Avatar of POOHEAD189

Status

Recent Statuses

19 hrs ago
Current aw fuck you RoadkilBanana
5 likes
2 days ago
Kuro is right, Elite. That counts as spam. Please do not do that
6 likes
5 days ago
I am currently at work but tonight I will be making the proper warnings and reprimands
6 likes
5 days ago
Alright, we're all going to stop talking about this right now. Any further comment will get a warning, and any comment after that will be reprimanded.
5 likes
6 days ago
So is there a problem I should know about? Tell me now or I'll have to go looking and you won't want that.
5 likes

Bio






About Me








Name: Ben
Username: The one and only. Dare I say?
Age: 30
Ethnicity: Mixed
Sex: Male
Religion: Christian (Nondenominational)
Languages: English, Japanese (Semi-fluent & learning), I also know some Scots Gaelic, Quenyan (Elvish), and Miccosukee (My tribal tongue)
Relationship Status: Single (Though generally unavailable unless I find I really enjoy someone).






Current Projects/Freelance work

  • I am a voice talent and script writer for Faerun History
  • I have a much smaller personal Youtube channel that I use to make videos on various subjects. Only been making videos for 2 years, but it's growing!
  • I'm the host of a Science Fiction & Fantasy Podcast where I interview authors of the genre.




Interests (Includes but is not limited to)

  • Writing/Reading (Love writing and I own too many books)
  • Video Games (Been a gamer for close to 23 years now)
  • Working Out/Martial Arts (Wing Chun/Oyama Karate mostly. Some historical swordplay as well.)
  • History (Military History is my specialty)
  • Zoology
  • Art (Mostly Illustrations. Used to be good. Am picking it back up)
  • Voice Acting/Singing
  • Tabletop Gaming (Started late in the game. Been at it for 3 years. I was the kid who bought the monster manuals and D&D books just for the lore for the longest time. I've played 3.5e, 5e, Star Wars D20, Edge of the Empire, PF, and PF2.)
  • Weaponry of all kinds
  • Anime (mostly action/shonen. DBZ & YYH being my favorites)
  • Movies (Action/War/Drama films being my go-to)
  • Music (Rock of all kinds, as well as historical folk songs, sea shanties, pub songs, a bit of classical music, etc)
  • Guitar (am learning to play, but being left handed makes it challenging)
  • There's more but if you care enough you can PM me :P




Roleplay F.A.Q.

  • Fantasy, Sci Fi, and Historical are my genres. Fantasy being my favorite and Sci Fi/Historical being close seconds.
  • Advanced / Nation / 1x1 / Casual (only in certain circumstances)
  • I generally write at the 'Advanced Level' meaning 4+ Paragraphs with good grammar.
  • I am usually busy with many projects and RPs, but if you wish to do a 1x1 with me, you'll need to present your case. Those I already do it with have my trust as a Roleplayer.
  • I love many, many fictional universes so me trying to list them all is an effort in futility!






Me

Most Recent Posts

Markus often felt like a pariah, unable to relate even to other mercs. Hunted by the Terran government, the people he once fought and nearly died for, estranged from his family, and unable to keep a partner because they either died, betrayed him, or were fed up with his ways. Yet miraculously, he felt a kinship with his fellow hunters in room D17 in The Gods Eye this night. Because like them, he was not averse to hot women, and uniquely, especially not hot women actively saving his life.

When the woman had come up on stage, sauntering forward in her voluminous dress, Markus had noticed her eyes darting around the room, even landing on him for a brief moment. He had initially assumed she was scanning the room to gauge if the crowd was rowdy enough to be a danger to her, but now he realized he had misread her. She had a good voice, but Markus was too on edge to really appreciate her singing, or even her beauty after a long glance, too preoccupied with his usual suspicions of keeping an eye on the room. Once he had been invited for a job with a dive gang named the Hearkeners only to realize they had been locked in with gas set on them. Markus had escaped with a few of them, only realizing later the job had been a lure to kill the entire gang by a group of enforcers acting under a loose interpretation of the law.

