Dr-Studios

Just a quick note everyone.

I'm headed to St Louis this weekend for Kawa Kon with my GF and her friend for a weekend of anime goodness. So for those of you who may also be heading to the Kon, be on the lookout for ~DR the Art God walking around Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I'll be doing cheap commisions as well, because hey, I need a quick buck or three.

Chapter 1: Staring Through the Shadows.

Interstate 70, a stretch of highway that winds from Illinois to Utah: carving a path through the heartland of America. Semi-trucks and motorists travel this road more during the summer than any other time of the year. A family vacation, the summer break, I-70 quickly became a packed highway of road rage and honking horns with the rising temperature.

A tan colored car drove along, crossing the border between Kansas and Colorado. This automobile was a 92 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with its fair share of dented metal and paint swaps. A magnetic antenna clung to the top of the car, connecting to the citizen’s ban radio sitting on the floorboard.

The interior of the Oldsmobile was black fabric and plastic. An electronic speedometer and trip meter in the dashboard recorded how far the driver had gone. The two forward windows were rolled down, rather than run the air conditioning.

The driver’s hair flapped in the wind blowing in through the open windows. It was long and dark, tied up with a blue hair-tie into a ponytail. Long bangs blasted in wild directions over the driver’s eyes hovering over the left side. The eyes were hazel green, squinting against the blasting wind and flaying hair.

A cigarette rested between his lips. Half gone, the smoke blasted into the air. Sitting in the passenger seat was a folded light-tan trench coat. Resting on the coat coat was a black leather-bound book. Sticky notes of every color jutted out from the pages, making the book look like a neon peacock.

Vincent Nelson watched the early morning horizon of I-70 as he drove into Colorado. Only into his second decade of life, he had already made a name for himself in the world of investigation. When he was 15 he had shed light on a local serial murder. Picking up on the pattern of murders and clues left behind, he pointed the police in the right direction. Awarded for his efforts, he began his own detective agency right out of high school.

While Vincent constantly dealt with mostly small cases, his area of interest was the strange and unusual. He had an obsession with the occult, the strange, the supernatural. In short, he was a paranormal private investigator, and the book that sat on his coat was his journal.

Vincent had experienced the paranormal before. His family had moved constantly and one of their homes was haunted. The young Vincent had enough run-ins with their resident ghost that his interest in the supernatural began to grow. Ever since then, he’s read libraries worth of information on the subject of unexplained mysteries, phenomenon, and creatures.

Aliens, Nessie, Yeti, and even more bizarre tales had passed by his eyes. Despite his attention to detail, it was too much information for him to remember. So he started a journal. To store the information he collected as well as his own case book. He started his journal, or “the Book,” as he called it.

Vincent hummed along with a song on the radio as he watched the road. Alan Jackson was singing in his famous southern drawl..

“Heh,” Vincent muttered to himself. “Go get ‘em Alan.”

He listened to the radio for another hour before he lost the signal coming from 60 miles behind him. Vincent searched the airwaves for another country station. His fingers stopped turning the dial when it came unto a news broadcast.

“… And still no news on the disappearance of Alice Fischer. The young woman is the daughter of oil well owner Gerald Fischer and the latest in a series of disappearances around the Denver area. Police have not ruled out kidnapping as of yet, however, without the arrival of a ransom note, the worst is feared…”

Alice Fischer, Vincent thought to himself, his eyes narrowing. The reason I’m driving out here…

* * *

Vincent sat in his office, one room of his home. Newspapers and tabloids littered the floor and stacks of books were ready to burst out of their cramped shelves. Framed pictures sat in the window sill to his right, one of which was his debut into the detective business. A newspaper clipping that had the headline: Teen Sleuth Cracks Case.

He sat behind his desk, a cigarette in his mouth, reading the newspaper. His last case was over. He helped out the police on occasion, his insight on par with the seasoned veterans. For the most part, he ran his own agency to help the normal folks. The gratitude of the people he worked for was enough for him.

Although pay never hurt.

His interest had gathered a reputation that the police called him in when the crime scenes were too weird. He investigated on his own, and usually come up with nothing, or his main lead would disappear the minute he turned his back.

He wore a frown on his face as he read the newspaper. Lately he had been bored. There were no cases for the past week. His small library of occult information had been read and re-read for the last two years. All the information he had accumulated was stored within his journal. The Book rested on his desk, next to the phone.

