@Theyra Hey, Pointe Bordeaux is kind of my baby, so can you give me a heads up before adding to it.
Lord Wraith
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Bio
Reluctantly retired roleplayer.
Except when I'm not.
Why are you here when you should be writing posts?
You can edit a bad draft, but you cannot edit a blank page.
Except when I'm not.
Why are you here when you should be writing posts?
You can edit a bad draft, but you cannot edit a blank page.
Most Recent Posts
Once was a man who lived a life so mundane, it could only be true.
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Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
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afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
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was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
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over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
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sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
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Now, he is the Warlock they call...
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Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
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was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
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over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
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_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
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Now, he is the Warlock they call...
LOCATION: POINTE BORDEAUX PRECINCT - THE SOUND | URBAN GOTHIC #1.07: HEADACHE |
INTERACTIONS: NONE | PREVIOUSLY: HUNGRY |
"GET IT AWAY FROM ME!"
Archie massaged his temples again before letting out a long exhale.
The man on the far side of the holding cell had been screaming for the past ten minutes. Standing between Archie and the other was the black dog. It snarled again, snapping its dripping jaws towards the hysterical man. Normally, it was Archie running scared from the creature, but since last night, something in the relationship between Archie and 'The Grim' had changed. Maybe he had had it wrong all these years? Was the black dog always watching over him?
His own guardian devil.
"GUARDS!" The prisoner screamed again, climbing the bars of the cell while the Grim slowly crept closer. The guards had responded twice previously; unable to see the haunting creature, they dismissed the raving lunatic as exactly that. Archie raised a bemused eyebrow as the wolf-like dog's tail wagged excitedly. Clearly, the creature was enjoying tormenting the less fortunate man.
Not that Archie minded either. Within thirty seconds of being tossed in the cell, the man had Archie by his shirt collar, spittle flying from his mouth, telling the younger man all the horrible things he'd do to a pretty boy like him. The Grim had appeared very quickly after that, seemingly responding to Archie's distress. Now, the man on the other end of the cell was far less interested in Archie and more so with putting as much distance between himself and the black dog as possible.
"C'mon, man! CALL IT OFF!" The other man pleaded. Archie could only recall a handful of instances where others had acknowledged that they could see the barghest. The first word he had ever uttered had been 'dog', because of the beast in front of him now. Archie couldn't even begin to count the hours of therapy he had been subjected to, all to convince him that the 'Grim' was in his mind.
Didn't feel very in his mind right now.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Archie deadpanned dismissively, continuing to stare at the yellowed wall across the small aisle in front of the drunk tank.
"Archie, Archie, Archie," A familiar voice approached the holding cell, repeating his name over and over again. Walking up to the bars of the confinement, the man cracked a smile, flashing perfectly straight, whitened teeth, while his hands hung loosely tucked into the pockets of the perfectly pressed navy suit. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, a mischevious grin crossing his face as brilliant blue eyes were drawn to the mangled tie that hung from Archie's neck.
"What bargain bin did you pull that rag out of?" The man quipped. A visitor badge hung from his chest pocket, nearly covering his security clearance for the District Attorney's office.
"A bar if you can believe it, Boz," Archie replied, looking up from clasped hands. Thomas 'Tom' Bosley had been his roommate throughout his time at Calder City University. Boz was the outgoing, popular one, but he had always been sure to include Archie and was one of the few people that Archie had ever met who actually made Archie feel like he was wanted.
To Archie, Boz was everything he ever wanted to be. Charming, suave, good-looking. Boz had his choice of women; he was athletic enough to be asked to shoot hoops or toss around a football. People came to Boz for help; more importantly, people looked up to Boz.
While Archie had only lasted at the D.A.'s office during his school years, Boz had been a natural fit and a born prosecutor. He was still popular even now, except with the city's underbelly. It wasn't exactly a surprise, then, that Boz had his eye on the District Attorney seat. The step made sense; he had been an effective associate D.A. for years now. But Boz would never be satisfied being stagnant; he needed to keep moving forward.
"Hardly the hardest truth I've had to swallow tonight, Superstar. But I have to ask, how did Archie Hardwick find himself in the drunk tank? Last I checked, stud, you don't drink." Boz asked, pacing back and forth in front of the cell. It was typical Boz, Archie noted, as he had already reminded himself, Boz needed to keep moving forward. He had never been able to stay still in social situations, always working the crowd, always moving.
It made going to a movie with him insufferable.
"A girl introduced me to Amaretto and Coke." Archie offered sheepishly. He watched Boz's eyebrow rise at the sentence, assuming Tom was about to remark about the 'Coke'.
"A girl?" Boz replied, subverting Archie's expectations. "Oh, Archie, you should know by now, women will always bring you trouble."
"You've certainly been through enough," Archie responded wryly.
"Ha, nah, dates only. You know that." Boz replied. Archie nodded in agreement. As far as he knew, Boz spoke the truth. He was always popular with the women, but Archie had never come home to a sock on the door, nor had Boz ever held a steady girlfriend. He was an incorrigible flirt, but he was also a flight risk.
At this point, Archie was practically Boz's longest relationship.
"So, what d'you say about busting you out of this joint?" Boz asked with a smile, "They've got no case, folded the minute you called me down. In fact, I think they're preparing a letter of apology and a gift basket with some nice fruit." He chuckled, waving towards a nearby officer. "So, what d'you say? Open it up for me?"
"Get him out of here!" The man on the other side of the cell screamed again.
"Shut up, prisoner!" The officer roared, opening the door and gesturing for Archie to step out.
"On behalf of the Calder City Police Department, I just want to issue our most sincere apologies."
"Uh, thanks," Archie replied, rubbing his wrists. Though he suddenly found himself wondering why, he hadn't had cuffs on in well over an hour. It was just something he had always seen on television and, out of ingrained habit, mimicked.
"I assume you didn't take the day off work, you want a ride?" Bosley asked as Archie nodded.
"A ride would be great." He replied, "I uh, made Junior Partner." Archie added, looking up to Bosley whose face suddenly spread into a wide grin.
"Congrats, Superstar. It's about time." He applauded, clapping Archie on the back so hard that it nearly sent Archie falling forward. "That's great news. I assume that's how you ended up at the bar?"
"Yeah, Harri took me out," Archie answered.
"How are things going with you and Harri anyways?" Boz asked, raising an eyebrow at the mention of the woman's name.
"What's the opposite of going?" Archie retorted, "She took me out, but I ended up paying for my own drinks." He exhaled, shaking his head. The thought of last night's drinks caused a wave of nausea to wash over him.
"Been trying to tell you for years, Stud, she uses you. Harri is not the person for you." He chuckled, "Women will always bring you trouble."
"The whole night was a disaster. I think I probably blew it with two women."
"Two?" Boz laughed, swatting Archie again, "You dog, you. Who was the other lady in your life?"
"Oh, just the bartender, but I'm sure she flirts with everyone," Archie replied, downplaying Carmilla's friendliness.
"Oh, I don't know. Never had a bartender flirt with me."
"Yeah, okay," Came Archie's dry, sarcastic reply. Not watching where he was going, he bumped into a woman, stumbling backwards while profusely apologizing. Long dreadlocks and numerous tattoos gave the woman a very distinctive appearance, as Archie tried to pick him up. She turned to him with narrowed eyes, before they suddenly softened and she flashed a smile.
"Child, you have a touch of destiny about you." She held out a hand, helping Archie to his feet while a bemused Boz watched the interaction unfold. "You should come visit me, in the 'Club. Molly Samedi knows a man whom fate has smiled upon."
"Oh, uh thanks, but I don't think that's true..." Archie replied, his voice trailing off as he looked to Boz for help escaping the Moll.
"Yeah, Arch here doesn't really have the best fortune in life," Boz interjected.
"Oh, I be thinking your friend here, is a lot more than meets the eyes." Samedi smiled, "Samedi would take good care of you, come by anytime you, pretty thing."
