Fetzen

Spells in the Dark (18+ for Dark and suggestive themes)

Andvari Markat

A N D V A R I M A R K A T

Age
21

Appearance
Andvari's not exactly a beanpole, but he isn't exceptionally muscular either. What's notable though is that he is no less than seven feet, eight inches of it due to the same condition his father had exhibited. He arrived at Seren's Folly in mere traveling clothes, but has brought his training equipment along with him.

Personality
While his life so far technically has been one half at the very bottom of things and the other half being close to the top of them, the former half appears to be the dominating one. He is by no means arrogant, but if allowed to speak he has a tendency to tell people very openly what he thinks, including curses and shit. His mind seems too calculating though to leave the border of the objective often. Education is a thing he could definitely improve in, but intelligence is there for sure. His approach to life is a rather light-hearted one that involves indulging himself in too much alcohol and stuff happily as long as he doesn't run out of money. Risks ? Bring 'em here, but not too many at a time!

History
Andvari, originally born under the surname Hymir, is the only son of his father Andri and his mother Oriel. The night was warm and calm, but the coming together of the two was anything but. Oriel was an incredibly rich noble living in a palace surrounded by gardens very well up to her standards. So was the number of guards, but still the lady later claimed that Andri had just 'appeared' in her bedroom and 'stabbed Rénard with a dagger right away' before disappearing again, none of her guards able to catch up to him. Half of the bed had been soaked with her poor husband's blood as his attacker had known very well where the heart is located at.

The truth she never told for her own sake is quite different though. Oriel had been increasingly unhappy with her relationship. Rénard had become old, a humble shadow of his former attractiveness and male glory. Also he had developed a bad temper, probably due to alcohol playing a more and more important role in his life. In short: She had been all too eager to get rid of him, but just divorcing was not an option since that would have exposed all of this to the public, creating a scandal other nobilities would feast upon with pleasure.

Yet there was a solution to this -- it came in at somewhere over seven feet and a surprising price tag: To spend a night with her in her bed. Whatever must have driven the man that was Andvari's father to the point that he'd ask for this instead of some coins was of very secondary concern to Oriel at that moment. She was very determined and honestly found himself rather charming to begin with. It couldn't be worse than yet another night with Rénard, could it ?

Things went according to plan, the only but no less important exception being that Andri actually knocked her up that night. He didn't notice it and neither could she until she could feel her belly grow. By the time Andvari was born Rénard had already rotten in his grave and the assassin hired for his disposal had traveled elsewhere. Now she had a child to deal with. Hardly a monetary issue for her, but very much so a societal. Not only was he a bastard child, but even more so could revealing his existence allow others to ask very unfortunate questions and to start backtracking things.

Oriel made him move away to another place, a village so poor nobody would think about any noble stepping a foot into. She indeed only did very few times so not to expose herself and allow him to accidentally tell somebody whom he was related to. Also she arranged for a name that was not related to any person really existing: 'Markat' is a product of fantasy, nothing else. Andvari became used to growing up to the servants she had dispatched in order to deal with him. In secrecy he spent his childhood in a golden cage with a few beams broken loose. Him growing up in an imporverished environment and not being able to enjoy her luxury made her heart ache a little, but on the other hand it could only help make people never believe that he had anything to do with her.

Nothing could prepare her carefully laid out plan for the sheer power of randomness though. One day Andri returned. He had no interest in meeting an old client of his, but was merely on his way through the area. Once they saw each other Andvari had no idea that this was his father, but Andri didn't take long to figure out that two giants in the same spot was a little too much for some random coincidence. With Andri having become aware of a mistake made over a decade earlier and being infuriated about how his old client had decided to handle things, Oriel was in for an unpleasant surprise.

He waited for the next event of high-society to happen in her extensive gardens, then dragged Andvari along with himself right to her doorstep. While everyone could see the obvious similarity between the two men and come to his or her own conclusions Oriel knew that just ordering her guards to drive them out would be a very dangerous move: At least the elderly of the two had a particular talent for coming back seemingly out of nowhere and to let go of his aggression. So she decided to deal with the situation otherwise before her reputation would be destroyed in a matter of minutes or even her very life would be at stake.