Vincent was surprised by the sound of his phone actually ringing. He set the newspaper down and picked up the receiver. Was it a wrong number? Or his mom telling him she lost his cell number again?

“Hello?” he said into the receiver.

“Is this Nelson’s Detective Agency of the Paranormal and Mundane?” replied a male voice with a slight tone of charisma. He almost sounded like a politician.

“Ye-Yes it is. What can I do for you?”

“Well Mr. Nelson, it is a pleasure to finally speak with you. Your past record is quite impressive.”

Vincent arched his eyebrows. His past record hadn’t been televised much. Most of his work was with the police community within his home town. Even if anyone had heard of him, it would have to be a neighboring police station.

“I’m flattered to hear such a thing, but I doubt someone would call just to acknowledge my past accomplishments.”

He heard a chuckle come from the other side. “Always one to the point, eh Mr. Nelson?”

“You could say that. Now, what can I help you with?”

“In short, Mr. Nelson, a few people have gone missing: one of them the daughter of a wealthy family. The police have already gotten involved; however, at the moment they seem to be at a loss.”

Vincent opened his book and turned it to a blank page, writing with his free hand. “Go on…”

“Recently a girl by the name of Alice Fischer has gone missing. I'm sure you've heard.”

Vincent thought back. There had been an article about a missing girl. “Several more as a matter of fact. Alice is the latest.”

“That is correct.”

“Tell me something,” Vincent thought before asking. “Exactly what is your connection to this family?”

There was a slight chuckle. “Why I am merely a friend of the family. Their mental well being is something I take great care in maintaining. As you can imagine, they are devastated at the situation. I would look into it myself, however, with my schedule I cannot take a personal endeavorer into the matter, which is why I called you.”

Vincent wrote: Legit connection to family?

“Take my assurances that your trip here will be fully accommodated for. The Fischers will spare no expense in any news of their daughter,” he said, boasting with charismatic charm.

The cigarette in Vincent’s mouth almost fell out. His jaw dropped at what this caller had just said. Would he really be accommodated for his time spent… Where would he be?

“Where do the Fischer's live?” he asked, tapping his pencil on the page.

“Denver. Boulder specifically…,” and Vincent was given the street address to the grieving parents.

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning,” he said into the receiver after writing.

There was a silence on the other end of the receiver for a moment. “Very well, I shall inform the Fishers that you are on your way. Perhaps this will ease the pain nestling around their home. Good luck in your case Mr. Nelson.” Then the receiver went dead.

Vincent stared at the phone for a few seconds. He had been offered a job: this one outside the community where he had a good standing with the police. Something bothered him however.

Why would they hire him, of all reasonable and qualified persons that lived in Denver?

He wrote down something else in the Book: Questionable hiring. Watch yourself in Denver. Find true reason for being hired.

* * *

Vincent drove through the thick of Denver, sticking to Interstate 70 before catching the off-ramp on North I-25. He turned taking Route 36 straight into Boulder. The highway phased into 28th street and Vincent turned onto a street and pulled over. After a quick look at the address and at a map of Boulder he bought before leaving home, he drove through the small college town.

Something tinged at the back of his mind. Every person he saw driving or walking the streets had a smile on their faces. The entire town had a feeling of happiness and joy, like watching an old 60’s TV show. It was just slightly disturbing.

Following the directions to the Fischer’s residence, Vincent let out a low whistle. The reports about Alice being an heiress weren’t an exaggeration. Vincent was driving into the rich part of Boulder, and probably the richest part of Colorado. He passed by established homes, almost mansions. Each a different two story home with elaborate brick work. Watching for the address, he pulled over and parked the car. Getting out he reached for his trench coat and the Book. He checked the inside holders in the tan jacket.

Resting inside a set of holders was a pair of sai. On his belt was a thin holster, he reached for a foot-long steel cylinder. On the middle of the cylinder was a twisting cap. He set the cylinder and sai back onto the seat, covering them with the city map. Wouldn't need weapons for this stop. Vincent grabbed the Book and slid it inside one of his inner pockets.

Locking his car, he walked up the driveway to the house that belonged to the Fischers.