She gave Archie a playful pat to his behind before walking away, Boz gently ribbing Archie as the other stared dumbfounded at what had just unfolded.
"Guess that's three women in twenty-four hours. Maybe she is onto something."
"C'mon, Boz-" Archie started before suddenly clasping both of his hands to the side of his head. "Argh!" He cried out before a voice forced its way into his skull.
"You, you who opened the grimoire, you need to return to my shop. You have no idea the danger you're in."
"Who?" Archie weakly replied as the voice continued to thunder in his skull.
"My name is Deaglán Galloway, you ransacked my shop last night. You at least ought to come and claim what's now rightfully yours."
The book!
"Yes, the book." The voice replied.
"How are you?"
"Whether you realize it or not, you're learning to use your familiar. It's the first step any mage makes. Even as we speak, your senses are synchronizing to its own. It's why you can hear me now."
"Get out of my he-" Archie grimaced. No sooner had he uttered the words than the voice was gone. Silence fell around him as Archie opened his eyes, only to realize everyone in the precinct lobby, including Boz, was staring at him.
"Must be one hell of a hangover headache." Boz smiled softly, "How about we get something to eat?"
"Yeah," Archie agreed, "Yeah, food. Food would be good."
Archie massaged his temples again before letting out a long exhale.
The man on the far side of the holding cell had been screaming for the past ten minutes. Standing between Archie and the other was the black dog. It snarled again, snapping its dripping jaws towards the hysterical man. Normally, it was Archie running scared from the creature, but since last night, something in the relationship between Archie and 'The Grim' had changed. Maybe he had had it wrong all these years? Was the black dog always watching over him?
His own guardian devil.
"GUARDS!" The prisoner screamed again, climbing the bars of the cell while the Grim slowly crept closer. The guards had responded twice previously; unable to see the haunting creature, they dismissed the raving lunatic as exactly that. Archie raised a bemused eyebrow as the wolf-like dog's tail wagged excitedly. Clearly, the creature was enjoying tormenting the less fortunate man.
Not that Archie minded either. Within thirty seconds of being tossed in the cell, the man had Archie by his shirt collar, spittle flying from his mouth, telling the younger man all the horrible things he'd do to a pretty boy like him. The Grim had appeared very quickly after that, seemingly responding to Archie's distress. Now, the man on the other end of the cell was far less interested in Archie and more so with putting as much distance between himself and the black dog as possible.
"C'mon, man! CALL IT OFF!" The other man pleaded. Archie could only recall a handful of instances where others had acknowledged that they could see the barghest. The first word he had ever uttered had been 'dog', because of the beast in front of him now. Archie couldn't even begin to count the hours of therapy he had been subjected to, all to convince him that the 'Grim' was in his mind.
Didn't feel very in his mind right now.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Archie deadpanned dismissively, continuing to stare at the yellowed wall across the small aisle in front of the drunk tank.
"Archie, Archie, Archie," A familiar voice approached the holding cell, repeating his name over and over again. Walking up to the bars of the confinement, the man cracked a smile, flashing perfectly straight, whitened teeth, while his hands hung loosely tucked into the pockets of the perfectly pressed navy suit. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, a mischevious grin crossing his face as brilliant blue eyes were drawn to the mangled tie that hung from Archie's neck.
"What bargain bin did you pull that rag out of?" The man quipped. A visitor badge hung from his chest pocket, nearly covering his security clearance for the District Attorney's office.
"A bar if you can believe it, Boz," Archie replied, looking up from clasped hands. Thomas 'Tom' Bosley had been his roommate throughout his time at Calder City University. Boz was the outgoing, popular one, but he had always been sure to include Archie and was one of the few people that Archie had ever met who actually made Archie feel like he was wanted.
To Archie, Boz was everything he ever wanted to be. Charming, suave, good-looking. Boz had his choice of women; he was athletic enough to be asked to shoot hoops or toss around a football. People came to Boz for help; more importantly, people looked up to Boz.
While Archie had only lasted at the D.A.'s office during his school years, Boz had been a natural fit and a born prosecutor. He was still popular even now, except with the city's underbelly. It wasn't exactly a surprise, then, that Boz had his eye on the District Attorney seat. The step made sense; he had been an effective associate D.A. for years now. But Boz would never be satisfied being stagnant; he needed to keep moving forward.
"Hardly the hardest truth I've had to swallow tonight, Superstar. But I have to ask, how did Archie Hardwick find himself in the drunk tank? Last I checked, stud, you don't drink." Boz asked, pacing back and forth in front of the cell. It was typical Boz, Archie noted, as he had already reminded himself, Boz needed to keep moving forward. He had never been able to stay still in social situations, always working the crowd, always moving.
It made going to a movie with him insufferable.
"A girl introduced me to Amaretto and Coke." Archie offered sheepishly. He watched Boz's eyebrow rise at the sentence, assuming Tom was about to remark about the 'Coke'.
"A girl?" Boz replied, subverting Archie's expectations. "Oh, Archie, you should know by now, women will always bring you trouble."
"You've certainly been through enough," Archie responded wryly.
"Ha, nah, dates only. You know that." Boz replied. Archie nodded in agreement. As far as he knew, Boz spoke the truth. He was always popular with the women, but Archie had never come home to a sock on the door, nor had Boz ever held a steady girlfriend. He was an incorrigible flirt, but he was also a flight risk.
At this point, Archie was practically Boz's longest relationship.
"So, what d'you say about busting you out of this joint?" Boz asked with a smile, "They've got no case, folded the minute you called me down. In fact, I think they're preparing a letter of apology and a gift basket with some nice fruit." He chuckled, waving towards a nearby officer. "So, what d'you say? Open it up for me?"
"Get him out of here!" The man on the other side of the cell screamed again.
"Shut up, prisoner!" The officer roared, opening the door and gesturing for Archie to step out.
"On behalf of the Calder City Police Department, I just want to issue our most sincere apologies."
"Uh, thanks," Archie replied, rubbing his wrists. Though he suddenly found himself wondering why, he hadn't had cuffs on in well over an hour. It was just something he had always seen on television and, out of ingrained habit, mimicked.
"I assume you didn't take the day off work, you want a ride?" Bosley asked as Archie nodded.
"A ride would be great." He replied, "I uh, made Junior Partner." Archie added, looking up to Bosley whose face suddenly spread into a wide grin.
"Congrats, Superstar. It's about time." He applauded, clapping Archie on the back so hard that it nearly sent Archie falling forward. "That's great news. I assume that's how you ended up at the bar?"
"Yeah, Harri took me out," Archie answered.
"How are things going with you and Harri anyways?" Boz asked, raising an eyebrow at the mention of the woman's name.
"What's the opposite of going?" Archie retorted, "She took me out, but I ended up paying for my own drinks." He exhaled, shaking his head. The thought of last night's drinks caused a wave of nausea to wash over him.
"Been trying to tell you for years, Stud, she uses you. Harri is not the person for you." He chuckled, "Women will always bring you trouble."
"The whole night was a disaster. I think I probably blew it with two women."
"Two?" Boz laughed, swatting Archie again, "You dog, you. Who was the other lady in your life?"
"Oh, just the bartender, but I'm sure she flirts with everyone," Archie replied, downplaying Carmilla's friendliness.
"Oh, I don't know. Never had a bartender flirt with me."
"Yeah, okay," Came Archie's dry, sarcastic reply. Not watching where he was going, he bumped into a woman, stumbling backwards while profusely apologizing. Long dreadlocks and numerous tattoos gave the woman a very distinctive appearance, as Archie tried to pick him up. She turned to him with narrowed eyes, before they suddenly softened and she flashed a smile.
"Child, you have a touch of destiny about you." She held out a hand, helping Archie to his feet while a bemused Boz watched the interaction unfold. "You should come visit me, in the 'Club. Molly Samedi knows a man whom fate has smiled upon."
