No subject had quite held much importance or drove more heated discussions than the familiar ritual. A lifelong bond between a human and a spirit, a connection forged between them and fed with power to be made permanent.
The word familiar comes from the Latin famulus, meaning servant. It came to refer to household and family, and over time, transitioning to the French familier, it came to mean ‘intimate, on a family footing’. In all of these meanings, description, ritual and word are linked. The familiar becomes family, the bond is intimate, and there is an implication of servitude.
Even after two hundred years of discussion and refining of this material, several ideologies and approaches stand out. These details are discussed in separate chapters. Each chapter that follows is preceded by a set of case studies.
In chapter two, we discuss the familiar itself. What it is. The limitations. The diversity in approaches, which will be expanded on in subsequent chapters.
In chapter three, we discuss the bond. The key points, early approaches, modern approaches, universal constants in the human-Other relationship, and the shape of the relationship before and after the ritual is enacted.
In chapter four, we look at the social contexts and environment. Differences in familiars by region, microsocial factors, macrosocial factors, and cultural factors. Both the practitioner-familiar relationship to the outside world and the outside world’s relationship to the practitioner-familiar relationship will be discussed.
In chapter five, we look at the familiars themselves. Corporeal and non-corporeal beings, beings from a delineated subtype with a pedigree or subcuture and Others who are unique and standalone.
Case Study for Chapter Two: Annabelle and Tromos, Steed of Enyo.
The penthouse apartment is dark and quiet. The rain traces streams down the windows, and despite the gloom, neither occupant has made an effort to turn on the lights or ignite one of the lanterns that seem so prevalent in the space. There are no walls in the apartment, and everything from the bed to the kitchen is visible, decorated in a clear, distinctive style. In other homes, there are signs of things that don’t fit; gifts that were received which do not match the owner’s style, or things that were bought because they were inexpensive. Annabelle has made no such concessions, and everything in the space matches, with a motif of wrought iron, crisp linen and very solid oak fixtures for the furniture. Chains are visible, hanging from the bedframe, and there are various instruments of war mounted on racks and walls, both typical spears and swords, shields, and the less typical meteor hammer, Eastern weapons and a wicked mancatcher that sits just above the chair she has chosen to sit in for our interview. Viewed under the Sight, every one of these objects vibrate with power.
Annabelle herself is stately and elegant, wearing a simple black dress that wouldn’t be out of place in a business setting, her hair styled upward, but her feet are bare. As she sits in her chair, Tromos lies under her feet, his head just under one of Annabelle’s bare feet, which moves periodically to stroke him. The familiar wears the guise of a great black battle-scarred tibetan mastiff, with three different spiked collars ringing its neck.
Interviewer M. Saville (S): The tape recorder is on. Good evening. Thank you for agreeing to this.
Anabelle (A): Your offering was adequate.
[Note: The Interviewer brought a Macallan 1949 Single Single highland malt as payment for the hospitality and interview.]
S: I’m glad. Shall we start with the basics? Who are you? Do you have any focus to your craft?
A: I am Lord of this city. Conventional wisdom calls me a Valkyrie.
S: A shaman, imbuing objects with power and incorporeal Others.
A: Yes.
S: And Tromos, Steed of Enyo? I know who and what you are, but I’d like to have it on the record for the benefit of our readers.
Tromos, Steed of Enyo (T): You may call me Tromos, we can do without the title to hurry this along. I was the steed of a goddess of war and ruin. The gods I served, fought beside, and fought against have grown weaker in recent years. While my gods withered and grew small, their worshipers few, I turned to creating dreams of utter terror, and I have survived the centuries.
A: Conventional wisdom would call my Tromos a Nightmare.
S: How did you meet?
A: An enemy of mine sent him against me, to deny me sleep and weaken my position before negotiations. It worked. An unfamiliar battlefield, a powerful foe. Terror dreams so bad that they gave me nightmares for weeks after the fact. My enemy took the upper hand. They decided to use Tromos again. I suspect to weaken my position, because I was a contender at the time for Lord of the city.
S: And?
A: It worked the second time, but I held my seat. On the third time… you do know the rule of three, don’t you? Third time’s a charm, so to speak. There’s a bit more power in it. That third victory matters more than the first two put together.
S: In some areas. It has power because we give it power.
A: My opponent gave it power, then. On the third attempt, I beat Tromos, and there was an advantage in that, more than I might have had if I’d won on the first or second time. I turned Tromos against the one who set him on me, then I turned him on the co-conspirators, and I directed him to a handful of the people who tried to take advantage of my diminished faculties. We came to like each other.
T: She has something of the poise of the gods I used to serve. She was ruthless in dealing with her enemies, which is good. When she showed that she could become Lord by her own merit, I accepted the deal.
S: Can I ask what the balance of power is between you?
A: I take power from Tromos. He shores up my weaknesses, as I’m focused on physical applications. Objects I can hold. His power lies in emotion, in dreams, and he is a divine being. When I need strength against something I can’t chain down or impale with a spear, I borrow power from my familiar. He herds the spirits so I might bind them into objects. Through my connection to him, everything I do and touch conveys a trace of fear to others.
S: What does Tromos get out of the bargain?
T: Were I to ask you if you could take four years without having to eat, if you did not feel like it? Four years where you did not suffer any if you did not sleep? That is what this is to me. I am anchored in this world. So long as I am bound to her, I will not degrade, I will not hunger. Any power I take can make me stronger, and so long as she does not fritter it away, which she will not, I will be in a better place than I was before.
S: What happens after? Annabelle isn’t immortal, I presume.
A: We’ve talked about that.
T: I enjoy her company. If she is strong enough, she will join me in the dreams. When I visit nightmares unto others, I ride them down. The great black wolf, the bull, the horse, the brutish man. They flee, tripping and injuring themselves, climbing to their feet, only to trip again, until they are too battered to stand. Or they run out of strength and hear my footfalls as they lie there, panting, and then they feel the injuries. They feel pain, they know terror. I could see Annabelle there. A rider astride me, a taunting voice, someone to trip them up one final time, to bar their way. When we were not riding down our prey, we might roam, visit realms, domains and demesnes freely open to Others.
A: That sounds like a fun way to spend a few decades or centuries.
S: She would be subordinate to you, then, Tromos? A passenger you carry with you through the world of dreams?
A: As much as Tromos is subordinate to me now, by which I mean not at all, not in practice.