* * *

Vincent looked into the red eyes of Mrs. Maggie Fischer, the hours of crying and restless nights showed their toll on the middle-aged woman. He sat in a cushioned chair in the center of a large room. The room they were in was what Vincent considered the living room. Portraits and fine items rested on the walls and various shelves. Everything with a nice sheen to the edges of the wall furnishings. The room itself was large, much larger than any single room Vincent had been in. In fact it would have been able to hold most of his current apartment.

Mrs. Fischer was dressed in slightly fancy clothes. A multi-colored blouse with Native American designs covered over with a light denim vest. Her blond hair graying at the roots, showing her age. She wore blue jeans and leather cowboy boots. The woman moved her glasses to rub the tears in her eyes away.

Standing a few feet behind his wife, Gerald Fischer was a living tribute to the male stereotype of being emotionless, but even Vincent could tell the concern, anger, and worry in his stance. He was wearing blue jeans as well, his red plaid shirt tucked in under a leather black belt with a decorative belt buckle.

Vincent had done some research into the Fischers after taking the job itself.

The Fischers were a family who owned several oil wells and a few fields along the boarder between Colorado and Kansas. Many of them had been owned and maintained for nearly 40 years, passed down through the family. The company had several backers and connections within Denver, Hays, and Colorado Springs, mostly local businesses that could use the money and oil, and few large business conglomerates. Of course with the war in the Middle East, and gas prices going up, the Fischers were well off.

And that could mean trouble for the family.

He looked back at the red-eyed Mrs. Fischer.

“When was the last time you saw Alice?” he asked calmly.

Mrs. Fischer sniffed and tried to regain her composure. “It was four days ago, the afternoon.”

Vincent pulled out the Book and began taking the woman’s testimony.

“Was there any reason she might run away? A family dispute?” he asked.

Tears began forming in the woman’s eyes once more. “No, no,” she said, stifling back her sobbing. “It was a normal day. Gerald was visiting a consultant in Denver, Alice was,” she rubbed her eyes. “Alice was getting ready to go out with her friends and she told me she’d be back by... by…” The stress of remembering the last instant she had seen her daughter finally caught up with Maggie and she broke down into tears.

Gerald Fischer had finally had enough of the questioning, turning to Vincent.

“Can’t you stop pestering my wife?! She’s already told you everything she knows!”

Vincent stared Gerald Fisher in the eyes, “Mr. Fischer, please. I’m trying to help. This is a very emotional time for you and your wife, but I need every detail you can give me. No matter how small it is it could determine whether Alice is found or not.”

Gerald walked over and sat next to his wife, wrapping an arm around her. He turned towards Vincent, “We’ve already told everything we know to the police. Please, just leave us to cope and pray for her safety.”

Vincent let out a sigh as he closed the Book and stood up. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. I'll update you on what I find.” He turned to leave.

“Wait.” Vincent turned back and looked at Gerald Fischer. The two men stared at each other for a moment before the elder one looked away. Vincent drew in a breath through his nose. There was something about Gerald's comment that told the detective there was more he wanted to say. “Just… go.”

He walked to the door, setting a cigarette in his mouth, ready to light the moment he walked out the front door. Just as he put his hand on the door knob, the door bell rang. Vincent blinked in surprise before turning the knob.

Standing in front of Vincent was a man, standing about four inches shorter than he was. He had wild, fiery, hair and a large smile that nearly went from ear to ear. Dressed in black clothes, he had a white bow-tie around his collar. Resting in his hands was a Bible, the giant gold cross reflecting the morning sun. For what he could tell, Vincent thought the man was a preist or pastor. Vincent was taken aback by the fact that the smile the man was wearing looked inhuman and painful.

“Excuse me,” the man said never changing his smile. “Are you Gerald Fischer?”

Vincent shook his head. “He's inside. Who are you?”

“Why I’m Sean Henry, the leader of the Blissful Friends Network. Would you like to join our organization?” the man replied, looking at Vincent with hope in his eyes.

“Eh,” Vincent replied as he started to walk past Henry. “Sorry, but I’ll have to pass. I’m only here for a few days, a week at best.”

“That’s a shame. Perhaps you could join our other organizations. You can visit our website for more information,” Henry said as he handed Vincent a brochure from his pocket.

“Sure. I’ll do that.” Vincent walked down the driveway as Sean Henry went inside the Fischers’ home.