"Oh, uh thanks, but I don't think that's true..." Archie replied, his voice trailing off as he looked to Boz for help escaping the Moll.
"Yeah, Arch here doesn't really have the best fortune in life," Boz interjected.
"Oh, I be thinking your friend here, is a lot more than meets the eyes." Samedi smiled, "Samedi would take good care of you, come by anytime you, pretty thing."
She gave Archie a playful pat to his behind before walking away, Boz gently ribbing Archie as the other stared dumbfounded at what had just unfolded.
"Guess that's three women in twenty-four hours. Maybe she is onto something."
"C'mon, Boz-" Archie started before suddenly clasping both of his hands to the side of his head. "Argh!" He cried out before a voice forced its way into his skull.
"You, you who opened the grimoire, you need to return to my shop. You have no idea the danger you're in."
"Who?" Archie weakly replied as the voice continued to thunder in his skull.
"My name is Deaglán Galloway, you ransacked my shop last night. You at least ought to come and claim what's now rightfully yours."
The book!
"Yes, the book." The voice replied.
"How are you?"
"Whether you realize it or not, you're learning to use your familiar. It's the first step any mage makes. Even as we speak, your senses are synchronizing to its own. It's why you can hear me now."
"Get out of my he-" Archie grimaced. No sooner had he uttered the words than the voice was gone. Silence fell around him as Archie opened his eyes, only to realize everyone in the precinct lobby, including Boz, was staring at him.
"Must be one hell of a hangover headache." Boz smiled softly, "How about we get something to eat?"
"Yeah," Archie agreed, "Yeah, food. Food would be good."
The Grim tormenting a prisoner
Molly Samedi offering to read Archie's fate.
Juvenile petty theft.
Bosley bailing Archie our, friend from D.A.'s office.
Thomas 'Tom' Bosley, alternatively known as 'Boz' and the 'Boss', is an Associate District Attorney with Calder City's District Attorney's Office and a former coworker of Archibald Hardwick. Ambitious and driven, Bosley has plans to run for District Attorney during the next election. He and Archie were roommates during post-secondary studies and have remained close friends, playing semi-regular games of Gargoyle & Graves together.
The Ghouls, subsect of the Cartel that operates in Pointe Bordeaux known for distinctive skull motif and often skull facepaint.
|| GALLOWAY'S EMPORIUM OF ANTIQUITIES - MILK STREET
The steady tap of a cane alongside the steady click from the heels of a pair of well polished hard-soled shoes echoed even amidst the hustle and bustle of the busy sidewalk. Adorned in a freshly pressed black suit atop a matching shirt and accompanied by a perfectly paired tie, the man cut a striking, well-dressed figure. He continued in a straight line, a gentle mane of grey hair stopping just above the nape of his neck blew around his ears in the gentle breeze. The man did not move as the people parted around him, stepping out of his way as Deaglán Galloway approached the antiquities shop that bore his name in brass letters.
It was only upon approach that Galloway noticed the commotion outside of his place of business. Keen gray-blue eyes narrowed as they stared intently at the concerning sight ahead. Galloway's lips pursed disapprovingly at the sight of his store window shattered and scattered across the sidewalk. The familiar smell of burnt flesh and scorched wood lingered even in the sea-mist-laden air while the aging man watched the police cruiser depart with a suspect in tow. Clicking his tongue behind his teeth, Galloway took a few more steps towards the scene of the crime, deliberately tapping his cane harder with each step to draw attention to himself.
"Sir, I need you to stop. This is a crime scene."
"And I need you to step aside, lad. This is my shop." Galloway retorted, bringing his cane in front of him before placing both hands atop of it. "I'll need to be makin' sure that none of my stock is missing."
"My officers would be happy to assist-"
"Nay, you're not hearing me," Galloway waved a hand before tapping his cane. "You'll be leaving now. Seems you've already got a suspect in tow, and I have no intention of pressing charges." He tapped his cane again, behind him, the shattered glass flew back together, merging before restoring the missing window pane, and all signs of damage to the exterior of the shop, the window and its door disappeared in an instant.
"Doesn't look like there's any evidence of forced entry to me, now is there, Officer?"
"I, uh-" The officer stammered, looking from Galloway to the ground, to the window and back to the strange man in front of him. "Sir, I really must insist-"
"I insist you drop all investigation into this case and leave at once." Galloway interrupted, his hands twisting the cane clasped between them before performing a quick pair of taps on the sidewalk. "In fact, it'd be better if you forgot you were even called here at all."
"I uh," The officer stammered before suddenly turning around and waving the others towards the pair of cruisers.
"False alarm, there's nothing here. Dispatch must have gotten it wrong." He called as Galloway allowed the right side of his mouth to turn up slightly. One by one, the remaining officers fell into the same trance, forgetting why they had been at the antiquities shop to begin with. Politely waving goodbye as the cruisers departed, Galloway tapped his cane against the locked front door, prompting it to swing open before entering inside.
The interior hadn't fared much better than the exterior. Bookshelves were overturned, and near priceless relics spilled across the floor. Galloway's eyes narrowed as he examined the shelves, lifting the cane in his offhand before his right took a hold of it, ready to unsheath at a moment's notice. Across the shop, his eyes darted to the back bookshelf, a notable gap where a particular book had been.
"Qra thoghairm!" Galloway snapped, extending a hand. From underneath another shelf, the object in question suddenly flew. His arm recoiled at the impact of the opus as the heavy tome landed in his open palm. Cradling the book to his body, Galloway looked down in horror at the crimson-stained cover.
Fresh blood on the cover could only mean one thing. Someone had attempted, or worse, actually managed to open the cursed grimoire. Though thought to be inert of its mystical energies, the particular tome in Galloway's hand was said to have belonged to Zechariah Auber, one of, if not the most powerful warlocks to have ever wielded the extradimensional energies known as mag'ik. Auber was said to be beyond the reach of Death itself, having escaped and ascended to a higher plane of being. His grimoire was all that was left, and while numerous other tomes claimed to be the genuine article, most were red herrings left behind by Auber himself.
Except for this book.
Galloway had done his research, he had verified the sources, dated the materials used in its cover and even attempted to open it himself several times. Dark whispers appeared to come from the book in the stillness of the night, but they never called out to Galloway, instead warning him to stay away. Galloway had spilled his own blood trying to break the lock; he had unleashed the full force of his powers upon it, but the cover would not budge.
The Grimoire of Zechariah Auber was little more than a paperweight, so Galloway, in his vanity, had displayed it like a trophy in his shop. Proud and out in the open where anyone could see. Especially since the one person outside of himself who could open it was locked in a cell, his memory and abilities taken from him for the safety of not only Calder City, but the world at large.
A gentle hoot from the rafters redirected his attention. A small smile crossed Galloway's lips as he extended his arm, and the small screech owl glided down to the offered perch. The bird's claws gently wrapped around his arm while the little grey owl groomed its feathers before looking up at Galloway, its large eyes unblinking as it hopped around excitedly.
"Wren, were you here all night?"
The large bulbous eyes seemed to blink in agreement, the bird letting out a small titter to further drive the point home. Galloway stroked the bird's head feathers, tucking the tome under his arm before tapping his cane to put the rest of the room back in order.
"I'm surprised you allowed the store to get so out of hand. I would have expected you to set them straight, my little friend." Galloway mused to the little owl, scratching under its chin with a free finger. As if responding, Wren let out a meek hoot, followed by a few other noises, before Galloway waved his hand. A glittery shimmer emitted from his hand, expanding outwards and washing over the store before illuminating the past positions of a dark, canine-like shape.
"Another familiar?" Galloway mused grimly while the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The notion of another mage breaking into his shop challenged Galloway's earlier dismissal of it as a standard burglary by one of Pointe Bordeaux's many desperate street gangs.