The solution was to hire both of them as servants, thereby effectively granting Andvari permanent access to both her and his father in a comparably privileged environment while still not telling the truth to anybody. Unfortunately that also exposed Andvari to his father's influence, the latter being all too glad to be able to tell stories about his past and to propagate his knowledge before he'd pass away some day. As Andri grew old and ultimately became ill it seemed that a great burden slowly let go of him. He never told his son what it was, but he warned him never to go to Seren's Folly.

Now what kind of a young adult being Andvari would be if he'd listen to each and every advice given ? It had been time to take a leave from the palace...

Signature weapon
A crossbow that seems to be worth more than the entire remainder of his equipment, if not even vastly exceeding that amount. It appears to be custom-made for him, at least a person smaller than him would encounter some difficulties in handling and rearming efficiently even though weight wouldn't be the issue. The shiny metal parts of it are definitely not gold, but aren't brass or steel either. It is unclear what it is truly comprised off. All he knows is that it's a piece left over by his father and that it is excellent at piercing into or just outright ripping through stuff, perferably organic.

Image

Combat
Acolyte

Spells in the Dark (18+ for Dark and suggestive themes)

Andvari

A N D V A R I M A R K A T

Age
21

Appearance
Andvari's not exactly a beanpole, but he isn't exceptionally muscular either. What's notable though is that he is no less than seven feet, eight inches of it due to the same condition his father had exhibited. He arrived at Seren's Folly in mere traveling clothes, but has brought his training equipment along with him.

Personality
While his life so far technically has been one half at the very bottom of things and the other half being close to the top of them, the former half appears to be the dominating one. He is by no means arrogant, but if allowed to speak he has a tendency to tell people very openly what he thinks, including curses and shit. His mind seems too calculating though to leave the border of the objective often. Education is a thing he could definitely improve in, but intelligence is there for sure. His approach to life is a rather light-hearted one that involves indulging himself in too much alcohol and stuff happily as long as he doesn't run out of money. Risks ? Bring 'em here, but not too many at a time!

History
Andvari, originally born under the surname Hymir, is the only son of his father Andri and his mother Oriel. The night was warm and calm, but the coming together of the two was anything but. Oriel was an incredibly rich noble living in a palace surrounded by gardens very well up to her standards. So was the number of guards, but still the lady later claimed that Andri had just 'appeared' in her bedroom and 'stabbed Rénard with a dagger right away' before disappearing again, none of her guards able to catch up to him. Half of the bed had been soaked with her poor husband's blood as his attacker had known very well where the heart is located at.

The truth she never told for her own sake is quite different though. Oriel had been increasingly unhappy with her relationship. Rénard had become old, a humble shadow of his former attractiveness and male glory. Also he had developed a bad temper, probably due to alcohol playing a more and more important role in his life. In short: She had been all too eager to get rid of him, but just divorcing was not an option since that would have exposed all of this to the public, creating a scandal other nobilities would feast upon with pleasure.

Yet there was a solution to this -- it came in at somewhere over seven feet and a surprising price tag: To spend a night with her in her bed. Whatever must have driven the man that was Andvari's father to the point that he'd ask for this instead of some coins was of very secondary concern to Oriel at that moment. She was very determined and honestly found himself rather charming to begin with. It couldn't be worse than yet another night with Rénard, could it ?

Things went according to plan, the only but no less important exception being that Andri actually knocked her up that night. He didn't notice it and neither could she until she could feel her belly grow. By the time Andvari was born Rénard had already rotten in his grave and the assassin hired for his disposal had traveled elsewhere. Now she had a child to deal with. Hardly a monetary issue for her, but very much so a societal. Not only was he a bastard child, but even more so could revealing his existence allow others to ask very unfortunate questions and to start backtracking things.

Oriel made him move away to another place, a village so poor nobody would think about any noble stepping a foot into. She indeed only did very few times so not to expose herself and allow him to accidentally tell somebody whom he was related to. Also she arranged for a name that was not related to any person really existing: 'Markat' is a product of fantasy, nothing else. Andvari became used to growing up to the servants she had dispatched in order to deal with him. In secrecy he spent his childhood in a golden cage with a few beams broken loose. Him growing up in an imporverished environment and not being able to enjoy her luxury made her heart ache a little, but on the other hand it could only help make people never believe that he had anything to do with her.