But he still couldn't see all angles, and the singer whom he had delegated to the background, had leaped over the crowd of mutants and toughs and had beaten a would-be assassin with a practiced skill. He might have done it a bit differently, but then again he had never taken down an assassin with a mic-stand in a dress, so he reminded himself he shouldn't judge.

The crowd had gathered around, watching her give the crowd a bow, and then shaking her head as she lifted herself up to get any potential debris from the shattered armor out of her thick locks. Markus noticed a small pistol, carefully concealed, strapped to the small of her back. The tension in the room was palpable, more than a few eyes turning to Markus when he stood up right behind her, and with a sudden movement, took his jacket off, revealing his Secare Saber, a blade that could cut through the plate of an armored transport when activate.

Instead, he gently placed his jacket on her (deceptively) slender shoulders, causing her to meet his eyes.

"Thanks," He said simply. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but they're free here. Maybe after?"

"I might be free," She replied.

Markus took that for what it was, a subtle (albeit coy) acceptance of partnering up. If they were about to become adversaries, there would be no drinks, would there? He pulled a chair out for her to sit in.

The crowd murmured, there were even growls from some of the more bestial mutants. Markus was certain if they caught the nuance of the statement, there would be a riot. The towering Ogros stepped through the crowd, and leaned down to poke the prone body of the fallen bounty hunter. Its body was enormous, covered in thick skin like leather and a wide face that spoke of limited intelligence. "Can I has?" it asked Jocasta slowly, apparently believing her kill meant she owned the corpse now.

"Knock yourself out." She said, turning to take the seat offered to her.

"Huergh?" It grumbled, clearly confused by the turn of phrase.

"It means yes, ya moron." A hardened mercenary remarked, his 6-gauge combat shotgun ready in case the Ogros took offense to his insult.

Markus returned to his seat, glancing at a diminutive morlock that had almost snagged it for himself while the merc was away. The short mutant blanched and lopped back into the crowd, unwilling to remain under his gaze for too long. He took his seat again and grabbed his drink. Right now, any of the hunters that were still watching likely thought the two of them were about to flirt, both being relatively good looking (especially for this crowd) but that was the furthest thing from his mind. Whoever she was, she wasn't a singer. Well, not one hired for here, anyway. Which meant she was skilled in infiltration and subterfuge. She handled herself relatively well in close combat, and she was well informed. All good traits to have in a partner for a job as lucrative as this was likely to be. There were a few bounty hunters here that might be able to replicate those skills, but most were blunt instruments through and through, and the fact she had saved his life meant he trusted her more than the bounty hunters that were likely to shoot him in the back.

Plus, he had to admit, he was intrigued on how she knew what to look for and why she saved him. Was the bounty hunter a plant? Was this woman secretly working for the UNSG? Probably not, but even if she was an agent for the latter, he preferred to have his enemy in his sights than somewhere in the shadows. And if she was just a beautiful woman and a hunter like him, then he really did owe her for saving his skin.
Galt was not completely lost to what Vincent was talking about. He even understood his side, to a limited degree. But that by no means meant that he agreed with it. The new fiance did not think a marriage was meant to be scrutinized in this particular way other than under the most dire of circumstances, but he also understood there was trauma there, in both Silke and Vincent to some degree, and it would not be so easy as to talk it away. This was something Galt and Silke would have to endure, meaning Vincent's protests. But Galt also knew there really was nothing Vincent could do, short of challenging Galt to a duel or abducting his sister. Granted, Silke wasn't quite as staunch in her certainty as Galt, but the newly christened noble knew Silke felt the way he did.

"Do you think it's only been agreement and smiles since I've known her?" Galt asked, almost laughing. "You've known her your whole life. When was the last time she was engaged? You have to fight her to get her to sleep at a reasonable hour, you think this was easy? Of course she was apprehensive about it, but I wasn't forceful either. We spoke like adults and she agreed, and then we rode together and spent the afternoon in the cabin. But even before our ride, do you really think if this was something Silke knew in her heart was wrong, that she would have gone through with it, anyway?"