"Though not Grip," He added, the wolf-like shape easing his mind that the raven had not been here. Still, it wasn't unheard of for an arcane practitioner to have more than one familiar; there was still cause to be cautious. Walking back towards the main counter, Galloway tucked the grimoire safely beneath it; the mystery of whose blood had opened it would have to take a back seat for now. The presence of another mage's familiar was far more pressing, especially considering who the only other mage in Calder City was.
And if it was his blood, then Emyrs help them all.
He could never be allowed to get his hands on the Grimoire of Zechariah Auber. Mag'ik was already a fickle mistress, and though Galloway had made his peace with it, the allure and appeal of the grimoire's power were too much for ordinary folk. In the hands of the extraordinary though...
Galloway had seen the madness its pages could wrought.
Picking up an old phone still connected to the store's landline, Galloway carefully spun the dial, waiting for the tone before it began to ring. A click on the other end assured him the line was open just before an operator answered. The ancient switchboard redirected his call to an orderly as Galloway began to speak.
"Yes, I'd like to check on a friend of mine," He requested, his hand tightly gripping the receiver. There was always something unnerving about calling out to the Caulfield Asylum and Institute. The entire facility felt like an anachronistic phenomenon.
"No, I'm afraid I don't have his name. He was admitted under the alias 'John Doe', suffers from a terrible case of amnesia, I'm afraid. Yes, third floor, solitary room." Galloway nodded as the voice answered on the other side.
"And he hasn't left his room? Not even last night? Okay, very well. No, no reason, I just had a nagging feeling. Glad that's resolved though." Galloway replied, "Thank you for your time, good day." He concluded the call, hanging up the receiver and breathing a sigh of relief.
"I, too, felt a disturbance last night."
"You should knock, little bat. I do not recall granting you permission to enter." Galloway replied to the woman's voice without lifting his head. "My affairs are not of your concern."
"The store is not your private place of residence; that old curse on my kind doesn't provide the same protection here." The woman replied, examining the state of Galloway's Emporium. A playful smile crossed her lips before she propped her arms in front of herself, placing them over her chest.
"Your shop has seen better days."
"Well, yes, you know how Pointe Bordeaux is," Galloway replied dismissively, "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Morgan? I'd offer you a beverage, but I'm afraid I'm straight out of 'O Negative'."
Carmilla flashed a sly smile, her notably pointed canines peeking out over painted, plump lips.
"You know as well as I do that it's bad news for all of us, not just you or the 'Gentleman's Club', if he regains his memory. Let alone if he claims that." She pointed towards the counter, the irises of her eyes faintly glowing violet as she did. Her finger was directly in line with the Grimoire hidden behind the counter, where it sat in front of Galloway's legs.
"I could destroy it." She offered.
"If that were possible, I would have done so already. Sadly, Auber made sure his work would live on and through it, Emyrs too. In some ways, it's the greatest record we have, tying us back to the one who managed to organize mag'ik. In other ways, it's the weapon of our own destruction. Auber knew too much, and the damned arrogant fool put it all in that cursed book."
"Then why not claim the book for yourself?" The raven-haired woman asked, brushing her long locks behind an ear. The lighting of Galloway's shop made her skin appear nearly as pale as fresh snow, her veins almost silvery and luminescent beneath polished marble-like skin.
"Don't you think I haven't thought of that, child of darkness? But the book rejects me, or at least it would if there was truly any of it left. I believed its pages to be inert, but now, the blood of another stains its cover. Were I to even try again, I would have to take the life of those whose blood it is to claim Auber's Grimoire as my own."
"Another?" Carmilla replied, an eyebrow raised in surprise, before she took a deep inhale. A familiar scent caused her pupils to dilate, a small smile crossing her face before she hid it from Galloway.
"So Auber's Grimoire no longer belongs to you?"
"That is how these things work," Galloway stated matter-of-factly. "You should know that, even as poor a bruxa as you are."
"Are all men in their five-hundreds so hostile?" Carmilla teased.
"You'll have to forgive me," Galloway replied wryly, "I get testy when questioned by a Striga, while a Warlock may have ransacked my shop."
"Perhaps the book no longer being yours is the only thing keeping you alive? Then again..." Carmilla retorted, taking a step towards Galloway, who retaliated with a tap of his cane. A wave pulsed through the air, pushing Carmilla back to where she had been standing. Wren let out a loud hoot from his perch while Carmilla's own familiar made itself known, the large bat unfurrowing its wings before merging with its host.
"I warn you, child, even with your dark gifts, you are outmatched."
"Can't blame me for trying," Carmilla smiled, "A girl's gotta eat."
"Get out." Galloway's voice left no room for argument as Carmilla blew him a kiss and spun around on her heels.
"Ta ta for now!" She called, walking back out on the street. The heat of the morning sun felt like it would make her burst into flames at any second. She nervously adjusted the Anulus del Sol mounted on her middle finger; the fiery set stone glowed briefly before Carmilla snapped her fingers, producing a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on her eyes. She took one last look at Galloway's, smiling before moving down the street.
This match might have gone to old man, but Carmilla knew who the mystery warlock was.
And getting the grimoire from him would be a piece of cake.
From a perch above the street, amidst the rows of baroque and Queen Anne-style buildings sat a black bird. It let out a long, mournful croak before the raven flapped its wings and was carried into the sky by the billowing seabreeze. Soaring over Pointe Bordeaux, it banked to the East and allowed the winds to carry it out to sea. Swooping low over the chain of islands that led from the Pointe to Ravenna's Roost, the raven glided towards the tall white walls that bordered the asylum, taking a lap around the building before landing on a third-floor windowsill.
The catatonic occupant slowly turned his head, his clouded, murky eyes opening sluggishly before a slow smile crept over his face. He sat in the middle of the padded room, his arms restrained tightly in the straitjacket, before he simply acknowledged the bird with a single nod.
Grip let out a loud cry before his powerful wings launched the raven back into the air, towards Pointe Bordeaux.
It was only upon approach that Galloway noticed the commotion outside of his place of business. Keen gray-blue eyes narrowed as they stared intently at the concerning sight ahead. Galloway's lips pursed disapprovingly at the sight of his store window shattered and scattered across the sidewalk. The familiar smell of burnt flesh and scorched wood lingered even in the sea-mist-laden air while the aging man watched the police cruiser depart with a suspect in tow. Clicking his tongue behind his teeth, Galloway took a few more steps towards the scene of the crime, deliberately tapping his cane harder with each step to draw attention to himself.
"Sir, I need you to stop. This is a crime scene."
"And I need you to step aside, lad. This is my shop." Galloway retorted, bringing his cane in front of him before placing both hands atop of it. "I'll need to be makin' sure that none of my stock is missing."
"My officers would be happy to assist-"
"Nay, you're not hearing me," Galloway waved a hand before tapping his cane. "You'll be leaving now. Seems you've already got a suspect in tow, and I have no intention of pressing charges." He tapped his cane again, behind him, the shattered glass flew back together, merging before restoring the missing window pane, and all signs of damage to the exterior of the shop, the window and its door disappeared in an instant.
"Doesn't look like there's any evidence of forced entry to me, now is there, Officer?"
"I, uh-" The officer stammered, looking from Galloway to the ground, to the window and back to the strange man in front of him. "Sir, I really must insist-"
"I insist you drop all investigation into this case and leave at once." Galloway interrupted, his hands twisting the cane clasped between them before performing a quick pair of taps on the sidewalk. "In fact, it'd be better if you forgot you were even called here at all."
"I uh," The officer stammered before suddenly turning around and waving the others towards the pair of cruisers.
"False alarm, there's nothing here. Dispatch must have gotten it wrong." He called as Galloway allowed the right side of his mouth to turn up slightly. One by one, the remaining officers fell into the same trance, forgetting why they had been at the antiquities shop to begin with. Politely waving goodbye as the cruisers departed, Galloway tapped his cane against the locked front door, prompting it to swing open before entering inside.
