The Magnus Archives - MAG 176 - Blood Ties

Episode Date: July 16, 2020

Case ########-16An examination of pack tacticsAudio recorded by the Archivist, in situ.Content warnings:Explicit languageMisogynistic languageHostage situation Victimisation / ScapegoatingEvisceration Blades Character deathSFX for gunshot, evisceration, panicked breathingThanks to this week's Patrons: Shona Hunter, koechelt, Goon Squad, Em 'Trans Rights' Kavanagh, thefarunlitunknown, Yolanda George, Lady C., James Brown, Savannah Whiteford, Casper Wright, Skye Martucci, Chris Kobzina, plum177, Victoria Marmolejo, Gloaming Wang, Bri Neumann, Nicholas Indrisano, Natassia Pastore, Coline R, em fedorchuk, Pasha, Dave J Bowman, Ari P, Michelle Elbert, Emma Adler, Jo, Mari, Liam Comeau, Illicit Tangent, twistedsardonic, Jennifer Thurgate, Fe Nguyen, Micah Goldstein, Charlie Eyre, Gabriel Hawke, Chiara Lorraine, Alex Daigle, Melissa Sage Dumont, L Sparrow, Alexis Costello, roguekind, loserlord, Paul Rueger, WolfintheWoods, Terese Nelson, Hannah Driggs, Piquk, Alice Sigurðardóttir, Atlas, Alyssa Rozendaal, heroei  If you'd like to join them visit www.patreon.com/rustyquillEdited this week by Annie Fitch, Elizabeth Moffatt, Brock Winstead & Alexander J NewallWritten by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J NewallProduced by Lowri Ann DaviesPerformances:- "Martin Blackwood" - Alexander J. Newall - "The Archivist" - Jonathan Sims - "Trevor Herbert" - Ian Hayles- "Basira Hussain" - Frank VossSound effects this week by worthahep88, nicklas3799, Drkvixn91, markb, Framing_Noise, deleted_user_133379, dobroide, northern87, martian, kyles, j1987, northern87, borralbi, InspectorJ, duckduckpony, earthsounds, Suburbanwizard, ProductionNow, giddster, MPierluissi, Slykmrby, vykroft, MrPokephile & previously credited artists via freesound.org.Check out our merchandise at https://www.redbubble.com/people/rustyquill/collections/708982-the-magnus-archives-s1You can subscribe to this podcast using your podcast software of choice, or by visiting www.rustyquill.com/subscribePlease rate and review on your software of choice, it really helps us to spread the podcast to new listeners, so share the fear.Join our community:WEBSITE: rustyquill.comFACEBOOK: facebook.com/therustyquillTWITTER: @therustyquillREDDIT: reddit.com/r/RustyQuillEMAIL: [e-mail] Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill Ltd. and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 International Licence Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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of today's episode. Throughout this season, we have been taking a number of measures to ensure that we can maintain production through the COVID outbreak in a safe and sustainable manner. Producing content under these conditions takes significantly more time and resources than normal, and as a result of this, we elected to split this final season into three acts. This is so that we can have a short hiatus between acts, which allows us to ease the pressure on our tireless production team, and thus ensure that all episodes are kept to our highest quality. Today's episode marks the end of Act 1 of this fifth and final season of the Magnus Archives. This means that following this episode, we will be taking a six-week hiatus, during which we will be releasing special content on our normal weekly schedule.

The story will continue with Act 2, which releases to the public on Thursday 3rd September 2020. We thank you for your patience and understanding, as we take the time we need to ensure that everyone working on this show stays happy and healthy. That's all for now, apart from saying, as always, be kind to one another, and we hope you enjoyed today's episode. Rusty Quill Presents The Magnus Archives Episode 176 Blood Ties Hold on. Take it easy. What? I'm going at a normal pace. You're the one that's slowing down.

I am not. You are. You're dragging your feet. What's up? What aren't you telling me? Martin, please. I'm trying to find our way to Basira. Talk to me, John. I'm fine. Glad to hear.

And the fact that we're hunting our friend in a domain of the hunt isn't getting to you at all? Not even a little bit? Hmm? I don't like betraying someone's trust like this. It's not a betrayal if you're doing it to help. I'm not so sure. Look, if it was me in her shoes, I'm sure I'd forgive you. It's for the best.

Hmm. Look, you'll feel better about it when it's done. Okay? Putting it off, it's just going to make you feel worse. Hmm. Besides, I thought the hunt was meant to make you go faster. Depends on the type of pursuit. Besides, the chase isn't really the point of this particular place. Oh, no?

No. I can't believe I'm asking this, but what is the point, then? Have you ever had your friends turn on you? People you thought you could count on? I mean... I worry about it, but...

Actually, no. Not like a full-blown betrayal or anything. I'm glad. Because this place focuses on that worry, that fear of your own pack turning their claws on you. Hmm. Is that really a hunt thing? Can be.

