She's dead."
Morpheusa, however, was not pleased with the flippant way her human was treating death at a funeral, and promptly ushered him towards the crowd. A face he knew popped up immediately.
That face was Magisterium.
And that face's hand offered him a hand.
Richard paused, and then shook it.
"He was a good man. He didn't deserve this."
Richard's face was immediately filled with rage.
"Judge Nathon was a good man, and what did he get in return? A system which shat him out and forgot about him with a funeral and an eulogy one year later. Some fucking gratitude we're showing him."
What's he going to do? Gun me down in the middle of the day?
To his credit, the Magisterium looked embarrassed.
"We should have handled this better. Judge Nathon's replacement is...not as good as expected."
"Then you should fix...what's his name? Skape? Skipe? And do it fast."
Richard left the man and moved on. The turnout was enormous, but then again, the man they were commemorating always loomed larger than life in their lives. A postman turned judge was a rags to riches story. A judge who single handedly ran a line of communication between two parties deserved a bit more than this.
Men like that could save lives. Do you remember the truce he brokered for the Mad Daemon Disease?
The Republican, now beside the newly carved statue of Nathon's daemon, Mikosof, lightly touched the tip of one of its wings.
"Goodbye, Mikel. Thanks for the memories."
The white tigress bowed her head at her human's words, only to look up immediately as his sentence was followed by -
Richard Mackenzie stood by the door and waited. The voice within the room droned on and on about Latin and the Romans, reminding him why he had decided that ancient languages was best approached with a ten foot stick at the end of a pole.
You approached every subject that way.
Morpheusa sat down on the floor and tossed a glance at her human in amusement.
None of them were very useful. Except economics I suppose.
He tapped the envelope against his palm as he continued to wait. The document contained within was inexplicably written in Latin, was possibly a few hundred years old, and would have been dismissed as antique nonsense, if not for the sketch of a boy, his daemon, and a few vague dotted lines connecting the both of them.
Reckon this Malcolm Whitmore is up to this?
He is the most qualified scholar out of the pool of candidates I identified. It's unfortunate Ryan doesn't know a thing about this or I would have used him instead.
They continued to wait outside for the lecture to end.
Richard Mackenzie strode out of the building as if he owned the place. Which he did. Once Mackenzie International signed the agreement tomorrow. Labourers were already in place to knock it down and replace it with houses. A newspaper had reported that his company owned a majority of the land in London and Brytain, only ranking behind the Magisterium in terms of landholdings.
Real estate. Such a happy happy thing.
All jolly news, and with the development of the slums going smoothly, nothing could dampen his mood today. So far.
"See you later, boys!"
There was a cheerful chorus of 'goodbyes' from the builders as he walked out. The man was nothing if not popular with everyone. What he had learnt (and not a moment too soon according to One Fat White Tigress) was that his image was as potent a weapon as a gun. To defuse a tight situation without firing a bullet. Wouldn't that be grand?
Of course, no harm in wielding both if necessary. He had unnaturally good aim.
In your head. You have unnaturally good aim in your head. When it comes to guns and things, you're neither here nor there.
And what are you good at? Stuffing your face?
They rounded a corner and a shimmering light immediately caught his eye. He took three inches to his right and it disappeared. He stepped back to his original spot and it reappeared again.
A window! Finally! For a few weeks, he thought they had suddenly disappeared.
Can't you see who else is standing near you??
It was also located -
Right. Behind. Liam.
We should walk away, Richard!
The man approached the window cautiously, as if it was a pigeon which would fly away at the slightest disturbance.