Log:San Jacinto Planning 2025-10-18

<------------[ West University - Arcane Collegium - Chapter House ]------------>

The Arcane Collegium of Rice, established at the founding of Rice University, serves as a bastion of arcane knowledge and esoteric study within the hallowed halls of academia. Housed within a discreet chapter house nestled amidst the ivy-covered buildings of the university campus, the Collegium is a haven for members of the Order of Hermes to pursue their magical studies and research in relative secrecy.

The chapter house itself is a grand structure, its architectural design blending seamlessly with the neoclassical style of the university's other buildings. Its facade is adorned with intricate carvings and arcane symbols, hinting at the mystical energies that lie within.

Inside, the chapter house is a labyrinth of corridors, chambers, and hidden alcoves, each one dedicated to a different aspect of magical study. The main library exists down one such corridor, containing many treasures of magickal knowledge. Adjacent to the library is the laboratory, a bustling hub of activity where magi conduct experiments, brew potions, and craft enchanted artifacts. Here, bubbling cauldrons, arcane sigils, and crackling sparks of energy fill the air, as magi delve into the mysteries of the arcane arts.

Further within the chapter house lies the council chamber, where members of the Collegium gather to discuss matters of magical significance and plan their endeavors. The walls are adorned with portraits of past leaders and esteemed members of the Order, serving as a reminder of the Collegium's rich history and legacy.

<------------------------------------------------------------------------------>

Graham Alexander Silas Gammon can be found in the same hall that hosted the Convocation just a few months ago. The all-purpose hall has been redesigned into something that looks closer to a classroom or a science fair. There are a few large portable white boards that have been rolled in and stand against one wall. There is long table down the middle with chairs on each side, and a few small round tables here and there. The refreshments are mostly a series of coffee, teas, and doughnuts, although there is at least one veggie tray, probably so that he could say there was one healthy thing available.

Attached to another wall of the hall are a series of maps of the San Jacinto Battleground historical site with some close-in topographical data, likely picked up from a government contact, and a series of blown-up pictures of the place from various angles.

Graham can be found with one arm across his waist to hold up the other arm, his chin resting against his fist as he stares pensively one photo in particular: a piece of graffiti on one wall of the main monument. He's dressed in his usual attire, going with the grey suit today, and the scent of coffee surrounds him, as he's likely already rocking a few hundred volts of caffeine.

<----------------------------------^^ Graham ^^---------------------------------->

Zaleria wanders in having heard they were looking for help with maintenance, mending. So the Dreamspeaker Witch comes to help. She's wearing an 'I knit so I don't kill people' t-shirt with blue jeans and sensible shoes. A purse and tote bag slung over her right shoulder. Looking over the arrangement of the great hall, she picks a small table where her bag as sat down before going to retrieve tea and snacks. "I'll have to let Graham know that I could probably get Claire to cater a full meal." Some veggies are put on her plate along with a chocolate doughnut.

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

The door opens without a sound, but the temperature in the room changes, warming as Kian steps in. He's dressed in an open-collared linen shirt and tailored black slacks, the ink on his skin just visible at his sleeves and throat. Zahir follows just behind him, quiet and watchful, the faint scent of incense trailing in his wake. The light in the hall warms slightly from their presence as Kian's gaze moves over the maps, the whiteboards, the photos of the monument.

He nods once to Zaleria in passing, catching the message on her shirt with a flicker of amusement. "I like it," he says, voice low. "Crafters of all sorts are the best of us, right?" He claims a chair at the main table. At the same time, Zahir lingers near the wall, studying the blown-up images of the battleground with a sort of detached interest. Kian steeples his fingers, his eyes steady as he grins in greeting to Graham. "Good to see you, how are things?"