Nothing could prepare her carefully laid out plan for the sheer power of randomness though. One day Andri returned. He had no interest in meeting an old client of his, but was merely on his way through the area. Once they saw each other Andvari had no idea that this was his father, but Andri didn't take long to figure out that two giants in the same spot was a little too much for some random coincidence. With Andri having become aware of a mistake made over a decade earlier and being infuriated about how his old client had decided to handle things, Oriel was in for an unpleasant surprise.

He waited for the next event of high-society to happen in her extensive gardens, then dragged Andvari along with himself right to her doorstep. While everyone could see the obvious similarity between the two men and come to his or her own conclusions Oriel knew that just ordering her guards to drive them out would be a very dangerous move: At least the elderly of the two had a particular talent for coming back seemingly out of nowhere and to let go of his aggression. So she decided to deal with the situation otherwise before her reputation would be destroyed in a matter of minutes or even her very life would be at stake.

The solution was to hire both of them as servants, thereby effectively granting Andvari permanent access to both her and his father in a comparably privileged environment while still not telling the truth to anybody. Unfortunately that also exposed Andvari to his father's influence, the latter being all too glad to be able to tell stories about his past and to propagate his knowledge before he'd pass away some day. As Andri grew old and ultimately became ill it seemed that a great burden slowly let go of him. He never told his son what it was, but he warned him never to go to Seren's Folly.

Now what kind of a young adult being Andvari would be if he'd listen to each and every advice given ? It had been time to take a leave from the palace...

Signature weapon
A crossbow that seems to be worth more than the entire remainder of his equipment, if not even vastly exceeding that amount. It appears to be custom-made for him, at least a person smaller than him would encounter some difficulties in handling and rearming efficiently even though weight wouldn't be the issue. The shiny metal parts of it are definitely not gold, but aren't brass or steel either. It is unclear what it is truly comprised off. All he knows is that it's a piece left over by his father and that it is excellent at piercing into or just outright ripping through stuff, perferably organic.

Image

Combat
Acolyte

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

L A Z A R U S

_{Location(s): Casino Plaza
Interaction(s) with: None}

---

An important notification to our passengers: We have just been informed by our control center that Downtown Station will no longer be available for service until further notice. This decision has been made for the safety of you and other passengers. We politely request for everyone to leave this train at Casino Plaza Station and to use other means of transport as it will return to the depot. Thank you for your attention.

How great! was the first thing to shoot through Rókur's mind. Couldn't he have thought of the possibility of this happening earlier ? As far as he was aware of Santa Celia's layout Casino Plaza was at least three miles away from true Downtown! Not that he'd have been afraid of running, but it would comsume such a horrible amount of time. Grudgingly the giant viking could do nothing but to wait for the monorail to reach the new endpoint of its current journey while the train became almost empty way before that. It appeared that most people had not chosen Downtown as their destination in the first place. Now that the connection to any station beyond that had been cut off on this route they had to search for other ways to get there.

Walking down the steps leading to street level, the strangely colored rain still kept falling to a more or less mild degree. People were moving fast and suspiciously close to the walls of buildings where protruding roofs of shops and businesses could be found in abundance. They took the public warning quite seriously it seemed, making Rókur's own appearance just a bit more awkward. Not that he'd bother...

His phone vibrated, revealing to his eyes the response he had been waiting for:

Kayla: Where are you? Wherever you are, dont move. We’re coming to you.

Rókur looked around. Was there any good place that would both spare him from becoming completely drenched in the crimson rain until their arrival while also exposing himself sufficiently to anyone driving on the road so they wouldn't just move past him accidentally ? There was a massive collection of public benches available, normally crowded since people loved to enjoy the trees having been planted here, but right now completely devoid of any human being since they had no roofs. Also there was a bus stop, but it had already run out of capacity since many had switched from the monorail not only here.

The only choice left was to move close to the buildings and under one of aforementioned, protruding shelters. An excellent move to make people unhappy who had to go around him and expose themselves, though only very briefly, to the rain while also slowing them down a little. Fortunately he didn't look exactly like somebody who could be pushed around easily. Rókur took his phone and typed in a hurried response:

Casino Plaza. Will be hard to miss me I guess.

The Five Senses

Týfurkh

"Stay where you are, please." was Týfurkh's fastest reaction to Karina's questioning. The long haired man moved towards another place a little further away, then turned around to look at the woman as directly as one could possibly do. His lips started to move and she would immediately start to hear something: "Can you hear me ? Please nod, don't talk. And watch the others while I continue speaking."