Vincent thought to himself about Henry, The Fischers need some counseling, who better than a priest? Creepy smile though.

As he stepped up to his car, something tugged at the edge of his senses. It was a strange feeling, almost a ping of anger, fear, hatred, and death. Vincent’s eyes went back up to the Fischers’ house and he stared before opening the driver-side door and driving off towards the Boulder Police station.

* * *

“Now why should I tell you anything about the Fischer case?”

Maxwell Parker had been on the police force long enough to recognize an amateur when he saw one. Well into his early forties, Max had a five o'clock shadow that hadn't been shaved in the last few days. As he wrestled with the normal stress of managing the Denver Police Force, he occasionally had to deal with private detectives who thought they could find something his men couldn't. The young man in his office wasn't any different.

The man had a scent of cigarette smoke around him, and his eyes were softly narrowed, almost looking like he was stoned or just out of it. His tan trench coat was out of season, and he needed a hair cut. Most of all he needed to get a clue.

“Look Nelson,” Max growled. “I don't care if you're a private investigator or not. We can't give you any information other than what the reporters were given. Anything else and the people's lives are as good as gone.”

Vincent looked the chief of police in the eyes before responding. “I need what information you have. Mrs. Fischer is too devastated about the ordeal and her husband kicked me out before I could get anything. I need that information if the families are going to have any closure.”

Parker looked at Vincent, staring the younger man in the eyes. There was defiance and pride mixed in the older man’s eyes.

“Listen small fry,” he said, glaring at Vincent. “I’ve seen more shit in the last week than you’ll see your whole life. Now unless you wanna end up in the tank for the next day, get out of my office while I’m still in a good mood.”

Vincent scowled at the chief before turning and leaving the office.

One thing's for sure, my rep doesn't go past home.

He walked out into the main offices of the precinct. Phones rang periodically, while officers brought in suspects to be interrogated and lawyers came in to give their defendants a fighting chance.

Without that info, I don’t have a decent direction to go in, Vincent thought to himself as he headed for the stairway. Alice Fischer and the others might as well be dead. The Denver and Boulder cops have too much ground to cover and they have to deal with the other shit that happens in this town.

His eyebrows twitched as he worked his way down the stairway and into the crowded first floor. Officers moved constantly around, civilians coming in, the place was buzzing with activity.

And I can’t wait to go back home where I don’t have to deal with the crowds of the city.

Vincent had always had a slight problem with crowds. It could be classified as agoraphobia, a fear of crowded places, only Vincent didn’t lose his cool in those situations. Usually one of his eyes would start twitching or he’d fiddle with his lighter. He had just arrived to the Denver Police Station after a chat with the Boulder police.

Neither the Boulder nor Denver police were willing to give out any information about the missing people, even though the two forces had been working together for the last week. He snorted under his breath as he made his way for the front door.

* * *

Amanda Bonner was your typical teenager. Going through the stress of finishing high school and getting ready for college. The pressure of trying to maintain a figure demanded of by the glamorous media, while worrying about how she caught the boy's eye. She was petite and wearing a t-shirt that was a little tight, showing off her torso in decent detail.

Vincent considered the young woman attractive, but he had business here, correcting his wandering eyes.

“I don't know why you keep asking me. I don't know anything about what happened to Alice,” she complained.

“Amanda!” her mother barked. “I'm sorry Mr. Nelson. It's just been tough on my daughter.”

“Understandable,” the detective replied. “It's been tough on everyone. Were you close with Alice?”

“Yeah. We've known each other since middle-school an' stuff.”

This was the third friend of Alice Fischer that Vincent had managed to talk to. After reading the newspapers from the past week, he checked the addresses of her friends who had seen her last. Amanda was the last one on the list who had reportedly been with Alice on the last day she was seen.

“What were you planning to do that night?”

“Just... go out. You know. Hang out an' stuff.”

“Amanda!”

“What? It's not like we were doing anything illegal.”

Something struck Vincent about the way the girl was acting. She was hiding something.

“Nothing illegal huh,” he asked. “What didn't you do that was so illegal?”

Amanda started to show her frustration. “Nothing! We just went out to a few places. Had dinner. That's it.”

Vincent inhaled sharply, almost sniffing the air. No, it wasn't.