<-----------------------------------^^ Kian ^^----------------------------------->

Zaleria perks, looking over her tea cup to find the source of the temperature change. Then smiles to Kian, "Uh? Oh! Thanks! I have all sorts of them. What do you craft?" Her amber eyes flitting to Zahir, and taking in the pair, and their mode of dress. Fancy men. Since they are joining the main table, she moves her stuff there. Choosing a seat at the end so she won't be elbowing neighbors.

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

"Graham can hear you." One of the benefits, or drawbacks depending on your perspective, of the hall being devoid of others is that voices have a habit of carrying. Turning on his heel, he flashes a grin at Zaleria, giving the seamstress a nod of greeting as he turns away from the board and moves to stand over at her table. "Well, I was a balancing act. I started small, because I didn't expect a lot of people, but then I wanted variety...." His hands raise, palms up as if weighing two invisible things, his shoulders shimmying with the effort before he lets his hands fall to his side. "Impossible, really. What can ya do?" Another chuckle slips past him before he adds, "glad you made it."

The increasing heat in the room is not something the Hermetic could miss even if he wanted to, and a turn of his head brings a more formal nod, something closer to a bow. "Evening, Kian, Zahir." A beat. "I don't know about crafters, as I'm not much of one, but there certainly is something to be said for the power of creation." The question gets a shrug from Graham, and a good-natured grin. "Can't complain." He lets out a short laugh, and adds, "I don't know why people say that. People are -very- good at complaining, and they always find a way to. In truth, I'm concerned. I've only managed to find one of the Nodes, and it was from information from a former Chantry member. If what they're saying is true, this Node is both well-hidden and threatened."

Lifting one hand to beckon both Zaleria and Kian to join him, Graham moves over to the wall of pictures. "What do you both know about how Nodes come to be?"

<----------------------------------^^ Graham ^^---------------------------------->

Kian leans back slightly in his chair, the faintest curl of a smile tracing his mouth as he glances toward Zahir. His next words are in Farsi, soft and measured, carrying a tone that hums with command even when softly spoken. The djinn in human form inclines his head, a ripple of warmth following him as he crosses the space. The air stirs faintly when he stops beside Zaleria, offering her a slim, black card embossed in gold, the sigil of The Ember Veil. "The local hookah lounge owned by my master," Zahir says in a rumbling voice that sounds like wind moving over coals, before stepping away to rejoin the wall of photos.

Kian watches the exchange with a faint gleam of approval before turning his attention fully to her. "I make what's needed," he says, tone easy but sure. "Jewelry, carpets, blades, armor." His hands unfold, palms open as if offering an idea rather than a trade. "My partner Roxie and I run The Ember Veil, a hookah lounge, though we have a section for meeting in private and of course a wonderful workshop. You should come by sometime, if you need space to craft or simply to think, or just visit." His eyes catch the light as he nods in her direction. "I'm Kian Ardalan Farrokhzad, Zoatar of the Taftani. Herald of the Desperate Alliance to the Traditions here in Houston." Bowing his head slightly in greeting, he then turns his full attention back to Graham.

Pushing easily out of his seat when beakoned over, he speaks softly in Farsi once more to Zahir. The larger man swaps places with him, and when settled in the chair, he pulls out a pouch and starts to straighten out a paper, sprinkling tobacco into it, and rolling a cigarette. The tattooed mage smiles as he stands beside Graham and then shrugs saying softly, "Not a lot. I recall that we identified another one before. I think the shifters took it, right? This is different?"

<-----------------------------------^^ Kian ^^----------------------------------->

Graham's gaze cuts over to Kian and there's a wicked grin across his lips. "That's somewhat rude, Kian. Not all of us speak the language of the land of scribes," before his gaze bounces back to the wall of pictures, his distant gaze allowing him to consider the rest of the Taftani's words in greater detail. <Lang: FARSI>

<----------------------------------^^ Graham ^^---------------------------------->

Zaleria blinks looking between the two of them as they converse in something she doesn't understand. Though she would give Kian a nod. "I'll be sure to stop by. I have a nice place up in the woodlands with my studio and garden, and plenty of places to sit and craft. But it is always nice to find new hangouts." Another sip of her tea, "Kian." A little notebook is pulled out of her bag and the name jotted own. "I'm Zaleria, Dreamspeaker Witch."