Now Týfurkh's voice became considerably louder: "Chres ? If you hear me than raise your hand, please!" However he had arranged for Chres not to be in the path of the directed waves emanating from his throat, causing the man to find himself unable to notice this request unless he'd use some kind of magic himself. Only Karina could listen to him right now as he patiently waited for Chres' reaction.

"As you can see nothing has happened, but you can still hear me. Unfortunately so could everyone standing in the line defined by you and me. That's why I need to get high up in order to be sure the cult won't be able to pick up the message as well. And any obstacles in the way would force me to shout even louder than I'll already have to in order to reach somebody across the city walls. I'll likely be very tired after our little endeavour, so please take care of me."

Týfurkh stopped his magic and continued to talk normally so everybody could listen again: "I've studied the Art Of Canor, a special kind of magic commonly found in the Nation Of Hearing. There are many different aspects to it and I can't command all of them, not even in the slightest. I do have a few tricks of my own though. Do you understand now ?" The giant man put up a slight, somewhat shy smile.

The Lost Heir and the Wandering Nation

Same goes for me.

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

L A Z A R U S

_{Location(s): Argyle street, Rókur's apartment. Departing towards downtown at the end.
Interaction(s) with: None}

---

And we now have live footage from our BREAKING NEWS chopper. As you can see there is still a massive column of black smoke obstrucing the aerial view onto the downtown of Santa Celia, fed by large builings ablaze beneath it. It is raining, but the water from above -- if you would like to call the strangely violet substance such -- does not seem to impress it at all at this point. It might come in as a shock for many of our viewers, but it is very likely that our city has been struck by a double catastrophe: Firefighters and emergency services have just started to scour through the carnage, but we are receiving reports that a large tanker truck has been found either to have crashed into or to have at least exploded in front of the Chateau Rouge, a high-prized restaurant in the area. The precise nature of its cargo has not yet been identified, but according to witness accounts it is safe to assume that it is chemical and likely responsible for the strange rain phenomenon the city is currently faced with. What's even more important at this point though is that the mayor, Samson Murray, is said to have been present at the Chateau Rouge this night. It is currently unclear if he has left the building in time and how many another people survived the blast. We will keep you up to date all through the night, the regular program has been canceled.

Old Milton's didn't provide the luxury of a flat-screen TV for every of its inhabitants already included in the rental, but it did offer a public lounge where people could play at the football table, billiards or just stare at a large screen embedded in the wall and protected by a thick glass pane mounted in front of it. Rókur was standing at the rear end of the room and silently participated in the general tumult that had befallen the city. A general advisory not to expose oneself or any pets to the current rain had been called out, but it wouldn't have needed that to wipe everyone off the streets. It seemed as if pretty much everyone was watching in horror what was going on a few miles away in downtown.

Well... not everyone. From Rókur's private perspective he had seen far worse losses of life until barely a year ago -- and those 'media' of today even appeared to spare their customers the majority of the bloody, gory details. Overall it was safe to say that he felt emotionally quite detached, even to the point where someone started to look at him in astonishment with his oversized, goliath-like physique not being the reason for it. He should probably leave and re-evaluate the situation from his own chambers...

With Jasper having been gone for at least a few hours there was no indication that anything strange ever had happened in said rooms, at least for the average observer. Any more experienced detective however wouldn't have taken long to find out intriguing details casting severe doubts onto this initial conclusion: The fridge, while present, had apparently not been in use in a long time. Neither had been the shower or the toilet. The bed and couch on the other hand had become saggy like hell and the heating was on to a very mild degree. Someone apparently lived here, but he or she didn't seem to be interested in many things of daily life and even including some of the most essential ones.

Rókur pushed up the sliding window and stuck his head out, looking down at the streets below. He could see the circular waves spreading on the thin layer of water before one of the droplets hit the back of his head. By stretching out his hand the viking obtained a sample, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger before approaching it with his nose. The ultimate test was to put the liquid into his mouth -- regret following in an instant. That stuff tasted bad! If something had been in his stomach it probably would have protested violently, but this way it was a mere, but no less substantial cramp. At least for him. There simply wasn't anything left in his body to mutate for a chemical substance, be it reddish and tasting like foul shit or not. So even if the vast majority of Santa Celia had not been sharing its utter unawareness of the rain's special properties with him, the incredibly old and yet still young Rókur would not have had much of a reason to hold back. Accidental death was a tragedy, yes. Unsatisfied curiosity however was a thing, too.