Galt shook his head, knowing in his heart that what Vincent was asking for was not rational. That this stemmed from a place of pain as much as Silke's experiences did. "I might be born a commoner, but I know marriage is not happiness all of the time. Nothing in life is. I used to think if I had money and position that all of my problems would go away, but the nobility are as miserable as anyone, just in a different way. I look at your sister and I see someone that works and stresses just as much as a farmer delayed with his monthly rent, managing people's lives and trying to keep his head above water. But you listen to me..."

Galt poked Vincent's chest. Not in an aggressive manner, but to gather his full attention lest he be lost in thought of making up a rebuttal. "She works herself ragged staying here, and you've never been able to convince her to stop. The only thing new in her life, the only thing that's had her take stock and turn in early to get some much needed sleep, is me. You're a fine man, Vincent, but if you really cared about her, and I know you do, you'll see this is something you don't want to ruin. Her life before today would see her hair go grey before she sees fifty winters. Let her live a different life, or you'll only end up grinding her until there's nothing left. And if Silke insists on losing her health in her work and worries, you're damn right I'll fight her, for her sake. I've done it ever since I've met her, and I'm willing to live the rest of my life doing it. You want me to ask her what her plans are? I will when I feel the time is right, but only then, because this is a happy occasion, and I hope sometime you look back and realize that."

Galt quieted, breathing through his nose as he looked at Vincent. "...Now, she's not the only one that's had a long day. I know we both have. Regardless, I appreciate your honesty, let's both think on what the other has said and get some sleep."
Date: April 24th, 2519 A.D.
Sector: Tertius Decimus
System: Eurymaces
Location: The Orbital Station The God's Eye near Mazda, orbiting the moon Ahura.




Death.

Death was a funny thing, someone once told him. It was the last real frontier of human experience, and yet it's still the closest thing to home someone will ever feel. Without death, life wasn't worth living. The absence of it only brought fatigue and pain, and kept the particles that made up man from returning to the stars.

It was funny what hired killers and soldiers of fortune would say to justify what they did for a living. Markus wasn't cold-blooded by his own estimation, but at least he was honest. He killed for three things: money, survival, and revenge. He could get all three from the life of a mercenary, and the last seven years he had lived that life, traveling from place to place, signing contract after contract. There was no shortage of battles, skirmishes, or odd jobs in the once-vibrant interstellar conglomerate humanity once called a civilization. Luckily, the corpse was still fresh. There was still warmth in there, the various moving parts were only now starting to realize the failure of the heart. If the galaxy did not provide a shock to its system soon, there would be no turning back.

Markus had seen the Eye of Gods through the shuttle window. It gingerly spun in orbit like the rings of old saturn, lights drifting to and from it akin to worker bees and their hive. Some were likely commercial vessels, but Markus was certain the brunt of them were representatives and administrative agents, with no small amount of private security as well. The space station was a relic of the golden age, clearly made of Titanium-B, one of the most durable sets of military grade plating ever conceived. The tethers beneath it were thin at this vantage point, looking like naught but filigree in the light of the system's star. He glanced behind him, the other two men in the passenger seats uninterested in the sights. One was a bald headed man from Maladan, with a stout physique from the high gravity and a cauliflower nose from bad decisions. The other was a horn falgor, a strain of mutant that looked like a man crossed with a wildebeest, communicating solely through grunts and howls. Markus's falgor was a bit rusty, but he did not seem too rude from the mutterings he heard.

The shuttle docked without incident, the hatch depressurizing with a hiss before the light blinked on, allowing them to stand and make their exits. It was hard to question whether these two toughs were here for the same reason as he. There would be no point in two armed thugs without any sign of identification going to The Gods Eye, unless they were going for the same reason Markus was.