“You're about what, Amanda? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

She seemed taken off by the question, as did her mother. “I'm seventeen.”

“Now there are a lot of things you could do that could be considered illegal. Going bar-hopping with fake IDs is one.”

“Are you accusing my daughter of being a whore?” the mom retorted, annoyance and anger in her voice.

“Nothing of the sort. But teenagers have a tendency to hide things from their parents. Especially if they could get in trouble for it. Something could have happened with their night on the town that they don't want many people to know about.”

Amanda started looking nervous.

Bingo.

“The way I see it. You have a healthy, active young lady. Who, like her friends, is enjoying some of her new found freedom and liberty. A bit of a thrill seeker if you will. She and her friends want to experience the more adult side of Denver night life, so they go out to places where they can do adult things. Like drink.”

“I will not stand by here and have you insult my girl like this Mr. Nelson...”

“No...it's true...” Vincent and her mother looked at Amanda as she lowered her eyes to the table.

“What?!” her mother exclaimed.

“Mrs. Bonnner, please,” Vincent stopped the tongue lashing. “What happened”

“It was late. We had gotten together, all dressed up for this bar we heard about. It was a goth place. Lots of bats and gargoyles.”

“Amanda!”

“Mrs. Bonnner, please! Go on.”

“We got there, and it was pretty late. Since it was a weekened, we could stay out later. We had a few drinks while we were there. Some guys hit on us, but we ignored them.”

“You were drinking?!” her mom shouted, sending Amanda wincing back.

“It's okay for now. Go on Amanda.”

“Well,” she continued. “We were there for a few hours. Drinking and stuff. Alice went to the bathroom and met this guy somewhere along the way. He was pretty messed up. Hairy, and he smelled pretty bad too. But Alice wasn't worried at all. We tried to talk her out of it, but she wasn't playing any attention to us. It was like she was in a trance or something.”

Vincent was jotting down the important parts of the story. Sure, the girl was going to get grounded and lose what little freedom she had for lying to her parents and the police, but given her situation, he couldn't blame her.

“What did he look like?”

“He was... tall. Kinda big, you know. Like he worked out a lot, but not ripped. He really sent a chill through me when I saw him.”

“Face?”

“I don't know... I didn't get a good look at him. He did have these wild eyes though. Really creepy, like he was looking at a piece of meat when he stared at you.”

Well that describes most people in Denver when they go to a bar... Vincent thought.

“What was Alice wearing?”

“It was one of those Lolita dresses. You know, black and really frilly, low cut over her chest. Here. I have a picture...” Amanda got up and went to retrieve a camera from the computer desk. As she brought it back she flipped through the pictures before showing Vincent several.

The digital screen showed him four young women, each in gothic style dress sitting around a table, with Amanda holding the camera and pointing it back at them. A girl in the second seat looked like Alice.

“Is this her?”

“Yeah.”

Vincent looked at the picture in a bit more detail. He wasn't into fashion statements, but he could see why the outfit would appeal to young girls, and guys. While the table cut off the rest of the dress from her torso down, it did show him some other factors. She was wearing a few sets of jewelry. A pair of earrings and two necklaces, one which looked like a photo-locket.

“Does she wear this stuff often?”

“She never takes off the necklace.”

“What is it?”

“It's a picture locket. It's got a picture of her parents and her dog.”

He looked over the digital picture one more time before handing it back to the girl.

“What was the name of this place?”

“It's called Mystique, it's down towards the worst part of town. And it's only open at night.”

“Thank you,” Vincent replied, writing a bit more into the Book before taking his leave.

Amanda and her other friends were going to be in a lot of trouble. However, stuff like that happened with cases like this. A group of friends go out for a good time. Something bad happens and they all agree to cover it up. Even though this information would have come in handy days ago, they were more afraid of their own skins than their friend's.

He had also considered what role the Fischer business could play in the case. That would be a better chance for the girl to survive. Business rivalries were usually bloodless. Put a little bit of pressure on the company owner to make him back down, and you spared the life of their daughter. Archaic, but effective.

After checking the business angle of the case, he wasn't so sure it could be explained so easily. The Fischer's oil wells were doing okay, but they weren't doing great. Financially they posed no threat to their partners or rivals. If the Fischers had been contacted for a ransom or anything else, they were keeping a tight lip about it.