Rókur slammed the window shut, turned around and started to collect what he'd need for a little... excursion. Yet as he was about to pick up his mobile phone again he noticed the two photographs right next to it. Yeah.. there was another thing he'd have to deal with. But wouldn't those Fosters be interested in the events currently going on as well, given that they tried to keep up order in the city ?

The tiny phone twisted helplessly in his pale, colossal hand. It didn't have a front camera, so all that Rókur could do was to make a helplessly misaligned selfie while not being able to watch the screen. Half of the picture put the shabby ceiling onto display while the other half -- luckily -- actually showed the major portion of his face and how his hairs were already scratching along the upper limit of his room. That had to suffice. Rókur turned the phone around again, typed in some text and sent it along with the image:

Kyle ? Kayla ? Rokur here... I'm in contact with Jasper and he requested me to stay in touch with you since he'll be busy for a while. Does this and me telling you that he's a friend of Crane's qualify me enough for you not to shoot me down right away ? I'm going to Downtown. Want to take a look at things out of curiosity. If you're there as well maybe we could meet up ? Otherwise some other day... Don't worry!

Having spent an awful amount of time on typing for the sake of correctness, Rókur felt the need to hurry up. He had already lost one shirt in the monorail, so hopefully people wouldn't mind too much if he'd go in what he was currently wearing...

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

@POOHEAD189
pewhad failing to post before the deadline he set?!

What is this TrEaChErY?!

Nah, but in all seriousness, I'd rather wait for a quality post then wait for one that's pumped out on the day of promise. I'll gladly wait this time too because I'm having a good time.

@Gardevoiran

I concur :)

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Please forgive me everyone, but...

Hider

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

L A Z A R U S & Jasper

A collab between @SepticGentleman and @Fetzen

_{Location(s): Rókur's apartment in Argyle boulevard.
Interactions with: Jasper from The Tourists}

---

Minutes after Rókur had hastily made his return home, a familiar scene took place at his front door. A bright light shined underneath it for a brief moment, before dimming down just as fast. The door opened, and rather than the usual apartment hallway, the other side was now a bizarre place filled to the brim with just-as-bizarre supernatural beings - and no shortage of humans among them.

Out through the door stepped a very, very short imp of a man. Pale grey skin, bald head, very angular facial features with a long nose and pointed ears. Rectangular glasses rested before his pitch black eyes. He was dressed in a small leather coat, usual formal wear underneath. A pair of small, seemingly non-functional wings adorned his back, as well as a pointed tail, all sticking out through expertly made holes in his clothes.

“I know you thought you’d never hear this…” The little imp said as he shut the door behind him, “But I apologize for my tardiness, Rókur.”

Rókur had been busy reading the Santa Celia herald, a ‘newspaper’ if one wanted to put it that way. More educated and experienced people however had another word for it: Yellow press. Anyway - it was something to go on and to maybe even learn from. And it was cheap and available even for free sometimes.

When the bright light suddenly appeared beneath the door he knew that today’s archery training had to be canceled. With a slight groan he heaved himself out of a lounge that had already been kinda clapped-out when he had rented the room, but now after one year of regular use by him was next to collapsing completely.

Someone had told him that staring down at people was unfriendly, and experience told him that one should not mess around with any member of the tourists, no matter how… ridiculously small from one’s own perspective. So Rókur crouched, offering Jasper his hand for a greeting and trying to put up a gentle smile. His nose still looked as bad as it had right after the crash, but he didn’t care.

"Well… I’d say apology accepted. Never thought I’d get the opportunity to say this…"

“Things are crazy at the Center today.” Jasper replied, only very briefly accepting Rókur’s offer of a handshake before stepping further into the apartment. “People running around, slamming into each other. Thought I was going to be trampled several times.” He didn’t sound very amused at all about the events.

“Doesn’t matter. Here now. Go ahead and tell me what-” As Jasper turned his head to give Rókur a proper look, he finally noticed the giant man’s damaged nose.

“Good Lord, what happened to you?” Jasper asked.

"Erm… car accident." Rókur replied without truly thinking about his words. The door had been given a slight punch and thus closed by itself behind his back. "Big car. Don’t know why people buy those. It hurts quite a bit but I think it is under control. Definitely way better than being trampled upon I’d say."