He stepped out into the wide atrium, and noticed with small relief he didn't stick out like a sore thumb as much as he thought. Markus was lean and fierce, with strong shoulders and long legs. The soldier-of-fortune sported military fatigue bottoms, with a multi-tool belt. At his hip was a long blade; a Secare Saber, made specifically for Terran military officers. Slung across his shoulder was a strap that looped through a Daiedron-C87, a versatile assault rifle of bullpup design. Across his chest was a composite plate of vibron-fiber, and on his head was a wide brimmed hat that shielded his eyes. He had a mane of dark hair and the beginnings of a stubble on his chin. He had a way about him that made every movement look like the prelude to something dangerous.

But in the crowd was a handful of men that looked even less welcoming than him. Entrepreneurial men and women, and even a few mutants stepped off shuttles or entered from freighter bays into the spacious lobby, filling the packed area more, but the mercs pockmarked in the flows of travelers were easy to spot. There was a central commons office to the left where a sizeable group congregated before an overworked clerk, but the rest of the area was sectioned off into two. The center lead to a bridge, made for walking and waiting, and the right and past the office on the left were numerable vendors and businesses. Food and drink and souvenirs were sold next to chip-loaders, holo-dreams, and even a droid's shop. Markus took only a moment to take stock of his surroundings, and then walked forward without even looking at the hawkers trying to grab his attention for a quick buck.

As the Red God would have it, he did not have to walk far. Once in the station proper, the polytile floors of the vast corridor were easily navigable, though fraught with business. Clerk assistants, administrative agents, and a myriad of other personnel marched past one another with barely a moment to glance up or apologize if they bumped into someone. Yet they all gave Markus and the two hunters that had shuttled with him a wide berth, along with a few other parties of equally surly looking pedestrians that walked in the same direction, like schools of fish parting for stalking sharks, ready to swim away in case any tried to take a bite. Despite the cosmopolitan nature of the station, The Gods Eye had no shortage of seedy people loitering. High-ranked gang leaders and corrupt executive assistants smoking syn-sticks with low-life courtiers and mercs around every alcove, either protecting the lanes of the station or waiting to meet the man himself to legitimize themselves into a position that might make real money.

Within a minute, Markus found himself in a more vacant area of the station. He had just been following the signs flashing on the holo-displays above, indicating all independent contractors looking to apply for job 34-2170 merely needed to make their way to room 'Delta 17' on the main floor of the station. The archway before him flashed with D17 in big red letters, and he stepped through. To his surprise, what had appeared to be an empty room had merely been a camoflauge; a portal that simulated an image whilst hiding the truth just inside. Markus nearly bumped into an Orgos, a heavily built mutant that towered over normal men. It didn't notice Markus, too wide to see him skirt around behind him and making it to the chamber proper.

The room was large, the metallic walls sand colored and made to look fiery by the warm lights. Small marks and old dents betrayed the fact this chamber had been used to greet mercs before, in less agreeable circumstances. Bawdy music played from a small band mostly consisting of scantily clad women on the left, a small stage separated from the crowd by a small, transparent energy shield. On the main floor, there were four tables that sat four each, and small ethanol-electric droids on treads bringing drinks back and forth from a bar, a blue haired bar woman working frantically to fulfill every order given to her by the automated waiters. At the back of the room, there was a platform, flanked by guards armed with gauss-rifles. In fact even past the crowd, Markus saw there were similarly armed men stationed every five meters around the room, perfectly at attention. Fourteen in all, if he had to guess. Despite the size of the chamber, due to how heavily armed everyone was, it made the conglomerate of two dozen mercs, bounty hunters, thugs, and mutants seem packed.

Markus found a space of the wall near the bar, having just settled himself when a diminutive droid of boxy design rolled up to him. A monochromatic screen lit up at its center, displaying a selection of drinks.

"Null's Choice," He said. Voice activated, the drink lit up on the screen before it backed up gingerly and spun around to fulfill its algorithmic task.