So far the case was looking like an added victim to a murderer's spree. That was the odd thing too. No bodies had been reported of the missing persons since their disappearance. Vincent had checked the local papers, and all he could find were a rash of missing pets throughout Denver.

There was always a pattern to a serial killer. Most often it was a psychological attachment to an idea or place. They targeted certain individuals that met their requirements to indulge in some nightmarish desire. But all off the missing persons were completely different. The first had been a known prostitute working Denver's south side. Next was an old man with a loving and stable family. Such a random assortment of disappearing people meant one of two things. Either the murderer didn't care who he killed, or it was more than one murderer in Denver.

No. There was one thing he remembered. Many of the disappearances had been around Denver's worst-off area.

Of course there was no telling if it was a series of murders. Yet. With no bodies, no evidence, and so very little connecting the disappearances, it was looking more like a wild goose chase.

Vincent walked down the sidewalk towards his car, digging his lighter out of his pocket, thinking about his next move. If Mystique was open only at night, he had several hours left until sundown. All he could do at the moment was scout around the bar to estimate where the closest places to take a person were. And extraction points on foot or by vehicle. If Alice and the other missing people were taken anywhere it could be in the vicinity of the bar.

That's if the other people had been there too.

He flipped his lighter open, and started to strike the igniter. Flint sparked but refused to light. Vincent frowned as he tried harder to get his lighter to work. He closed the lid to the metal case and shook the lighter mixing more fluid in.

Flipping the lighter open again, Vincent struck the flint roller, and a chill ran up his spine.

Fire caught along the top and inside of the lighter case. Flames rolled down the side of the lighter and Vincent dropped it on the sidewalk with a reflex action as the fire engulfed it.

The metal clanked against the cement and Vincent watched the fire that covered the lighter dissipate the instant it hit the sidewalk.

Vincent blinked at the metal casing sitting on the sidewalk for a moment before he bent over and picked the lighter back up in his hand. The metal was cold. No evidence of the consuming flames he had just seen. In fact, his fingers weren’t burned; he had dropped it out of surprise.

He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. The lighter was fine, except for the scratch on the corner where it landed. Looking over the lighter one more time, he placed it inside his pocket as he reached for his car keys.

* * *

Vincent walked into the lobby of a Motel Six. Since it was mid afternoon the lobby was nearly empty save for the receptionist behind the desk. He walked up and was instantly greeted by the young man.

“Hello,” the man said. “How long do you plan on staying?”

Vincent thought for a moment. He would be reimbursed for his time spent, but he had to make sure he had some information for the Fischers to give them some closure. Even if the police closed the case before he did, all that mattered was that that family found peace.

“About a week, give or take a few days.”

The receptionist typed into the computer. “And your name sir?”

“Vincent Nelson.”

Several keystrokes later Vincent saw the receptionist’s face contort in confusion. “That’s odd,”

“Hmm?”

“Did you have a reservation?”

“No,” Vincent replied, surprised at the question. “Why?”

“It says here,” the sound of keystrokes met Vincent’s ears. “That you’ve had a reservation since… yesterday afternoon.”

Vincent leaned over the counter to take a look and the man turned the computer screen so that he could see it. His eyes scanned the screen. The green letters against the black background made it look like an old DOS computer program. He found the date of the reservation and true enough it was dated yesterday.

“Is there a way if you can see what time the reservation was made?”

The receptionist eyed the screen. His finger touched the screen as he looked for the information.

“According to this, the reservation was made yesterday afternoon.”

Vincent looked at the screen. The date was yesterday, and it was about fifteen minutes after he had been called back in his office.

This didn’t sit right. Under normal conditions he would be paid after reporting his findings to his clients. Someone was going out of their way to make sure he was accommodated, and it was abnormal behavior for a client.

He turned to the receptionist. “Was this reservation paid for?”

“Yes, it was,” the man looked at Vincent, confused. “For the first day. And subsequent charges for each day to the same account.”

“Okay then,” Vincent turned around and walked for the door.

“Sir? Didn’t you want a room?”

Vincent just waved, the back of his hand facing the receptionist as he left the Motel Six. He walked out to his car, his mind racing.