The old divisions don't mean as much these days. Maybe they never did. The domains are smaller, more personal than the powers. They don't just feed on the worst fears of the people trapped there, they're shaped by them too. It's enough to fear the domain itself, if not the entire power behind it. We should get that on a mug.

You don't have to fear the hunt to be trapped here. But it helps. So can we just move on? Soon. Look, John, I didn't want to say this, but we either need to move on or you need to tell me what's going on. Because... I think we're being followed. We are. Oh.

Okay. That's not what I wanted to actually hear. I know. That's why I didn't mention it before. Oh my god. But we're safe, right? As long as you remain calm, yes. Absolutely.

So are you going to tell me what's going on? What the plan is? We're going to find Basira. No, John, that's the goal. What I want is the plan. The steps in between that need us to be hunted through the woods. I'm flying blind here. I'm... Yeah, I'm sorry. I do know what I'm doing.

How nice for you, but I don't, unless you tell me. How are we even going to approach Basira? It's tricky. She's... She's had a bad time. I mean, haven't we all? No. No, we haven't.

Right. If we approach her directly she's likely to bolt and she can move a lot quicker than we can Yeah, okay but I'm still not hearing a plan as such What? Hold on

Are you actually serious? I'm sorry Fine, just I'll keep a lookout, be quick I'll keep a lookout. Be quick. I'll do my best. Feet pound, silent whisper, silent blood on lips, blood on teeth, blood scent of hated prey flows through veins and into feet pound silent in pursuit. Teeth smile, ready to kill. The lashing branches reach and claw and try to hold back the charging vengeance of the pack, but they slip and fall away. The killers make no sound as they move

across the forest floor, their steps quick and certain. In the distance they hear the crashing stumble of the one who deserves to be hunted, all stealth forgotten in a panicked flight from righteous cleansing violence. There are no names among the pack, no words, only a razor-keen unity of purpose, a shared loathing of the sickly scent of the one they chase, a mutual determination that their quarry does not deserve to live. words to express them, no doubt the crimes listed of their prey would be as varied as the pack themselves, and some perhaps even true. But that is not important, not really. Not the driving, pounding need behind the hunt, what spurs pursuit of tooth and claw, is not some calmly made assessment or solemn judgement on the weight of the hunted sin. It is the need to tear and rend and coat their faces slick with the blood of the guilty

that pulses through every fibre of them. The thumping need inside their head to hate and to be right within that hate. To taste the blood of those that have declared themselves deserving of it. But as the pack runs, each and all among them are afraid. Of what? The pounding in their heart drowns out the unease, makes it hard to taste and feel it out, but it is there. Are they afraid of their prey, fleeing in abject terror, their trail marked

clear by the scent of fear? No, it can't be. But what else could it be? Surely not their packmates, sprinting along beside, leaping, jumping, grinning in anticipation, moving as a group their minds as one, never looking each other in the eye. Up ahead, the quarry trips, cries out, tumbles to the floor in a desperate heap. They try to stagger to their feet, but they are caught in the undergrowth, ankle twisted, vines wrapped around it. They already lost their boots, and now their bare and muddy foot is trapped, flesh and dirt and oozing blood.

The blood that fills the nostrils of these hunters and drives their furious chase with the awful scent of its transgression. Tears flow too, but no one notices, and no one cares. Their punishment is at hand. In moments the prey is surrounded. The spaces between the trees are filled with eyes that hate and hands that hold the promise of a life ended on the rotting leaves of the forest floor. They smile, and their teeth glint in the moonlight, still red with all that remains of their last morsel of prey. They begin to step closer. One step. Two steps. When the prey turns, they are still,

but they surround in all directions, moving slowly when they are not being watched. What's the time, Mr. Wolf? The time to run is over. The time to suffer has arrived. There is one last burst of strength within the prey. Not strength of arm or speed of escape, what good is fight or flight in this place? But a strength of voice, of bitter, angry recrimination, hurling accusations upon their pursuers, hypocrites, bullies, pathetic wretches that would hound the innocent so. Perhaps the prey earnestly believes it, casts themselves full woeful into the mould of victim Of one who has done no wrong

Or perhaps they feel within themselves the weight of the sin Stinking out of them Flaring the hearts of their persecutors But see in the faces that approach them Those same transgressions shining Reflected back upon them It doesn't matter in the end For the them, those same transgressions shining, reflected back upon them. It doesn't matter in the end, for the cry is the same.

This isn't fair. This isn't right. The pack descends and the prey is silenced. Protests cut short by teeth digging into throat, nails piercing skin and clawing at gristle, bones shattering under relentless, merciless blows. And the blood and bile flow freely, exciting the pack to ever greater raptures of cruelty, of pure and cleansing rage. They taste their fury in every corner of them. There is no sound to break their peace but the wet ripping of flesh and the occasional transcendent scream of deserved agony.