The interior hadn't fared much better than the exterior. Bookshelves were overturned, and near priceless relics spilled across the floor. Galloway's eyes narrowed as he examined the shelves, lifting the cane in his offhand before his right took a hold of it, ready to unsheath at a moment's notice. Across the shop, his eyes darted to the back bookshelf, a notable gap where a particular book had been.
"Qra thoghairm!" Galloway snapped, extending a hand. From underneath another shelf, the object in question suddenly flew. His arm recoiled at the impact of the opus as the heavy tome landed in his open palm. Cradling the book to his body, Galloway looked down in horror at the crimson-stained cover.
Fresh blood on the cover could only mean one thing. Someone had attempted, or worse, actually managed to open the cursed grimoire. Though thought to be inert of its mystical energies, the particular tome in Galloway's hand was said to have belonged to Zechariah Auber, one of, if not the most powerful warlocks to have ever wielded the extradimensional energies known as mag'ik. Auber was said to be beyond the reach of Death itself, having escaped and ascended to a higher plane of being. His grimoire was all that was left, and while numerous other tomes claimed to be the genuine article, most were red herrings left behind by Auber himself.
Except for this book.
Galloway had done his research, he had verified the sources, dated the materials used in its cover and even attempted to open it himself several times. Dark whispers appeared to come from the book in the stillness of the night, but they never called out to Galloway, instead warning him to stay away. Galloway had spilled his own blood trying to break the lock; he had unleashed the full force of his powers upon it, but the cover would not budge.
The Grimoire of Zechariah Auber was little more than a paperweight, so Galloway, in his vanity, had displayed it like a trophy in his shop. Proud and out in the open where anyone could see. Especially since the one person outside of himself who could open it was locked in a cell, his memory and abilities taken from him for the safety of not only Calder City, but the world at large.
A gentle hoot from the rafters redirected his attention. A small smile crossed Galloway's lips as he extended his arm, and the small screech owl glided down to the offered perch. The bird's claws gently wrapped around his arm while the little grey owl groomed its feathers before looking up at Galloway, its large eyes unblinking as it hopped around excitedly.
"Wren, were you here all night?"
The large bulbous eyes seemed to blink in agreement, the bird letting out a small titter to further drive the point home. Galloway stroked the bird's head feathers, tucking the tome under his arm before tapping his cane to put the rest of the room back in order.
"I'm surprised you allowed the store to get so out of hand. I would have expected you to set them straight, my little friend." Galloway mused to the little owl, scratching under its chin with a free finger. As if responding, Wren let out a meek hoot, followed by a few other noises, before Galloway waved his hand. A glittery shimmer emitted from his hand, expanding outwards and washing over the store before illuminating the past positions of a dark, canine-like shape.
"Another familiar?" Galloway mused grimly while the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The notion of another mage breaking into his shop challenged Galloway's earlier dismissal of it as a standard burglary by one of Pointe Bordeaux's many desperate street gangs.
"Though not Grip," He added, the wolf-like shape easing his mind that the raven had not been here. Still, it wasn't unheard of for an arcane practitioner to have more than one familiar; there was still cause to be cautious. Walking back towards the main counter, Galloway tucked the grimoire safely beneath it; the mystery of whose blood had opened it would have to take a back seat for now. The presence of another mage's familiar was far more pressing, especially considering who the only other mage in Calder City was.
And if it was his blood, then Emyrs help them all.
He could never be allowed to get his hands on the Grimoire of Zechariah Auber. Mag'ik was already a fickle mistress, and though Galloway had made his peace with it, the allure and appeal of the grimoire's power were too much for ordinary folk. In the hands of the extraordinary though...
Galloway had seen the madness its pages could wrought.
Picking up an old phone still connected to the store's landline, Galloway carefully spun the dial, waiting for the tone before it began to ring. A click on the other end assured him the line was open just before an operator answered. The ancient switchboard redirected his call to an orderly as Galloway began to speak.
"Yes, I'd like to check on a friend of mine," He requested, his hand tightly gripping the receiver. There was always something unnerving about calling out to the Caulfield Asylum and Institute. The entire facility felt like an anachronistic phenomenon.
"No, I'm afraid I don't have his name. He was admitted under the alias 'John Doe', suffers from a terrible case of amnesia, I'm afraid. Yes, third floor, solitary room." Galloway nodded as the voice answered on the other side.
"And he hasn't left his room? Not even last night? Okay, very well. No, no reason, I just had a nagging feeling. Glad that's resolved though." Galloway replied, "Thank you for your time, good day." He concluded the call, hanging up the receiver and breathing a sigh of relief.
"I, too, felt a disturbance last night."
"You should knock, little bat. I do not recall granting you permission to enter." Galloway replied to the woman's voice without lifting his head. "My affairs are not of your concern."
"The store is not your private place of residence; that old curse on my kind doesn't provide the same protection here." The woman replied, examining the state of Galloway's Emporium. A playful smile crossed her lips before she propped her arms in front of herself, placing them over her chest.
"Your shop has seen better days."
"Well, yes, you know how Pointe Bordeaux is," Galloway replied dismissively, "Is there something I can do for you, Miss Morgan? I'd offer you a beverage, but I'm afraid I'm straight out of 'O Negative'."
Carmilla flashed a sly smile, her notably pointed canines peeking out over painted, plump lips.
"You know as well as I do that it's bad news for all of us, not just you or the 'Gentleman's Club', if he regains his memory. Let alone if he claims that." She pointed towards the counter, the irises of her eyes faintly glowing violet as she did. Her finger was directly in line with the Grimoire hidden behind the counter, where it sat in front of Galloway's legs.
"I could destroy it." She offered.
"If that were possible, I would have done so already. Sadly, Auber made sure his work would live on and through it, Emyrs too. In some ways, it's the greatest record we have, tying us back to the one who managed to organize mag'ik. In other ways, it's the weapon of our own destruction. Auber knew too much, and the damned arrogant fool put it all in that cursed book."
"Then why not claim the book for yourself?" The raven-haired woman asked, brushing her long locks behind an ear. The lighting of Galloway's shop made her skin appear nearly as pale as fresh snow, her veins almost silvery and luminescent beneath polished marble-like skin.
"Don't you think I haven't thought of that, child of darkness? But the book rejects me, or at least it would if there was truly any of it left. I believed its pages to be inert, but now, the blood of another stains its cover. Were I to even try again, I would have to take the life of those whose blood it is to claim Auber's Grimoire as my own."
"Another?" Carmilla replied, an eyebrow raised in surprise, before she took a deep inhale. A familiar scent caused her pupils to dilate, a small smile crossing her face before she hid it from Galloway.
"So Auber's Grimoire no longer belongs to you?"
"That is how these things work," Galloway stated matter-of-factly. "You should know that, even as poor a bruxa as you are."
"Are all men in their five-hundreds so hostile?" Carmilla teased.
"You'll have to forgive me," Galloway replied wryly, "I get testy when questioned by a Striga, while a Warlock may have ransacked my shop."
"Perhaps the book no longer being yours is the only thing keeping you alive? Then again..." Carmilla retorted, taking a step towards Galloway, who retaliated with a tap of his cane. A wave pulsed through the air, pushing Carmilla back to where she had been standing. Wren let out a loud hoot from his perch while Carmilla's own familiar made itself known, the large bat unfurrowing its wings before merging with its host.
"I warn you, child, even with your dark gifts, you are outmatched."
"Can't blame me for trying," Carmilla smiled, "A girl's gotta eat."
"Get out." Galloway's voice left no room for argument as Carmilla blew him a kiss and spun around on her heels.
"Ta ta for now!" She called, walking back out on the street. The heat of the morning sun felt like it would make her burst into flames at any second. She nervously adjusted the Anulus del Sol mounted on her middle finger; the fiery set stone glowed briefly before Carmilla snapped her fingers, producing a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on her eyes. She took one last look at Galloway's, smiling before moving down the street.
This match might have gone to old man, but Carmilla knew who the mystery warlock was.