“Get down here.” Jasper said sternly, pointing at the floor while maintaining eye contact.

For a brief moment Rókur considered his options, then apparently decided that it would be best to just follow suit. He sighed, then put his hands onto the floor and approached Jasper halfway crawling. "Is this low enough ?"

“Yes.” Jasper responded, as he proceeded to grab Rókur’s nose and quickly snap it back into proper formation.

A burst of pain surged through Rókur’s undead body, causing the man to emit a short, but nevertheless quite loud outcry. At least this kind of treatment had come as a surprise.

“Walk it off.” Jasper said with zero inhibition. “You’ve suffered plenty worse.”

"I’ve also been used to cry out way louder than that. How do you think did we try to keep thousands of warriors under control on the battlefield ?" Rókur answered in protest.

“Much more barbarically, I’m sure.” Jasper replied as Rókur raised himself off the floor. “Now, I’m afraid I don’t have time for the usual game of twenty questions. I’m taking it from the looks of things, you haven’t done anything to warrant unwanted attention, so I’m marking you down as satisfactory in that regard. Now, listen up…”

Jasper took a straight-up stand before Rókur, looking up at the man towering over him.

“I’m going to be busy for a while with some… meetings, between the Tourists and other parties. I won’t bother you with the fine details. But for that duration, I won’t be around to make the usual visit. Fortunately, there’s a couple people around who can.”

Jasper opened up one of his coat pockets and pulled out two slips of paper - photographs. One was of a finely dressed, bespectacled man with an unreasonable amount of hair. The other was a woman with much more kempt features.

“Kyle and Kayla Foster. They got here yesterday, charged with keeping an eye on the city, cleaning up trouble areas when they can. For the time being, I want you to get into contact with them and just let them know how things are going - you don’t have to be their friend or anything, unless that’s what you want, but it’s not my call. Just meet up with them or make the occasional phone call. That sound doable?”

Rókur arranged the two photographs between his thumb and the side of his index finger like a very humble set of cards, then looked at the two people to be seen on them. "I don’t have to be their friends?" was his first reaction, accompanied by a very questioning and worried stare at Jasper. "That doesn’t sound very… inviting? Well, doesn’t seem like I’d have much of a choice does it?"

“They’re field agents!” Jasper responded, “They get into messes, they shoot their guns and, fling their spells around- look, I don’t want you getting caught up in anything crazy, alright? Beyond that, It doesn’t matter how you associate with the two, just so long as you maintain weekly updates on… things. Alright?”

One really couldn’t say that Rókur’s facial expression was anywhere close to complete satisfaction, but he seemed to ease up a little. "So I’ll try not to push my luck and meet up with them while they happen to be in the field, but when things are more relaxed. One question though… How do they recognize me ? I mean… anyone could call them if he or she has the numbers and I could as well fit their definition of hostile to be eliminated or ?"

“Tell them Jasper sent you, and that I’m a friend of Crane’s.” Jasper replied, “That’ll be enough for them, trust me.”

Rókur let go of another sigh, then replied "Okay. I got it. Let’s just hope they don’t blow my head off, alright ?"

“If I know these two well enough by their files, they have their heads screwed on right enough to not just attack every supernatural thing in sight.” Jasper said, as he walked by Rókur and towards the door, removing another something from his coat pocket as he went. “I have to get going. I trust you’ll be fine from here on out?”

"I’m trying to -- and frankly speaking I’d say I haven’t been that bad at it for the last year. Just my opinion. Otherwise I guess it depends on your bureaucracy being right." Rókur stated with reference to said files. "You know I am probably one of the most primitive men in this city, but at least I can claim to have enjoyed a world without some of those modern… inventions!"

“You don’t have to enjoy the modern world Rókur, you just have to live in it.” Jasper said as he held up a large rubber stamp and pressed it against the door, emblazoning it with a mystic rune of some sort. The rune glowed, and once again a bright light shined beneath the doorframe.

Rókur watched closely as Jasper apparently was preparing for his departure. Some part of him truly wished he could pull off that kind of stuff, another part however was quite happy about how things were. Both sides of the coin probably had their advantages or at least so he hoped. A squeak could be heard from behind the couch -- apparently the few rats he had captured this morning were getting nervous about all the light. Not for long though… soon they’d be consumed.