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

"That particular predates me. I've no idea what happened there." Graham offers up an apologetic shrug before turning his attention to the board, and waving one hand toward the map, and a few of the older pictures of the site. "'Node' is not a great term for what these really are. Once upon a time we called them Creches, which at least gives them a little poetry. But, in truth? They are places of power because we believe them to be." The Hermetic's tone raises slightly a touch of passion sliping into what would normally be a dry lecture. "That place where the babbling of the brook stills down to nothing and you swear you can hear every individual buzzing insect? The festival grounds where you can swear you still hear the music play even though the bands packed up last week?" He raises one hand, gesturing to one picture of the wall of the towering memorial at San Jacinto, "or the memorial wall that drowns out all conversation with the heavy sacrifice of the thousands of names chiseled into the wall?"

Turning to the pair of Mages beside him, Graham shakes his head quickly. "That power is not a side effect of those places being nodes. That power is what -makes- them sacred. It is what -makes- them nodes."

A few quick steps bring the Hermetic away from the pair and close enough that he can reach out and touch some of the printed photos that have been affixed to the wall, starting with drudgerous graffiti cast across one portion of the memorial, "does this seem... sacred to either of you?" And then he shifts to other photos in turn: the overgrowth of vines growing into the lake, a small pair of tents of obviously homeless people and the clutter that is there, another of windows broken out of one of the small outbuildings, each one punctuated with a simple "or this?".

Graham lifts a hand and moves as if he were to place a palm against one photo in particular, the carcass of some small ground animal hanging from what appears to be the door to a restroom from one of the outbuildings of the site, but his hand falls to his side, turning back to look at the others. "Whatever protections the old man had to keep this site safe have fallen, and we need to go clean it up. But they're not going to make it easy on us." And with this last, his tone falls, and he gestures to the final picture: a trio of men in suits inspecting one corner of the main memorial structure, one of them down on their knees. "Any time the government takes an interest like that in something like this? Those aren't sleepers. Those are agents."

<----------------------------------^^ Graham ^^---------------------------------->

Zaleria has since pulled her knitting from her bag. Hands knitting by touch while she follow's Graham's movements and listens. The needles not even having that faint clicking to them that most do. "So, this is a node of massacre and death? Perhaps tell me the significance of it. I don't know Texas history." Her hands pauses when he gets to the graffiti. "hmm."

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

Kian chuckles, the sound low and warm as he glances sidelong at Graham. "True," he says, tone edged with good humor. "When I order Zahir around, I'll make sure I do it in English." There's a brief wink toward the Hermetic. He leans forward slightly while listening to Graham speak. When Zahir steps in behind him, the djinn moves without a word to hand off a freshly rolled cigarette. The scent of tobacco curls through the air, mixing with the faint trace of incense and paper as Kian places it between his lips and sparks it up with a snap of his fingers.

As Graham speaks of creches, of belief shaping the sacred there is a look of respect beneath the ease, eyes tracing the images of the defaced monument and overgrown earth. He exhales slowly, smoke streaming from the corner of his mouth. "Belief gives birth to the world, yes," he says softly, nodding toward the images. "Agents... Technocracy?" As he says that there is a rumble of anger in his tone that Zahir matches with a shift of his shoulders. With a nod he adds, "Clean it up and burn those agents."

<-----------------------------------^^ Kian ^^----------------------------------->

"It was the site of the final battle of the Texas Revolution, which may not matter in the global scheme," Graham says, turning to Zaleria with a small, sad smile. "But it matters to the people here. Or at least it used to. And that's enough. When enough people consider a place to be sacred, it becomes so. What little I could sense from the place was less about death or slaughter, but instead strength and reverence. Texans really do love a war memorial." The last bit is said somewhat wryly, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a light grin for a moment before sobering. "I think we can restore that reverence again. According to my research, the Tass in the pool is where the Tass is most likely to come from. There have been local stories about people taking sips of it and feeling unusually refreshed, like they could endure."