Dramatis Personae:

Markus (of) Sartorius

Patron: Baron Adan Galanis
Target: Idan Galanis
Whilst I was perturbed at Emmaline's quick usage of her will to dominate a subject, I reminded myself he was either a worshiper of the great enemy, or someone aiding in its cause. As long as she did not shatter the fool's mind until I found out, I would bite my lip for now. Rather, I holstered my pistol and kept my powersword under the fabric of my cloak, concealing it along with my armor. Voidships were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of meters in length, but I was intimately familiar with the design of the majority of Imperial warships. It was required in order to continue the alias of Blasius Deckard, who grew up amongst the Saturn naval shipyards in Sol. We had arrived in the engine deck of the ship, and if I was correct, we needed only to travel a relatively short distance to reach the captain's deck.

I ordered Clara to lower her rifle and conceal it, and the three of us followed the mesmerized spacer.

Perhaps it was lucky Emmaline had reacted as she had, for as soon as we turned the corner there was a congregation of enginemen welding a coupling the size of an old terran bus, whilst beyond them, maintenance crews marched across the breadth of the deck, methodically checking for leaks or tweaks that needed to be made to keep the ship at optimal operation. Sparks flew as the engineers shouted to one another, the ship's thrumming louder now that we passed by the main power of the ship.

We arrived at the plaza that was made before the lift that rose to varying levels. A handful of deckhands walked passed, intent on their work and only granting us a cursory glance. The baroque archway was alight with ethereal lights of operation. A sudden woosh of air brought our attention to the lift, and from above, the platform lowered down. Upon it was an officer, a small contingent of what looked to be militarum irregulars, and a tall, lithe, and very alien figure dressed in obsidian armor. Framing the visor were two pointed ears, and above was a tall head of dark hair tied in a ponytail. I remained impassive, not having expected one of the blasted eldar but having already prepared myself for the unexpected. Clara shifted uneasily but did not comment.

The xenos glanced in our direction, but mercifully followed the officer and the handful of men as they marched down the gangway from whence we came.

"This is the way to the captain's deck, mistress..." the man said, bowing low before Emmaline.

"Take us up to the correct floor." She ordered.

"A thousand apologies, but I do not have the access. It is the top floor however..." He said sheepishly, lowering himself from the shame of not fully providing for his new master.

"Who does? Speak!" Emmaline demanded, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

He abased himself, and I grew more nervous at his mannerism in front of potential eyes. "The officers, mistress. The closest would be Lieutenant Officer Naftor Sybdol, the man who just walked out of this area. He could help you ascend, please do not throw me aside!"
Boris stared at her for many long moments, his blue eyes alight like small flames. He truly did have a penetrating gaze. Perhaps the rumors of him being one of Ulric's chosen was true.

It was hard to decipher what exactly he was thinking, but finally, mercifully, he looked away from the buxom woman's face and turned to Kasimir. "It seems you've pissed some people off."

Kasimir noticed Eleanor had to bite her lip to keep from giggling, either from nervousness or the abrupt manner in which he spoke after hearing her out. The hawkeyed bastard turned to his father, the two now close. It was clear Kasimir presumably favored his mother in many ways. His hair was darker than Boris's, as was his unshaven chin that threatened to form into a rough goatee if he didn't cut it soon. He was also of a leaner build, but both were tall and strong men, and Kasimir had a bit of Todbringer's cheekbones in him.

"I've always had that gift," He said, and his eyes flicked at Eleanor as she was one of the most recent aristocrats he had annoyed. Odd, he always seemed to be inciting incidents with nobility but he got along with the common folk just fine. Strange that, he thought whilst hiding the wry smirk that was beginning to form.

"Well, luckily for you, it did not lead to your death or imprisonment this time. But seeing as you're here and now involved, I will grant you leave to aid in investigating these matters." The graf rumbled, which brought a raised eyebrow from Kasimir. His father grunted. "You've precious little left to do but cause more trouble, and I imagine you would rather busy yourself than sitting in your room all day and attending the occasional banquet. Whether you were framed or not, there is still a killer about."