And getting the grimoire from him would be a piece of cake.
From a perch above the street, amidst the rows of baroque and Queen Anne-style buildings sat a black bird. It let out a long, mournful croak before the raven flapped its wings and was carried into the sky by the billowing seabreeze. Soaring over Pointe Bordeaux, it banked to the East and allowed the winds to carry it out to sea. Swooping low over the chain of islands that led from the Pointe to Ravenna's Roost, the raven glided towards the tall white walls that bordered the asylum, taking a lap around the building before landing on a third-floor windowsill.
The catatonic occupant slowly turned his head, his clouded, murky eyes opening sluggishly before a slow smile crept over his face. He sat in the middle of the padded room, his arms restrained tightly in the straitjacket, before he simply acknowledged the bird with a single nod.
Grip let out a loud cry before his powerful wings launched the raven back into the air, towards Pointe Bordeaux.
Once was a man who lived a life so mundane, it could only be true.
_
_
_
_
_
Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
_
_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
_
_
_
_
_
Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
_
_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
LOCATION: POINTE BORDEAUX PRECINCT - THE SOUND | URBAN GOTHIC #1.06: HUNGRY |
INTERACTIONS: NONE | PREVIOUSLY: HUNGOVER IN HANDCUFFS |
The precinct was busy as Archie was marched through booking. The handcuffs continued to chafe at his wrists while the officers marched him towards the desk. He tried his best not to make eye contact with anyone; this was not where Archie wanted to be spending the first morning of his probationary period as a Junior Partner. He needed this all cleared up, and he needed to get to work.
"No, Ma'am, I need your real I.D. I cannot put you in the system as 'Molly Splittongue'."
The deadpan tone of the sergeant behind the desk caught Archie's attention as his wandering eyes were drawn towards the leggy woman in front of the booking counter. Glossy leather knee-high boots revealed tattered fishnet leggings beneath an animal print miniskirt that Archie could swear he had seen belts thicker than. High-rise satin straps rode over shapely, toned hips, anchoring a bubblegum-pink whale tail beneath a cropped corset top that exposed a leopard-spot lower-back tattoo and threatened to spill the woman's generous bust onto the counter in front of her. The tattoo easily identified the woman as a member of the Molls, had the alias given to the officer behind the desk not already been a dead giveaway.
The Molls were Pointe Bordeaux's own gang of sex workers. They ran the sex trade in the Pointe, and everyone knew it. Most officers even turned a blind eye to it in exchange for some stress relief on the clock. Given the loopholes around sex work and the loose laws that governed it, they were a nightmare to try and prosecute, convincing more than at least one judge to simply throw the cases out when they came across their desk.
Well, that, and the fact that men in power also tended to enjoy submitting to a dominant woman, which in turn led to compromising photos and backroom, not to mention back-end, deals. Archie had never had the misfortune of handling a Moll case, but he knew more than one lawyer who found themselves in that black widow's web.
His attention wandered back to the Moll in front of him, now finding himself wondering what on earth she could have been brought in for. If Archie were to guess, he'd actually assume it was the Moll reporting a crime rather than being reported. The Molls were known for their zero-tolerance policy regarding abusive clients or any client who simply didn't respect the rules of boundaries of their hired girls. You didn't cross the Molls if you ever wanted to make use of your dick again.
The woman in question turned to look over her shoulder, seemingly feeling Archie's roaming gaze. She gave him a quick wink before opening her mouth as a snake-like fork tongue waved towards him, each half moving independently as if to salute Archie twice before he, in turn, felt his body returning the salute.
The sensation that followed was difficult for Archie to describe, but his inner monologue had a concise thought.
Scarny, this feeling is scarny. Scared and horny.
"What do you mean there's no record?" One of Archie's arresting officers suddenly roared, breaking Archie out of his awkward arousal. He was roughly dragged towards the desk, the woman leaving as another Moll arrived to pick her up. Despite wanting to keep watching, Archie's attention was sharply pulled back to his own matters as the pair of officers argued with the sergeant across the counter from him.
"The officer on the scene says it was a false alarm. Store is completely fine. Owner dismissed them, no property damage, no intention of pressing charges."
"We put bodies in the back of an ambulance." The arresting officer snapped in disbelief.
"And we found pretty boy here at the scene of the crime." The second officer argued, roughly manhandling Archie as if to show him off like a freshly caught fish.
"I don't know what to tell you, except there's nothing I can book him under." The sergeant replied with a shrug.
"Then make something up, we're not letting him go." The first officer argued again.
"Hey, it's your badge." The sergeant replied, "It'll help with quota, though, so drunk and disorderly?"
"The guy's accused of murder."
"Murder that we don't have a record of-"
"But the bodies in the back of the ambulance-" The second officer was in absolute disbelief.
"Didn't arrive at the hospital, there's no evidence of anything you're saying. So either we can book pretty boy here with a drunk and disorderly, or you have to let him go."
Ladies and gentlemen, our legal system at work.
Archie monologued to himself internally before finally finding the boldness to speak up.
"I get a phone call, right?"
The first officer turned to Archie, already seething from the mix-up with the paperwork, he looked as though he was about to unload every ounce of his angry on the young man before simply growling yes.
"Oh," Archie replied, "Good." He nodded before looking directly ahead at the sergeant. A wry smile slowly crept over his mouth before he spoke again.
"Do you have the number for the District Attorney's office?"
"No, Ma'am, I need your real I.D. I cannot put you in the system as 'Molly Splittongue'."
The deadpan tone of the sergeant behind the desk caught Archie's attention as his wandering eyes were drawn towards the leggy woman in front of the booking counter. Glossy leather knee-high boots revealed tattered fishnet leggings beneath an animal print miniskirt that Archie could swear he had seen belts thicker than. High-rise satin straps rode over shapely, toned hips, anchoring a bubblegum-pink whale tail beneath a cropped corset top that exposed a leopard-spot lower-back tattoo and threatened to spill the woman's generous bust onto the counter in front of her. The tattoo easily identified the woman as a member of the Molls, had the alias given to the officer behind the desk not already been a dead giveaway.
The Molls were Pointe Bordeaux's own gang of sex workers. They ran the sex trade in the Pointe, and everyone knew it. Most officers even turned a blind eye to it in exchange for some stress relief on the clock. Given the loopholes around sex work and the loose laws that governed it, they were a nightmare to try and prosecute, convincing more than at least one judge to simply throw the cases out when they came across their desk.
Well, that, and the fact that men in power also tended to enjoy submitting to a dominant woman, which in turn led to compromising photos and backroom, not to mention back-end, deals. Archie had never had the misfortune of handling a Moll case, but he knew more than one lawyer who found themselves in that black widow's web.
His attention wandered back to the Moll in front of him, now finding himself wondering what on earth she could have been brought in for. If Archie were to guess, he'd actually assume it was the Moll reporting a crime rather than being reported. The Molls were known for their zero-tolerance policy regarding abusive clients or any client who simply didn't respect the rules of boundaries of their hired girls. You didn't cross the Molls if you ever wanted to make use of your dick again.
The woman in question turned to look over her shoulder, seemingly feeling Archie's roaming gaze. She gave him a quick wink before opening her mouth as a snake-like fork tongue waved towards him, each half moving independently as if to salute Archie twice before he, in turn, felt his body returning the salute.
The sensation that followed was difficult for Archie to describe, but his inner monologue had a concise thought.
Scarny, this feeling is scarny. Scared and horny.
"What do you mean there's no record?" One of Archie's arresting officers suddenly roared, breaking Archie out of his awkward arousal. He was roughly dragged towards the desk, the woman leaving as another Moll arrived to pick her up. Despite wanting to keep watching, Archie's attention was sharply pulled back to his own matters as the pair of officers argued with the sergeant across the counter from him.
"The officer on the scene says it was a false alarm. Store is completely fine. Owner dismissed them, no property damage, no intention of pressing charges."