Graham steps away from the pictures, mostly to give himself some distance from the source of his speech, and he turns to start walking across the room toward where the refreshments are. He remembered the Earl Grey, right? "It has been my experience that wherever the government takes an interest in something that everyone else has forgotten about... yes, the Technocractic Union is the true culprit," the Hermetic says over his shoulder, stopping to chuckle when Kian mentions burning. "That is what I expected you to say... but are we really ready for that? Where there's those three, there's thirty more cyborgs waiting to be dropped in."

<----------------------------------^^ Graham ^^---------------------------------->

Zaleria wrinkle her nose briefly. "Let's not invite trouble if we can avoid it." She does look to Kian with a smile though, "Though, if need be, I'll happily ride the storm and lightning to help. I have yet to experience..what is it you have here, hurricanes? Those must be lovely to ride."

That thought is put aside. "The easy way is the best place to start though." She motions towards the picture. "I should like to put up some braille plagues, if they aren't already there. History belongs to all, not just the sighted. Overgrowth is easy to manage, easy to convince it to grow elsewhere or not at all. As for the graffiti, it might be worth putting up a special wall, not large, for people to express themselves. As the place cleans up, I bet the topics of the graffiti change too."

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

Kian nods slowly as Graham speaks, the cigarette balanced between two fingers, ember flaring each time he draws from it. Smoke curls upward, tracing lazy shapes that hang in the air above them. Zahir stands near the display, arms folded, eyes scanning the photos. "You're right," Kian says after a moment, his voice even but threaded with conviction. "This ground was claimed by belief once, and belief made it sacred. The Taftani have fought the same war in a thousand places, the jihad against the Lie. The Technocracy calls it progress, but it's a conquest, plain and simple. Every time they sterilize a node, erase a place of power, they erase more of the truth."

He turns his gaze toward Zaleria, the hard edge in his tone softening. "Not recklessness," he says. "But if we never stand, we're already surrendering. They win by our quiet, not by their strength." He ashes the cigarette into an ashtray that Zahir brings over without being told to bring. "You're right to mend what can be mended." Pausing to focus his thoughts as he looks between the two mages, he finally grins. "My drive to destroy my enemy burns brightest in my heart but I know it needs to be tempered by wisdom." Nodding a little, he looks back to Graham, saying, "This is all good intelligence for sure. A lot we can build on to repair this place." Motioning between them he continues, "Great ideas. A creative outlet for graffiti. Potentially some outreach to help increase the reverence of the place, good start."

<-----------------------------------^^ Kian ^^----------------------------------->

Graham picks up a small paper cup and blows away some of the steam rolling up from it. Earl Grey packed in, it's time to get to business. "Braille? That's fantastic." The Hermetic grins, both hands wrapped around the paper cup and leeching warmth from it despite the comfortable temperature of the room. "And I agree, as the cleanup starts, people will view the place differently. And what they do with it will change. That's where I think we start."

Walking back over to the pair, Graham blows away some steam from his tea and takes a sip, eyes closing as he ignores the world for just one brief moment of bliss, right out here in front of God and everybody. But that moment is just a moment, and with a blink to clear away the remnants of that moment, he focuses in on the Taftani. "As it has ever been, yes. But I have some small experience dealing with the Technocracy as well. Their strength is also their weakness: rules. I will start working with the local civil authorities to see what kind of grass roots permissions I can get from the city before the Union gets a grip on the place. Kian, perhaps you, Zahir, and Roxy might be able to put your crafting skills to use, performing some repair on some of the buildings? It will be easier to 'sell' if I can say that volunteer labor will get it done. Zaleria, are the plaques something you think you can construct yourself? Or would perhaps dealing with the overgrowth be something that's more in your realm of expertise?"