And then it is over. There is a moment, a single, holy moment of blessed absolution, washed clean in sweet and sticky blood. And then the unease returns, the uncertainty and fear that at some moments gripped them throughout their pursuit. They look around from one to another, aware as they stand over the twitching remains, that they are suddenly without prey. Expressions sharpen, eyes narrow, growls begin to bubble up deep from within each chest. They are afraid. They can each smell it wafting from the others, but who will it be? Who is the most afraid? Which of them held back? Which of them... There. You. Blood on your hands, no doubt. Blood on your lips. But not much. Not much at all.

Perhaps you couldn't get close enough. There were so many hunters after all. Or perhaps you stayed your hand out of mercy, out of sympathy. Perhaps you stink of that same sin. No words need to be spoken, no accusations put in so coarse a form as a voice. The pack immediately knows which among them is no longer theirs, which has exposed their own iniquity. Which is now prey. The prey turns and runs,

all grace of the hunt forgotten as they stumble, crashing through undergrowth and dirt. Behind them, feet pound silent. I'm done. You alright? Just peachy. You all right? Just peachy. I don't know. I feel like I saw something in the trees. You did.

Oh, fantastic. You're very reassuring, you know that. Is it that pack thing you were talking about? No, they'd have... they'd have no interest in us. We're not one of them. Look, John, if you know what it is, then why don't you just tell me... No! No, John, you just did a statement. I don't care if you want another one. Martin!

I've got to move... Right. Martin, do you trust me? What? Oh, Christ, this can't be good. Yes. Then it's very... Listen, look at me.

The next couple of minutes are going to be quite unpleasant for one of us, and I'm sorry. So what? You need to remain very calm and don't make any sudden movements. Okay, now I'm worried. What do you... Don't move. Don't you fucking move. And don't you say a word or I'll cut him open! I know what the voice of yours can do so shut it! Mm-hmm.

Okay. You can talk. But slow like. You try and do any of that word magic and he's dead understood hello Trevor John

what's going on it's ok trust me it's not ok stop fucking smiling John I know you keep saying we're safe, and I am feeling very calm. But just so I know, can he... Can he kill me?

He could, yes. If he was still a hunter. Shut it. Of course I'm still a hunter. Gotta go with Trevor on that one, John. No. Right now he's prey. How long have you been running now, Trevor? Don't know. Too long.

And Julia? Dead. I'm sorry. Shut it. Should have been me. I'm old. Slow. It's not fair outliving her.

But that dog of yours. That rabid bitch. She knew. Killed her first so she could see me limp away. It's a game to her. If you're looking for my pity, I'm afraid you're too late. John? What I want is to make you feel the same loss.

John? It's okay, Martin. Maybe I spoke too soon. Perhaps I do have some pity for you. After all, I know you, Trevor. You've had a tough life. Hardship from beginning to... its strange and twisted end.

Never complained. No, you haven't, have you? Maybe that's the greatest tragedy of all this. I'm sorry, Trevor. For what? For putting us all in this situation. I had hoped you'd go for me, but... well...

I'm sorry I've reduced you lower even than prey. John? No! It's a bait. Oh, Christ, you... Relax, Martin. I'm not going to relax. I'm sick of never knowing what's going on and then... Relax, Martin. I'm not going to relax. I'm sick of never knowing what's going on and then...

Hello, Basira? Basira? Don't move. Either of you. Hey, hey, hey. Whoa, whoa, Basira, it's us. I said don't move. This place plays tricks.

It is us, Basira. Mm-hmm, sure. And you just happened to wander into Trevor's path while I was tracking him. What a fun coincidence for everybody. Not a coincidence. Can I at least put my hands down? My arms are kind of getting tired.

Prove you're real. What? Like pinch you? Prove you're really Martin Blackwood. How? You could do a poem. Shut up. John, this is serious.

What's something only Martin would know? What? I don't know. Fine. No, no, no, no, no, no, wait, wait. God, I don't know. We've never hung out much. I've no idea what you know about me. What about you? I mean, I can know literally anything, so ask away, I guess.

You understand how unhelpful that is for proving identity. I'm sorry to be an inconvenience. Well, you'd better think of something, or... Basira, I know you're not going to shoot us. There's already too much doubt in your mind. I told you before not to look into my head. So you do believe it's me, then? No, it'll prick.

So, can I... Yeah, put them down, Martin. It's fine. You're you. You're sure? If you're monsters, that would mean I'd get to finally kill something with your smug face. No way am I that lucky. Can't fault your logic. Come on, you've wasted enough time already.

Hey, wait! I said come on. John? After you. After you. The Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Sharealike 4.0 international license. Today's episode was written by Jonathan Sims, produced by Laurie-Anne Davis, and directed by Alexander J. Newell. It featured Jonathan Sims as The Archivist,

Alexander J. Newell as Martin Blackwood, Ian Hales as Trevor Herbert, and Frank Voss as Basira Hussain. To subscribe, buy merchandise, or join our Patreon, visit RustyQuill.com. Rate and review us online, tweet us at TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us via mail at RustyQuill.com. Join our community on the Discord via the website, or on Reddit at r slash the Magnus Archives. Thanks for listening.

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