“Do take care of yourself.” Jasper said, halfway sincerely, as he opened the door back to the crazy place from whence he came, “Let the Fosters know to contact the Center if you need anything.” And with that, he passed through the door, shutting it behind him. The rune quickly vanished as the bright light returned and then diminished once again.

Rókur kept looking at the door as it returned to its normal state as if nothing had ever happened. After a few seconds the rats squeaked again, pulling him out of his state of wondering and astonishment. Time to eat, or at least to perform his definition of it. His colossal arm reached behind the couch and grabbed the improvised cage, putting it on the floor in front if him. From then on Rókur just kept staring, watching as the humble creatures started to panic for an unexplainable reason. Others would have cried out and called the exterminator. For him this was a small feast.

Santa Celia: Coast to Coast

L A Z A R U S

_{Location(s): several
Interacting with: None}

---

"SCWD! Freeze, sucker! Latches in the air and lid open, your junk's under arrest!"

Jacob truly didn't get tired of that joke, and probably nobody in the whole business of Santa Celia Waste Disposal held hopes for the few years left until the man's retirement to change anything about that. Sitting behind the front loader truck's wheel, the elderly husband seemed both very happy about and quite capable of ranting at some of the uglier dumpsters along the route. In Friendship Heights pretty much every dumpster that is. SCWD knew why not to deploy their most modern equipment on routes like this, thereby allowing Jacob to make the hydraulic pump work faster by giving the rev counter in front of him a well trained kick in its ass.

In the meantime, Rókur was busy shoving the large metal container into position. He had been given this part of the job practically on sight, his boss saying something about 'I'm sure you just need to gently lean against these things in order to push them around. This should be very easy for you!'. What Rókur had not been told beforehand was how many times a day he'd have to stoop and pick up trash bags that kept falling off from overfilled dumpsters on shitty routes like this. How many of those actually contained body parts or at least used syringes underneath the used diapers ? The viking of old times didn't really care about for his own sake, nor did most of his colleagues. Sometimes a garbage truck's crew felt like a strange companionship of people that were happy if somebody's gut feelings had turned out groundless at the end of the shift. It wouldn't have been the first time for some wannabe thugs to mess around with the city's services. 'Just sneeze into their face and they'd be blown into the next apartment block!', Rókur's boss had said.

A plume of dust gave the inhabitants of Friendship Heights delight as the dumpster's contents were swallowed by the truck, the compactor struggling to make room for more. The way Jacob banged the container around on the forks to get everything out was audibly in violation of SCWD's recommendations for neighbourhood-friendly, quiet handling -- but like said, these were just recommendations. A complaint about any leftovers on the other hand was a real issue, so was taking longer for the route than allocated or even being paid for. Then the truck pulled away, shift nearing its end.



"Hey Rockie! Why don't you come over here and make contact with water like everyone else does ? Afraid of being seen naked ?"

"It's Rókur, damnit!" How many times had he already gone through all of this ? There were like half a dozen co-workers along with him in the locker room right now, more could be heard utilizing the company's free offering to get rid of the city's filth in the adjacent showers. They all perfectly knew his name, but from early on his nickname had been 'Rockie'.

"You know I can't pronounce your weird russian shit!"

He had arranged with that since, after all, they were a friendly bunch. Right now he could see them looking at him, waiting for his decision about the showers. A flight of raveners looking forward to their prey exposing itself, wanting to see if it was equally or even more impressive without any clothes protecting it.

"And no, thanks. I'm in a hurry."

A petty excuse, but this wasn't the first time for him to use it. If he turned away his attention decisively now they probably wouldn't keep asking, so Rókur hurried to stuff the high visibility vest into the locker. A few minutes later he was out and waiting for the monorail car, his skin perfectly clean and without having encountered any water so far.



'Smooth sailing' wasn't exactly what this weird means of transport was delivering, at least from his point of view. If any dragon boat would have rattled, squealed and clanked that much on sea he'd have demanded for it to be discarded. And even in the worst or times they had never been this crowded! And it wasn't as if the air was always particularly good up here either. Sure it was better than on the traffic-jammed streets below, but sometimes winds could blow the exhaust from a factory stack right into the vehicle's path. Right now however something vibrated in his left pocket...

Incorrect code. 2 attempts left.

Rókur grimaced briefly, then let his enormous finger swipe along the touch screen a second time in order to draw the rune that he had chosen as the unlocking pattern.

