Professor Reynolds was late for his class, and that never amused him. Nothing ever amused him, really, and the little voice that was supposed to ask him why was finally almost silent after all these years. His habitual scowl was a little deeper as he rushed as much as someone in his exalted position as a tenured professor of philosophy would allow. He didn't bother to slow down as he turned a corner: if there were someone on the other side, they'd just have to get out of his way.
They didn't. The collision was fairly spectacular.
Getting up and brushing himself off (ignoring the person he ran into, naturally), the teacher growled, "Why couldn't you watch where you're going?"
"Why can't you, you big lumbering ox?" came the slightly muffled voice from the ground. "No, don't bother helping me up. You'd probably crack my other ribs."
Professor Reynolds wasn't in the habit of hearing people talking back to him. "Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry. You must be deaf, as well as clumsy."
"Clumsy? Me? Why…" And the argument was off, the professor forgetting his class completely as he began shouting; his victim, a severe-looking woman of about his age, began shouting right back. A crowd soon gathered to watch. Far in the back, a quiet male figure began chuckling as he contemplated a job well done… until he recognized someone from the Other Side.
Now, this would never do. The male sidled along, grinning inwardly at the sight of his fellow-celestial looking panicked at the disaster raging in front of them. The poor bastard was so befuddled that he didn't even realize that he had been spotted until he felt the knife blade pressing at his vessel's kidney.
The male hissed, "Let's go… and no sudden movements, and no shouts. Let's leave these two to work out their new lives together, shall we?" His victim, sweating, acquiesced as the two retreated to a convenient alcove. There, the male quickly frisked and shackled his fellow-celestial, grunting with laughter as he noted the lack of weapons. Typical of the arrogant scum: they think that their boss is protection enough. Mine isn't nearly as idiotic. The male, when finished, leaned back casually.
"Take a good look at Earth: you probably won't be seeing it for a while. Now, any second now…" The male was interrupted by the soft, final sound that comes from the Symphony when a human's Destiny or Fate is decided. In this case, the sound was oddly doubled. His vessel's eyes sparkled; his captive wailed faintly as dissonance entangled his soul.
"Ah. Like fine wine, that is. Well, time for you to go make your report." The male leaned over and casually cut the throat of his retching captive. "Oh, by the way…
"Be sure to say hi to Kronos for me," said the Mercurian of Destiny.
Grendel
Mercurian of Destiny
Corporeal Forces: 4 Strength: 8 Agility: 8
Ethereal Forces: 4 Intelligence: 8 Precision: 8
Celestial Forces: 5 Will: 12 Perception: 8
Vessel: human male/2
Skills: Artistry/2 (poetry), Dodge/2, Emote/1, Fighting/4, Knowledge (Fate/3, Literature/1), Move Silently/1, Ranged Weapon/2 (shotgun), Small Weapon/4 (knife), Tactics/1
Role: "Gregory Billings": wandering professor-author/4, status/4
Songs: Charm (Celestial/1), Entropy (Celestial/1), Light (Celestial/3), Shields (Corporeal/1, Celestial/1)
Attunements: Mercurian of Destiny, Divine Destiny
Relics: Will-Shackles/3, big knife/3
Grendel really doesn't understand why his new Choir-mates look at him oddly sometimes.
After all, the rule is "Don't hurt humans," right? Grendel is more than cool with that: he spent way too many years working for Fate, and seeing what happens to people who achieve it, to ever want to harm another mortal again - even Hellsworn. That's why he went Renegade (and eventually Redeemed), after all. But, heck, Grendel could jump up and down on the eviscerated vessel of a demon (personally carved into little, little bits over a three-day period) for all the Symphony cares.
He's checked.
As for his particular strategy: well, it's best to stick to what you know. Grendel knows how Servitors of Fate operate. It makes sense to concentrate on them. It makes sense to go after them personally. It makes sense to screw up their plans, whack them around a bit, then send them back to their Prince all dissonant and damaged. It makes sense to soul-kill them, too, but Grendel doesn't always have time. Besides, Kronos can always be counted on to make the scum's existence miserable… especially if this was the scum's first solo mission. Grendel loves meeting up with inexperienced Servitors of Fate: the look on a demon's face when it experiences its first note of dissonance on the corporeal plane is wonderful. Anyway, he's just doing his job, for the love of God.
What, only Malakim get to enjoy their work?
Grendel has, as the above suggests, a personality type not seen too often among Mercurians: he enjoys hurting things. He just doesn't enjoy hurting corporeal things. Give Grendel a trapped demon, a bucket of pitch, several sharp knives, a sprig of holly, and three days, and he'll create a tableau that could make a Shedite of Nightmares gag. But he'll gnaw off his leg before he harms any human - even Fated, Hellsworn or Undead.
Having such a well-adjusted psychopath working for Destiny raises a few eyebrows, but Grendel is very, very good at his work. He can usually detect demons of Fate (not through any inherent ability; he just knows how they operate, and takes care to keep up with current events through regular … interviews … with his captives), so sticking in an arena where he encounters them often is most efficient. He is not a candidate for promotion anytime soon, which bothers him not at all. After all, promotion means less time on the corporeal plane, and that wouldn't be very nice.
It wouldn't be very nice at all.