<----------------------------------^^ Graham ^^---------------------------------->

Zaleria smiles to Graham. "I don't have a Braille printer. But there are options. I can probably get my uncle back home to bronze cast some plagues. Otherwise I yarn bomb everything and put the Braille into the pattern...the later wouldn't fit in too well with what you want. Too artsy, not sacred enough. I'm happy to work with the plants too." She sips her tea, "I am most familiar with living things and the elements. But I have some experience in knowing the probability of something having a weakness or flaw that needs mending."

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

Kian taps ash into that ashtray Zahir brought over, nodding as Graham lays out the plan, the ember at the cigarette bright against his fingertip. He exhales once, slowly, and says plainly, "We can do repairs. We can craft what's needed to make it beautiful again, signs, railings, new plaques, or carved stone, whatever makes the place feel welcoming." He pauses a beat, then adds, "Remy could lead prayer and church outreach, bring the local congregations to tend and witness. I'll see if that kind of thing is something he'd be into doing."

He turns to Zaleria with a small easy smile. "And we will help with the braille if you'd like. We have tools and bench space. If you have the layouts to write the actual braille." Zahir watches them all speak but doesn't say anything before speaking softly in Farsi, reminded his mage master of the time. Nodding Kian grins, "I need to head off. But this is a great plan. Next steps? Get things going and circle back together?"

<-----------------------------------^^ Kian ^^----------------------------------->

Zaleria gives Kian a wave. "Here." She slides him a card from her bag. "Lets set something up. I do have the layouts and printing rules. It has to be very exact. Safe travels."

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

Graham flicks his wrist and points a single finger at Kian, offering up a sharp nod. "Exactly that. Yes, you two work together on the plaques. I'll work with City Hall to get the work approved. We'll see if Remy can get together a congregation to help?" Grey eyes flick back and forth between the pair before he adds, "the more people we can get involved in this, the better. The more belief, the more power there is, so if you know anyone that would be willing to help in the more mundane ends of these endeavors, the better off we'll be. I can help with some of the replanting, if all you need is a pair of hands."

The Hermetic nods to Zahir as he alerts Kian to the time, Graham taking another sip of his tea before adding, "I also have an appointment soon. So, yes, let's check back in, via messages at the very least, by this time next week?"

<----------------------------------^^ Graham ^^---------------------------------->

Zaleria raises a brow at the mention on a congregation and prayer services. A brief glimpse of distain. "Then you should welcome the pagans there too, and their festivals as well."

<---------------------------------^^ Zaleria ^^---------------------------------->

Kian accepts the card with a nod, looking it over for a quiet moment before handing it off for Zahir to slip neatly into his jacket pocket. "I'll call," he says. "We'll get this done quickly. The djinn can handle much of the repair work on site, fast, clean, and..." his mouth curves into a faint frown, "out of sight." The last words come with a trace of reluctance, the edge of someone wanting to show the wonder of magick and not hide behind coincidence. He flicks the last of the cigarette into the ashtray, grinding it out as his gaze moves back to Graham. "We'll start moving as soon as you give the word about working on the site, and do the prep we can at the workshop in the meantime. The faster it looks tended, the harder it'll be for the Union to justify meddling."

When Zaleria mentions prayer, he laughs quietly, a sound that warms the air around him. "All could be welcomed," he agrees as Zahir steps aside to open the door. "But here in Houston, the Christian angle is the easiest thread to tie in. People trust what they already kneel to," coughing, he shakes his head, "I mean, know." He straightens, offering both mages a nod and an easy grin. "Good work tonight. Call when the pieces are ready." With that, he turns for the exit, Zahir falling into step beside him, the faint scent of spice and smoke trailing in their wake as the door closes behind them and that heat leaves with them.

<-----------------------------------^^ Kian ^^----------------------------------->