Boris turned, his resplendent red cloak swaying as he did so. Without looking back, he added: "Oh, and it seems the lady here is a potential victim or associate in these matters. Since her host is dead, you will accompany her to whatever matters she requires, keep her from harm, and make sure she also stays out of trouble."

"What!?" They both exclaimed in unison. Kasimir was a bit too put off to notice the small amount of Imperial creeping into her voice.

Boris laughed like a donkey, the sound echoing across the stone chamber. "Until she returns to her homeland once the snows melt, she is without a host or guide, and you represent me, as much as we both are not keen on that idea. See to it, boy, or you'll be thrown into the dungeons for an entirely different matter than murder."
Beren skipped a rock into the water. Buri let out a soft whistle, his darkvision letting him see the entirety of the stone's flight.

"Strong as an anvilgard," Buri compliment, referring to the esteemed, heavily armored tunnel fighters of his kin. Beren doubted that, but it was nice to hear. Buri groaned and got off his rump, dusting himself off before he began rummaging in his pack for something to eat. "What I wouldn't give for a pint of Dromegar's Finest with some salted pork."

Beren tossed a stone up and caught it casually, doing so over and over as he responded back to Buri.

"I'm hungry too, but I'm more tired than anything, I think." He admitted, and glanced at Jocasta's slumbering form. The light wind brushed against his skin lightly, and it felt good. He briefly wondered if they were exposed out here, just by the lake. They had opted not to make a fire, but see by the very soft light from small crevasses above. Once you were in the dark long enough, even human eyes could become used to such an environment to a point, but even so he knew he was more used to it than any man he had ever met. Jocasta was out of her element down here, no wonder she was tired.

He turned to Buri, the dwarf pulling out a bit of his beef jerky and scarfing it down. Beren knelt beside him, and the dwarf gave him a guarded look. Beren raised an eyebrow, and after a few long moments the fat merchant sighed and handed him a few scraps of the meat. Beren gave him a thanks in dwarvish and popped them into his mouth, and the two took turns taking swigs from the water flasks.

"'Least we can refill them," Buri whispered in dwarvish.

"Aye, Runar's blessing." Beren agreed, and then gave a grunt for a laugh. "This adventure's been about as smooth as a donkey's ass though."

"And half as valuable," Buri complained. "But we're not fermented yet. Though what I wouldn't give to be back in my storeroom counting the stock and coins. Druge, Fahke, Hrom..." Beren recognized those are various terms for gold, specifically numeric representations of gold. Dwarves coveted the mineral so much, they even had a separate, holy counting system for coins of that most precious of metals.

"I would like to see you in your element," Beren laughed. "If survival isn't your strongsuit, you must be a great master of goods."

The dwarf snorted. He was the first to admit he was not a warrior dwarf like the rest, save perhaps Varin the beardling. He stood up once more, attempting to tower over Beren, though even sitting down, they were nearly eye level. "Boy, I could sell the shirt off yer back and the teeth out yer mouth before you even knew we had begun negotiating!" He boasted, fat hands on his hips. "The old priest brought me here so I could appraise what riches we found, but it feels like that won't be happening anytime soon, Woegrim take me."

"You're not done yet. We just need to-" Beren glanced back at Jocasta to keep an eye on her.

She was gone. He blinked, and his fine eyes caught a shape in the shallows of the gently lapping water. He gasped when he saw the white hand of Jocasta slipping beneath the surface, her silhouette drifting deeper into the waves. Beren scrambled to his feet, and like a hound on the chase, he did not think twice. The eru'dai sprinted to the edge of the lake and dove in, hands together and body streamlined as any born swimmer did. It took him all of three seconds to reach her, grabbing her arm. To his distress, her eyes were still closed and bubbles lazily floated out of her mouth. He pulled, but something kept her down. Panicking, he grabbed the axe at his belt, ready to chop off whatever tentacled monstrosity had her in its grasp, but when he looked passed her, he was shocked to see she had been snagged by a small torrent of swirling water.