"We put bodies in the back of an ambulance." The arresting officer snapped in disbelief.
"And we found pretty boy here at the scene of the crime." The second officer argued, roughly manhandling Archie as if to show him off like a freshly caught fish.
"I don't know what to tell you, except there's nothing I can book him under." The sergeant replied with a shrug.
"Then make something up, we're not letting him go." The first officer argued again.
"Hey, it's your badge." The sergeant replied, "It'll help with quota, though, so drunk and disorderly?"
"The guy's accused of murder."
"Murder that we don't have a record of-"
"But the bodies in the back of the ambulance-" The second officer was in absolute disbelief.
"Didn't arrive at the hospital, there's no evidence of anything you're saying. So either we can book pretty boy here with a drunk and disorderly, or you have to let him go."
Ladies and gentlemen, our legal system at work.
Archie monologued to himself internally before finally finding the boldness to speak up.
"I get a phone call, right?"
The first officer turned to Archie, already seething from the mix-up with the paperwork, he looked as though he was about to unload every ounce of his angry on the young man before simply growling yes.
"Oh," Archie replied, "Good." He nodded before looking directly ahead at the sergeant. A wry smile slowly crept over his mouth before he spoke again.
"Do you have the number for the District Attorney's office?"
Once was a man who lived a life so mundane, it could only be true.
_
_
_
_
_
Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
_
_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
_
_
_
_
_
Practically invisible to the world around him, life carries on while he felt perpetually stuck treading water just to keep his head
_
_
afloat. Fortunately for the man, fate had different ideas and intervened with a heavy hand. Pushed into a corner, the man
_
_
was driven to hide amongst dusty shelves and heavy tomes. In the silence, he could hear his name being whispered,
_
_
over and over again, until his hand touched one particular opus. A worn book, bound in leather and tarnished steel. Though
_
_
sealed, it opened for a price, and upon spreading its pages, the man's life was changed forever.
_
_
_
_
_
_
Now, he is the Warlock they call...
LOCATION: GALLOWAY'S EMPORIUM OF ANTIQUITIES - MILK STREET | URBAN GOTHIC #1.05: HUNGOVER IN HANDCUFFS |
INTERACTIONS: NONE | PREVIOUSLY: HURT |
Everything felt so loud.
The cold wooden floor beneath him offered little to no comfort as Archie's nose was bombarded with the foul smell of something burnt and rotten. He still felt like he could throw up. Disoriented and unsure of either where he was, let alone when it was, he started to stand only to be immediately blinded by a beam of piercing light. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, only to be tackled roughly onto his knees. Before Archie could even register what was happening, his arms were wrestled behind his back and clasped into two rings of metal that dug against his wrists. A thick, waxy ointment dripped from the cuffs onto his skin, numbing his hands and forearms.
Somehow, even amidst the acrid smell of burnt flesh, the potent odour of the ointment cut through. It was a relatively new tactic for the Calder City Police Department; topical Griseosporine wasn't yet widely available. But special weapons development had fast-tracked it for deployment in Calder City as a sort of beta test. Beyond the numbing, it should have no ill effect on Archie, at least as far as he knew. He only had limited exposure thanks to shop talk with a few associates from the District Attorney's Office, whom he still met up with for his monthly sessions of 'Gargoyles and Graves'.
"If you attempt to use your powers again, we will be forced to respond accordingly." The officer snarled, his hand feeling like it was going to snap Archie's arm in two.
Wait! You're arresting me?
Archie cried out internally as the handcuffs were placed on him and he was hauled upright. He looked from the uniform on his left to the one on his right. The two large officers dwarfed the scrawny, lithe man held firmly between them. Several body bags lay on the floor while another had been loaded onto a gurney and wheeled into the back of the ambulance sitting outside.
Hey! I have rights! I didn't do this! Where are my Miranda Rights? C'mon, officer, procedure doesn't just go out the window because you're a xenophobic prick!
"Alright, bub, let's make this easy. Just tell us what your powers are." The other office stated. Archie wanted to roll his eyes. Were both of them seriously going to ignore procedure?
"Powers?" Archied replied in a confused tone, finally finding a voice that wouldn't get him further battered and bruised in the back of a cruiser.
"I'm not Gray, I don't have any powers." He continued, his tone insistent as the officers scoffed at the response.
"More like 'not a Gray right now', eh? Had a little too much fun at the club, then? Maybe we scored ourselves a designer cocktail and had a little trip?" The officer asked, locking Archie's arms into a painful position.
"Let me guess, it's just a phase, you're just figuring things out." The second officer deadpanned. The first nodded along, before interjecting again.
"If there's anything I hate more than a Gray, it's a wannabe Gray."
Archie found himself unable to look away at the body bags. Who was inside? What killed them? He winced as fragmented memories suddenly came back to him. The mysterious book that called his name, the cut on his hand. His fingertips brushed against his palm, causing a grimace as they touched against the wide cut. He remembered the Grim coming alongside him, the black dog attacking the Dragons while fire rained from the pages of the book. Words that Archie didn't understand had come out of his mouth, and a power, a power unlike anything he had ever felt, flowed through his body.
The book!
He adjusted his thigh awkwardly, attempting to hide his excitement at the recollection of the book's gift.
Where was the book?
His eyes darted back and forth frantically, searching for the massive grimoire as the officers continued to parade him towards the cruiser. From the corner of his eye, underneath a nearby armoire, Archie caught a glimpse of the tattered page edges encased between hard covers bound in worn leather and edged in tarnished steel. A faint glow called to him before he hauled through the front door alongside the shattered bay window and loaded into the back of the awaiting police cruiser.
Archie resigned himself to silence, listening to the roar of the engine as the officers, disinterested in doing their job properly, piloted the vehicle away from the antiques store and towards the connection that would take them out of Milk Street and into the Sound, or central Pointe Bordeaux.
Any eye warily watched Archie through the rear view mirror before the hand shifted to the dial for the radio, turning it up as Archie let out a deep exhale and sank further into his seat, his hands still cuffed behind him.
"I hope that dial stays locked in on WKNT as our 'Days of Remembrance' special tribute week continues. This morning, we're taking a deep look into the 'Where Are They Now?' category. Today, listeners, I have a very special guest and a sort of local historian. You know her by the 'Snapshot' handle '@TheCapesCrusader', but typically she goes by Becca. So, Becca, I have to ask, since you know your Calder Capes pretty well, do you remember the Piper?"
The Days of Remembrance? When would they end? Archie rolled his eyes, stifling a scoff of his own. Growing up, he had always wanted to be a Gray. Now in adulthood, he had come to terms that it was never going to happen. Last night was likely a one-off, and he wouldn't ever see the strange tome ever again. It was hard living a life so mundane, so ordinary that you slipped through the cracks even amongst normal people. It was almost bizarre that Archie had found himself in handcuffs and not in the back of the ambulance in one of the body bags he had watched the paramedics carry out.
"I've got to be honest, with how his career ended, Paulie, I don't think anyone is forgetting the Piper. Ignoring the garish outfit and the terrible name, his horrifying abilities certainly kept him in the headlines. As I recall, the Piper used technology to augment his Gray abilities to implant subliminal messaging into the minds of his foes."
A feeling of discomfort crossed Archie's face. The way they were talking about 'The Piper' felt almost reminiscent of the strange voice he had heard last night. It had permeated every ounce of his skull to the point of being overwhelming, all while knowing his name. Perhaps, it was actually a good thing he'd never see that Grimoire again.
"Right, yeah," Paulie replied to Becca before she continued to speak.
"And despite being the marketing exec from hell, still held the record for the least amount of collateral damage right before he broke bad." The guest speaker noted.
"Always a shame when they do that. So where is he now?"
"Dead, killed in a shootout with the Pointe District Police in the middle of Swashbuckler's Splashdown." Becca informed both Paulie and the listeners. Archie remembered that day. It was several years ago now, if he recalled correctly, nearly eight. He had been in high school when it had happened. Their senior trip to the 'Splashdown' had to be cancelled because of the shooting.
