Chapter One: >>5817189

In the dim glow of his reclaimed workshop, Wetware leaned over his workbench, the air thick with the scent of metal and magic. It had been two days since he had driven the Uratha from this place, restoring a semblance of order to his chaotic world. The workshop, once a haven of solitude and creativity, now felt like a battleground, each tool and gadget a reminder of the recent strife.

As he sifted through the remnants of the past, his attention was caught by a peculiar envelope that lay unassumingly amidst the clutter. It was an oddity, a stark contrast to the digital age he was accustomed to. The envelope bore no stamp, no postal mark, only his name, "Wetware," etched in elegant script that seemed to dance with an eerie light. He turned it over in his hands, feeling a chill run down his spine. This was no ordinary message.

Unfolding the paper with a sense of foreboding, he read:

“Wetware,

You are hereby summoned to appear before the Consilium at the stroke of midnight, two nights hence. Your recent actions, specifically the unauthorized use of force in the recapture of your workshop, have raised concerns among our ranks. The Consilium seeks to understand your motivations and assess the repercussions of your deeds upon the delicate balance of our society. Your presence is not a request, but a mandate. Failure to comply will be seen as contempt for our authority.

The Consilium stands as the guardian of order amidst chaos. Remember, the eyes of the Pentacle are ever watchful.

Sincerely,

Binding, Hierarch of the Consilium”

Wetware's brow furrowed in frustration. The irony was palpable. The Consilium, a loosely organized entity more akin to an anarchy than a governing body, suddenly imposing its will with such imperiousness. He had not attended a Consilium event in over a year, finding their claims of order and control to be nothing more than a facade. Yet here they were, calling him to answer for defending his own territory.

The summons was delivered by a young mage he had never met before, one whose eyes held a mix of awe and apprehension as he handed over the envelope. This mage was just a messenger, a pawn in the game of power the Consilium played. Wetware couldn’t help but feel a sense of injustice. His actions, born out of necessity and survival, were now being scrutinized by those who had never set foot in his world of shadows and gears.

He considered his options. Ignoring the summons was tempting, a way to scorn the authority that now sought to bind him. But that would only bring more trouble, perhaps even a direct confrontation with the Consilium. The idea of complying, of walking into what felt like a lion's den, was equally distasteful. Yet, it might provide an opportunity to gauge the intentions of the Consilium and perhaps leverage the situation to his advantage.

(1/2)