Suddenly it yanked the both of them deeper, and soon the faint light from above was gone. Beren felt cold water flow past him as the two of them were dragged inexorably down, down into the unknown depths where horrible, nameless things dwelled. Beren suddenly felt an immense pressure on his skull, and the last thing he remembered was letting go of Jocasta's hand, a feeling of despair welling up inside of him.




The floor was mostly smooth stone, though the occasional barnacle and crawling, alien crustacean meandered about. Where the light came from, it was hard to gauge. Somehow, her immediate surroundings were visible and alight. Water slowly dripped onto the floor, and Jocasta lifted her head to behold what lay before her.

All around her were the walls of broken sea vessel, having fallen to the depths of the lake long ago. The design was unknown to her, derelict and wrong in appearance. The material was not made of wood, and it curved where it should have pushed out, and looked bloated where it should have swept inward in its build. It was easy to see she was underwater, because by some strange magic, a wall of water a few meters before her was kept at bay, and it was the same behind her. Beside her, Beren lay unconscious beside her, but thankfully when she checked, he was breathing and alive. In fact, it seemed only the inside of the strange ship had breathable air, where the pressure was somehow equalized. As she looked back at the front barrier of water, she gasped. Beyond it was a vast figure, just at the edge of her vision.

"We will speak, woman. You have been marked, and must answer my questions..."
In Hi! 9 days ago Forum: Introduce Yourself
Welcome!
"Stay here," Alcander told Teajay and Eleanor, gently lowering himself into the storage room. The three of them weren't super close, but he felt they knew well enough he was not trying to coddle or patronize them. He wanted to see the crime scene first, as he had the most extensive background in investigations. Unfortunately, as he lowered himself, he realized the water damage had done more to ruin the crime scene than a bull could have. His boots touched the wooden floor with a wet smack. Under him was a soaked copy of a once-beautiful limited edition copy of Crime and Punishment.

They did not remove the roof when it was pouring, he surmised. Otherwise they would have risked destroying whatever they wanted to find. Magic could have come into play, but the more mundane answer was likely the most probable, even considering the 'orgy of evidence' they had found on various arcane practices. The beams of light from above cut a swathe through the piles of mostly useless books and memorabilia, catching the waves of dust freely floating in the air.

Logic dictates that they were attempting to acquire a book, unless some small nick-knack looking object was their primary target. Unfortunately he could not even begin to wade through the majority of these books, even if they were not weather-beaten. He stepped idly through the mounds of wet paper and leather, making his way to the door that led further into the building. He checked to make sure it was still locked, using a cloth to mask his fingerprints, before a dias caught his eyes.

Alcander approached, surprised to find the auction ledger already opened. He glanced up, as if he did not already know the hole in the roof was not present above him. It was opened on page 34, with a list of dates, items, and relative locations. He looked for creases on the paper, something a man in a hurry might leave. Alcander's observant eye caught a crease and a peculiar name, simultaneously.

"Van de Oneindige Mogelijkheden Van Inkt," He murmured, running a finger over the name. It was one of the few volumes not titled in english. His mind reached back into his years in academia, trying to decipher the words. He was no linguist, but he liked to think he had a better grasp on langauage than most people. If his hunch was right, it roughly translated to: "From...the... infinite...." He couldn't decipher the rest, and he ran a hand through his hair. They could check the translation later. Instead he checked the log, eyes scanning the location it was supposed to be stashed in. The detective turned and rummaged through the book pile that had mercifully been spared from the weather, only to realize after a minute that the search was futile.

The Grimoire was missing.

He strode back under the light, gazing up at the two women who still peered down. Alcander shielded his eyes from the dull light. "I think I know what they were looking for..."
@Dragon Arts I'll trust you. And welcome!
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet