Current Transmissions:


Invocation Final

... and finally moving beyond or is it within to the place where the Kami dwell which is only really the world without deception where Valhalla is only the present without fear and the wingbeats of the valkyrie only the passing of the present into the past to make room for the future, the skull a shrine, the spine is Yggdrasil, or the reverse and the reverse, here where the truth happens and the layers upon layers of confusion and delusion and history and fragments and iterations no longer obscure and obfuscate but are simple cartography, the sword and pen and tongue and thought, the runes and circle and words a map to find his way...

... and would he not then divine the route home? who would not after so many worlds and centuries and battles seek the safety and the surety and certainty and the continuity of home? who would not ask that gift from the Aesir and would they not grant it to one so deserving?

... when the time and a chance to make magic, real magic happens is this not the spell Akimoto should be casting?

... yet Maggie is still sick, and Max is still trapped, and his companions still stand watch, ready for the next battle...

[he has the sense of deja vu, the feeling of remembering the feeling of a dream, and so he knows that the magic is working]

Akimoto says the names of Freyr and Freyja and the names of the runes and draws his blade across his palm to make blood. But he does not do so for himself.


Invocation 6

What if the answer is a question?

North, the final rune.



Invocation 5

Deeper now, going beyond, the scar on his face aching and hot.

What if your true home was never a real place?

Akimoto faces west and makes the next rune.



Invocation 4

It is not proper Shinto practice either, though there is a striving towards kotodama in his effort, to touch the soul of the language, the words he is spelling, the spell he is casting. 

The strange samurai cult he had found on his vision quest had taught him some of their magic along with their martial arts, their discipline, their honour, their language. He was no samurai, not even a proper ronin, because he was gaijin, he was an outsider (again?) - the ways of his teachers were not his own, he could not take them, lay claim to them, as he had once taken so much, the raids, the pillaging. The samurai had given him their knowledge freely, and greater than any of the philosophy, the techniques, the sword forms, they had taught him the power of giving.

The robes he sometimes wore were to help remind him of that. And the name they had called him, with no explanation - "bright beginning" - he kept because it was who was was trying to be, or perhaps the path to who he really was... It was hard to understand. It was all so very hard to understand. Yet it all kept happening.

Akimoto also knew that according to most of the histories of most of the worlds he had visited with Max that as much as three hundred years separated the time of the vikings with whom he raided and the samurai with whom he trained... And that roughly three times as long had passed between that time and when he awoke on the subway... What else could you do but try and make magic?

He turns to the south and shapes the next rune with his blade.



Invocation 3

This is not proper seidr, not the proper rituals and offerings, the art of the volva. This is makeshift, improvised, everything in motion, everything always changing, little time to make it proper, but there is still a seething in Akimoto's body and mind that may yet be enough to carry his will across the Nine Worlds (once it seemed, to him, such a large number...).

The rooftop is so very far from the halls, the smoke of the hearth, the smell of fur, the roll of the waves under the boat, the feel of the shore under foot when the raid began. Everything he once knew to be true.

Though... Even then did he not have visions of somewhere else? Where ships sailed not on the water but in the night sky, where other, stranger magic gave life to mighty armour and channeled fire like arrows... A place like a home before home, and battles to rival Ragnarok. 

Was it that place he sought when he first began his vision quest? Or had he never left the hall at all, these ceaseless adventures and oddities only the seething of divine madness granted by Odin Allfather?

Facing east, Akimoto raises his sword and traces the shape of the first rune in the air.



Invocation 2

Max says that a lot people think that magic isn't real, and he says that they're right. That's the point of magic - it's unreal. It makes things unreal. And it reveals that things are really fictional in the first place.

Akimoto understands Max's point - Akimoto may not comprehend many of the ways of the worlds he has found himself in, the customs and the technology, but he is not simple-minded. He understands how powerful stories are, and he understands that there is a philosophy to what Max says, and to how Max lives. He has seen Max make magic.

There is though, Akimoto feels, another type of magic, one that is very real. Like the slow growth of a tree, the even slower rising and falling of mountains. Blood from a wound, the sharp ache of hunger. The harsh song of the raven, the howl of the wolf. The roar of the dragon.

Akimoto finishes scraping the shape of a circle in the weather-worn roof of the brownstone with the point of his sword. 



Invocation 1

Trump pawed at the touch-screen on the cell. Making calls had gotten way easier for him with the change in technology; it was pretty tricky for him back when phones were still rotary.

"Coordinates Wheel-Judgement-Temperance," the voice answered.

"Hiya Professor," Trump purred.

"Oh hello there! Thank you for checking in. How is everything proceeding?"

"Maggie's still trapped, Max is still sick. Everyone else is laying low, sticking to their cover stories."

"Hm, I see. Updates please..."

"Suki is working in a pizza shop, Wraith is working at a movie theater, Darius is selling men's clothing, Callan is building furniture in a factory, Frank is doing market research, Goner is delivering pizzas - from a different shop than Suki's, Angst is washing windows, Aqua is working for a cleaning company and Dexter is harvesting wheat samples for an agricultural study."

The sound of typing on a keyboard. "And what about Akimoto?"

"He's here... I don't remember meeting him before. He seems quite strange."

"Imagine a collage of The 13th Warrior, The Last Samurai, Star Wars and The Terminator."

"Professor, I rarely get out to the movies and when Max downloads them I often fall asleep in his lap."

"Yes, of course. Well, the story is a rather muddled mix of a viking on a vision quest, training by ancient Japanese warriors, clothes inspired by the same plus an army surplus store and tropical tourists, a strange connection with version Citadel - if you recall that tale - a mysterious scar, a sprinkle of amnesia, and a dash of time travel. He's generally a lost soul, enjoys a mug of ale, and is relatively unfamiliar with modern technology. He also writes poetry."

"I can see why Max gets along with him so well."

"And how is he occupying his time while we wait for the window?"

Trump studied the movements of the large man on the rooftop of the brownstone, clear in the light of the full moon. "I believe, Professor, that he is attempting to cast a spell."



Overheard on the Southbound Train

"What do you mean I'm not in costume?" said a scrappy looking kid with a skateboard. "Lady, you spend your lunch hour saving the Metaplex from sources of the mundane to the supernatural and tell me that doing it as a full time job ain't scary! Oh and Happy Hallo'een!" He tossed a pack of licorice and hopped out the closing doors.