Whoever wanted his help wanted to make sure he’d be willing to help. They had reserved and even paid for his hotel room, but how would they know which hotel he was going to stay at? Their over-enthusiasm was turning him off. He had to go to a hotel where he wouldn’t be followed, wouldn’t even be thought of going to.

He fished for his car keys and fumbled with the key to unlock his car. A chill ran up his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Fear clawed at his mind.

A blast of lightning struck the Motel Six. The thunderclap knocked Vincent to the ground, his keys clicking on the pavement. Windows rattled and car alarms blared as the lights burnt out inside the building. The giant “6” on the top of the motel sparked and fizzled and started to bend forward. Lightning had melted the main supports and the weight of the sign caused the bolts and metal to twist.

Crashing into the ground, the giant six became a tangled mess of metal, glass, and wiring. Vincent rolled over and pushed himself up. The thunderclap had deafened him, a loud ringing inside his eardrums. He blinked his eyes to clear them from the after-flash of the lightning bolt.

Through the ringing in his ears and the momentary blindness, Vincent thought he heard something. Alien voices on the edge of his hearing. His eyes had tricked him, now his hearing was too. Images formed from the after-flash of the lightning.

The images surprised him.

Deformed beings of lightning that sparked and fizzed, twisted metal that hulked upward, even flames that seemed much closer to him. They spoke in a language that Vincent had never heard of. Through the ringing in his ears he thought he understood some of the phrases spoken. Not dead. Must kill. Must DIE!

Vincent shook his head and fully stood up. He scanned the ground for his car keys, blinking his eyes continuously, and found them a few feet away from where he dropped. Leaning against the side of his car, he waited for his vision to clear.

The main lobby of the Motel Six was smashed, the giant number reducing the area to rubble. People walked outside, curiosity and fear fueling their actions. Vincent stared at the destruction. The sky rumbled and lightning flashed as it transferred from cloud to cloud. Rain began to fall from the darkened skies.

He felt vulnerable, out in the open, an easy target: Easy prey. Instinct over-rode his mind and he fumbled with his car keys. He had to hide. To run. To find a safe place. Sliding the keys in and unlocking the door he dropped in the seat. Just as he turned the key in the ignition, he gunned the engine.

The Oldsmobile’s tires spun-out as Vincent’s foot hit the floorboard.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, after nearly running two red lights and within inches of colliding with a family sedan, Vincent pulled into the parking lot of a cheap hotel. He sat in his car for several minutes, catching his breath. His heart beat hard against his chest as sweat trickled down his forehead.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Vincent began to calm down. His mind began to work again, rational thought suppressing primal instincts.

What…, his mind asked. Just happened? Why’d I run? There were people that needed help and I just… I just ran.

Vincent sat in his car, the rain pounding on the top of the Oldsmobile. A hollow sound against the metal frame. His mind tried to comprehend what he had just done. Fear was a powerful motivator, and Vincent had only been that scared once before in his life.

He shook his head, shoving the memory aside and focusing on his current predicament. Looking, wide-eyed and still in a sense of shock, he stared at the neon sign through the sheets of water rolling down the windows. He stared in a dumbfounded state of mind for several moments before he turned and grabbed his duffel bag from the back seat.

Walking inside the main office, he got a key for the room. Unlocking the door, he turned on the light and gave the room a once-over.

The plaster on the walls was starting to peal off, the bathroom had seen better days, and there was still trash in the trashcan from the last occupant. At this point in time, Vincent didn’t care. It was the early afternoon, but his brain was taxed and he needed his mind clear and working. The bar still needed to be investigated, and Vincent planned for that night.

He dropped his duffel bag on the floor, pealed off his trench coat and dropped onto the bed. His mind relaxed, adrenaline rush wore off, and the sense of safety washing over him. He was hidden from whatever it was that was after him, and deep inside his soul, he knew something was after him.

Something alien. Something that he could never comprehend.

As the thunderstorm raged outside, Vincent Nelson slept.

* * *

Night descended upon Denver, the sun setting behind the Rocky Mountains. Stars lit up the clear sky after the storm, and the lights from the city dimmed them to obscurity. The moon was a small sliver in the night sky, a waning crescent moon.

Driving through the streets of Denver was a dirty, green, van. The engine roared and ached as it threatened to die on the driver and passengers.