Incorrect code. 1 attempt left.

Why can't those fucking retards build phones that any ordinary person can actually handle ? 'Cheap' should not be equivalent to 'unuseable'! Rókur angrily stared at his phone, a simple model in complete lack of any luxury. It hadn't been his first choice, but bigger would also have cost more. This country's rotten to the core! People even praise a phone company that has promoted a halfway eaten fruit to be its holy grail! Third try...

Regular appointment with tourist guy in 15 minutes. BE DEAD ON TIME!

Oh shit... He didn't even need to look out and down to the ground to see that the monorail ride and his subsequent walk from Argyle station to his actual appartment would take significantly longer than this. Given how punctual this particular guy tended to be one of those two had to go -- and fast!

Rókur pushed a few other people aside as he more or less gently forced his way to the window. He glanced downwards onto the roofs below, trying to identify where he currently was. His eyes could see the characteristic reddish hue of his place coming up next, a six-story building with brick walls that had once been a low-end hotel, but that had been converted into a large apartment block at some point. The monorail however would now make a turn to the right in order to evade some taller structures along the way, then come back sharp left later and reach the station near the other end of the street.

With the experience and precision of someone not doing this for the first time, Rókur opted to straighten things out. He made his way to the very rear of the vehicle where nobody would focus on him, then waited for it to both slow down and begin the turn. A few adjacent people almost stumbled backwards as there suddenly was noone left behind them in order to counteract the pressure of the crowd in front of them. Some looked at each other cluelessly, convincing themselves that what seemingly had just happened behind their backs was merely due to them not paying attention or their memory being wrong. Now he was out of that metal cage, allowing gravity to bring him up to his preferred speed before disappearing again in a short, brief trail of unexplainable mist.

A couple of seconds later Rókur came out like a spaceship emerging from hyperspace, the pickup truck's car alarm immediately starting to cry out for help as said spaceship crashed into the roof of the cabin. The windshield and side windows turned into popcorn and his nose smashed halfway into the rim of the selfmade impact crater. The landing procedure on this unexpected, non-solid ground had gone quite wrong.. He truly had not aimed for this, but probably some unfortunate gust of wind had induced a sideways drift in the wrong moment. There were plenty of free spaces in this backyard parking lot!

With gravity pulling a trickle of blood out of his severely bruised nose, Rókur hurried to get away from the scene. Luckily the apartment block now was a mere couple of yards away, but the clock was still ticking and he wasn't looking forward to any kind of encounter with the police. It would be difficult to explain...



'Low-end' indeed was the appropriate term to describe the place where he was living. Without sunlight it was almost impossible to see the big neon letters reading 'Milton' which had merely been turned off, but never removed from the wall above the main entry. A revolving door led into what had once been the reception hall, but had been stripped of all furniture and outfitted with a wall of post boxes for everyone. There was also a row of large and reinforced metal boxes which inhabitants could rent for storing stuff like bicycles in.

Rókur's dwelling place was located on the fourth floor, at the end of a very long corridor as they were characteristic for the hotel business. The carpets were gone and only worn-out linoleum was left, but the owner of this place still had at least some interest in not letting it fall apart completely. Of course Rókur's shirt still was traveling with the monorail, but he knew why to only use those as a thin, uppermost layer for stopping people from staring at him. It really wasn't a significant loss as he still wore the garments most familiar to him: Dark red cloth decorated with runes and with some chainmail underneath. Now those runes essentially said that he should not come back from his grave and haunt his family, but no ordinary passer-by could read this anyway. People in general had been quite afraid of their deceased turning against them for some unfinished business.

Walking along the endless row of anonymous doors to his left and right, Rókur encountered one of his neighbours: "Jesus! What kind of unholy mass have you been pulling off in that costume ? Are you a priest of some kind ?"

"Nope. LARP! And now please make room for me or I might indeed discover the unholy part of myself." Rókur's voice was quite thunderous to begin with, but that decisive tone right now had been added on purpose.

"Just kiddin'! Calm down, okay ?"

Rókur was quick to insert the key and to slam the door shut firmly behind him. A few calm minutes later his phone vibrated again, notifying him that the time had come. But as it would turn out noone actually came. If nothing would happen for the next half an hour or so he'd probably go and shoot some arrows as a means of relaxation. There was no lack of vacant buildings and abandoned factory halls in Santa Celia.