"Oof, that is rough, buddy. Anyways, folks here's local artist and current Calder City favourite, DJ R3TCH!D Rat with 'I'm not Gray (& I Luv It)."
"Ugh, not this crap again," The officer driving griped as the other chuckled before taking a drink of the coffee he had kept stashed in the car.
"You are listening to the University station."
Even in the back of the police cruiser, Archie couldn't help but feel the catchy beat again. The vehicle came to a stop as the officers reached their destination and pulled it in front of the Pointe Bordeaux Precinct. Archie watched the passenger side officer exit the vehicle, while Archie found himself unable to stop his head from continuing to keep time with the rhythm of the music. Just as the officer opened the rear door to the cruiser, Archie felt the beat drop before looking up at the officer as he was pulled from the vehicle, opening his mouth only for the now viral lyrics to come out.
"I'm not Gray!"
The cold wooden floor beneath him offered little to no comfort as Archie's nose was bombarded with the foul smell of something burnt and rotten. He still felt like he could throw up. Disoriented and unsure of either where he was, let alone when it was, he started to stand only to be immediately blinded by a beam of piercing light. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, only to be tackled roughly onto his knees. Before Archie could even register what was happening, his arms were wrestled behind his back and clasped into two rings of metal that dug against his wrists. A thick, waxy ointment dripped from the cuffs onto his skin, numbing his hands and forearms.
Somehow, even amidst the acrid smell of burnt flesh, the potent odour of the ointment cut through. It was a relatively new tactic for the Calder City Police Department; topical Griseosporine wasn't yet widely available. But special weapons development had fast-tracked it for deployment in Calder City as a sort of beta test. Beyond the numbing, it should have no ill effect on Archie, at least as far as he knew. He only had limited exposure thanks to shop talk with a few associates from the District Attorney's Office, whom he still met up with for his monthly sessions of 'Gargoyles and Graves'.
"If you attempt to use your powers again, we will be forced to respond accordingly." The officer snarled, his hand feeling like it was going to snap Archie's arm in two.
Wait! You're arresting me?
Archie cried out internally as the handcuffs were placed on him and he was hauled upright. He looked from the uniform on his left to the one on his right. The two large officers dwarfed the scrawny, lithe man held firmly between them. Several body bags lay on the floor while another had been loaded onto a gurney and wheeled into the back of the ambulance sitting outside.
Hey! I have rights! I didn't do this! Where are my Miranda Rights? C'mon, officer, procedure doesn't just go out the window because you're a xenophobic prick!
"Alright, bub, let's make this easy. Just tell us what your powers are." The other office stated. Archie wanted to roll his eyes. Were both of them seriously going to ignore procedure?
"Powers?" Archied replied in a confused tone, finally finding a voice that wouldn't get him further battered and bruised in the back of a cruiser.
"I'm not Gray, I don't have any powers." He continued, his tone insistent as the officers scoffed at the response.
"More like 'not a Gray right now', eh? Had a little too much fun at the club, then? Maybe we scored ourselves a designer cocktail and had a little trip?" The officer asked, locking Archie's arms into a painful position.
"Let me guess, it's just a phase, you're just figuring things out." The second officer deadpanned. The first nodded along, before interjecting again.
"If there's anything I hate more than a Gray, it's a wannabe Gray."
Archie found himself unable to look away at the body bags. Who was inside? What killed them? He winced as fragmented memories suddenly came back to him. The mysterious book that called his name, the cut on his hand. His fingertips brushed against his palm, causing a grimace as they touched against the wide cut. He remembered the Grim coming alongside him, the black dog attacking the Dragons while fire rained from the pages of the book. Words that Archie didn't understand had come out of his mouth, and a power, a power unlike anything he had ever felt, flowed through his body.
The book!
He adjusted his thigh awkwardly, attempting to hide his excitement at the recollection of the book's gift.
Where was the book?
His eyes darted back and forth frantically, searching for the massive grimoire as the officers continued to parade him towards the cruiser. From the corner of his eye, underneath a nearby armoire, Archie caught a glimpse of the tattered page edges encased between hard covers bound in worn leather and edged in tarnished steel. A faint glow called to him before he hauled through the front door alongside the shattered bay window and loaded into the back of the awaiting police cruiser.
Archie resigned himself to silence, listening to the roar of the engine as the officers, disinterested in doing their job properly, piloted the vehicle away from the antiques store and towards the connection that would take them out of Milk Street and into the Sound, or central Pointe Bordeaux.
Any eye warily watched Archie through the rear view mirror before the hand shifted to the dial for the radio, turning it up as Archie let out a deep exhale and sank further into his seat, his hands still cuffed behind him.
"I hope that dial stays locked in on WKNT as our 'Days of Remembrance' special tribute week continues. This morning, we're taking a deep look into the 'Where Are They Now?' category. Today, listeners, I have a very special guest and a sort of local historian. You know her by the 'Snapshot' handle '@TheCapesCrusader', but typically she goes by Becca. So, Becca, I have to ask, since you know your Calder Capes pretty well, do you remember the Piper?"
The Days of Remembrance? When would they end? Archie rolled his eyes, stifling a scoff of his own. Growing up, he had always wanted to be a Gray. Now in adulthood, he had come to terms that it was never going to happen. Last night was likely a one-off, and he wouldn't ever see the strange tome ever again. It was hard living a life so mundane, so ordinary that you slipped through the cracks even amongst normal people. It was almost bizarre that Archie had found himself in handcuffs and not in the back of the ambulance in one of the body bags he had watched the paramedics carry out.
"I've got to be honest, with how his career ended, Paulie, I don't think anyone is forgetting the Piper. Ignoring the garish outfit and the terrible name, his horrifying abilities certainly kept him in the headlines. As I recall, the Piper used technology to augment his Gray abilities to implant subliminal messaging into the minds of his foes."
A feeling of discomfort crossed Archie's face. The way they were talking about 'The Piper' felt almost reminiscent of the strange voice he had heard last night. It had permeated every ounce of his skull to the point of being overwhelming, all while knowing his name. Perhaps, it was actually a good thing he'd never see that Grimoire again.
"Right, yeah," Paulie replied to Becca before she continued to speak.
"And despite being the marketing exec from hell, still held the record for the least amount of collateral damage right before he broke bad." The guest speaker noted.
"Always a shame when they do that. So where is he now?"
"Dead, killed in a shootout with the Pointe District Police in the middle of Swashbuckler's Splashdown." Becca informed both Paulie and the listeners. Archie remembered that day. It was several years ago now, if he recalled correctly, nearly eight. He had been in high school when it had happened. Their senior trip to the 'Splashdown' had to be cancelled because of the shooting.
"Oof, that is rough, buddy. Anyways, folks here's local artist and current Calder City favourite, DJ R3TCH!D Rat with 'I'm not Gray (& I Luv It)."
"Ugh, not this crap again," The officer driving griped as the other chuckled before taking a drink of the coffee he had kept stashed in the car.
"You are listening to the University station."
Even in the back of the police cruiser, Archie couldn't help but feel the catchy beat again. The vehicle came to a stop as the officers reached their destination and pulled it in front of the Pointe Bordeaux Precinct. Archie watched the passenger side officer exit the vehicle, while Archie found himself unable to stop his head from continuing to keep time with the rhythm of the music. Just as the officer opened the rear door to the cruiser, Archie felt the beat drop before looking up at the officer as he was pulled from the vehicle, opening his mouth only for the now viral lyrics to come out.
"I'm not Gray!"
How's going to claim page 3?
How? You have to write a post.
<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>
Well if we did we made a mistake with you...
This is why I'm questioning it.
Wait,
We have standards?
We have standards?
I also have a full detailed map and breakdown of Pointe Bordeaux on Archie's sheet.
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