That which we are.. we are

The stench of the infernal reached my nose as I made my way down the stairs, the noise and dissolution of the upper-crust modern day "Hellfire Club" above drifting away in the background.
 
Secret crimes. The rich and the powerful seeking ever more jaded and ever more corrupt pastimes, to while away hours made meaningless. Easy enough to have happen, when you have power, but no responsibility to channel it. If left uninterrupted, soon those upstairs would have found themselves members, or fuel, for things far more vile and corrupting than their darkest dreams. The place smelled of mildew and evil, and I could feel the chanting in my bones every bit as much as my ears.
 
I dont speak the language that they were chanting in. From my time in the History Department, it sounded to me a little bit like Latin. That would fit. Soap commercials in Latin sound like demon summoning.
 
DEMON, summoning a Demon. How... original.
 
I hurried, then, speaking the Craft of Artifice to disguise myself as one of the DEMON cultists.
 
Two such guarded the door. They werent going to step aside, not even for one of their own - I could see it in their faces. As they started to question me, a word of sleeping for one, a low blow.. six inches below the belt... for the other, and I was in. A Morbane. Cultists. A screaming sacrifice.
 
I swear, people never change.
 
"Why have you come! How dare you interrupt! Speak quickly, before the summoning dissipates!" The Morbane was not pleased to see me. I cant blame him - Summoning and Binding of Demons isnot for the faint of heart - they dont come easily to DEMON, these days.. and even a tiny mistake can mean failure, or things far worse than failure.
 
"Master.. Master.." It hurt to call the man master, but petty dark magicians rarely objected to being called Master... "Master... the hame is attacked! A hero is here, a powerful magician! He is coming for us!"
 
"Damn. We wont have time to finish the summoning. Stay here and guard the sacrifice." I smirked to myself as the Morbane turned to his other ritualists... "Take your blasting wands and come with me."
 
Just as he reached the door, a cluster of sorcerers tight behind him, the Master of the House cast back over his shoulder "A moment... which Hero? No one has seen a *Hero* Magician in years."
 
My smile broadens, even as a roiling fireball began to accumulate in my hands. I know the light on my face only makes me that much more intimidating. "Which Hero? Oh, thats simple. Me." Yes, yes, flair for the dramatic. Sue me.
 
A simple wash of flames over the crowd at the door.. how nice of them to pack themselves in like that... and unconciousness claims them. I turn to the captive.. curing what they did to her would prove harder by far.
 
Healing always is harder than hurting.
 
========================================A Day Later==============================================
I set aside the newspaper. "Mysterious Fire Guts Dillon Manor! Police Arrest Dozens on Drug Charges! Possible Meth Lab Explosion?" I cant help but smile to myself, even though lurid hellflame scars are slowly healing on my arms... even with the ache of cleansing that sacrifice of demonic taint before returning home. I pay for my pleasures.
 
Still, I will need help. I have heard whispers of a nexus of the Good and the Brave, forming around a Spirit in Stone - a Talking Rock, empowered by the finest of rune-work, so small as to escape the eye, and channeled, *purified*, bottled lightning? Amazing, the mage-craft of this world, though I suppose a Good Spirit of the Stone seeking champions was not so new a thing, after all.
 
Yes, I need help, though I loathe to admit it. Magic flows differently now, and my magic, even my body, is weakened. But even if I cannot find it, duty remains duty.
 
I sigh at the brown rings my coffee-cup has left on a pile of ungraded History of Theurgy papers... heh. "Stephen Vandaleur, Professor of Magical History, MCU".. people will look as far as that last name, see a minor scion of a modern magical family making his way on his family knowledge, and dig no further. But I do need to do some grading. Still, something lighter tonight. Poetry to go with the wine and the moonlight on the water off the deck of my house boat.
 
I think, tonight, Ulysses...
 
"Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
 
Yes.. magic may not be the same.. but people are. These people, some of them, understand. I think I can make a home here.