Sitting in the driver’s seat was a young man. In his mid-twenties, the man had long, light brown, hair. Several strands were tied in beads and hair-ties. With a chiseled jaw, shadows hung around his eyes. Bristles of facial hair protruded along his jaw line. An over-sized army jacket hung off his shoulders and mostly covered up the light gray t-shirt underneath it. Loose and worn jeans covered his legs and combat boots on his feet.

Elias Winterborn drove the beat-up van through the streets of Denver. This van wasn’t his, nor any of his packmates. He fought the engine as it threatened to quit stopping at the red light. His eyes glanced over to the other occupants of this van.

Sitting next to Elias, with her arms crossed, was a black woman by the name of Kalila Bleeding-Edge. Beads and jewelery wrapped around her neck, wrists, and tied at the loose ends of her dreadlocks. Two single braids were covered in beads, each with a crescent moon piece at the base and tip. She was wearing only an undone light green vest, with leather arm-wraps around her biceps. Kalila wore no undershirt. Her pants were black, low cut, and had embroidered circuitry schematics along the outside of her thighs.

Kalila’s eyes were a strange mix at the moment. One a normal deep brown, the other was veiled in the color of the night sky. Small pinpoints of light reflected within the indigo eye. Kalila was using a Gift, a spiritual ability taught to her by spirits of her birth moon. She saw the other side, the Realm of Spirits, the Hisil. The empty cross street was a cross-road of spirit activity in the Shadow Realm. Eerie embodiments of loneliness and entrapment roamed the sidewalks, and larger spirits that looked like chimeras stomped through the streets, sending the smaller spirits scattering like cockroaches. Right now, she was the only one who could see it.

“The Shadow is a mess,” Kalila commented, a tone of anger in her voice as her eye faded to its normal color. “There aren’t enough packs in Denver.”

“Despite the fact that Gurdilag was defeated a year ago, having Uratha return to Denver is proving… problematic.” Kalila looked back into the back half of the van. Dana, Heartsblood, and Doomwise used the back floorboard as a seat.

Heartsblood sat with his legs crossed, wearing no shoes and baggy carpenter jeans. His t-shirt had a wolf on the front, stalking forward within a rectangle. A beaded necklace decorated with five large claws, colored black and slightly digging into his shirt. Wild and unkempt light brown hair hung in front of his eyes. Dark eyes looked back at Kalila as Heartsblood held a small staff in his muscular hands.

“Heartsblood’s words speak true,” Doomwise added.

The white-haired woman sat across from Heartsblood, clasping a wolf-skull within her lap. Her fingers rested on the top of the skull as she leaned against the wall of the van. She was wearing a long flowing robe of light blue.

“Whatever is going on in Denver,” said Dana, lying on her side near the rear doors. “It’ll bleed under our claws. Everything else does.” A smirk split the young woman’s face. She was Native American, Apache in decent, and a red bandanna wrapped around her forehead.

Dana Knife-to-the-Back was an attractive female, despite the scars that cross-checked their way up her forearms. She wore gauntlets on her hands, wrapped in leather, fabric, and bone. An over-sized red jacket with low-riding pants wrapped around her hips. The belt was segmented, each intricately carved and marked with designs. She wore sandals and had fabric wrapped around her heel, ankle and up her calf. Her long hair was tied up in a tight braid. A necklace of oval gems and metal hung from her neck.

The van jerked and the engine strained as Elias hit the gas pedal.

“Have you been able to figure out the dream at all?” Elias asked as he drove. As the pack alpha, it was his responsibility to ensure the safety and survival of his pack. Even when Doomwise was so frantic about the impact the dream had, Elias was reluctant to drive through five states just to come back to Denver. So far away from their own territory.

“I have, Elias,” the white haired beauty replied as she sat, staring out at the Denver sckyline. “There are a few points that stick out as the larger message. The dream showed Denver. What ever trouble is going to start here. Next, the nine figures standing amongst the broken world. They were drinking in the carnage and laughing,” she paused. “A horrible laugh.”

Kalila scowled. “That could be any number of spirits growing fat off the Essence. You only saw nine?”

“Yes.”

The shaman scowled again, thinking of any significance the number held for their seer's dream.

“So whatever is going to happen, is going to be the end of Denver,” Dana snorted. “Good riddance if you ask me.”

“There's something else. Something I'm unsure of,” Doomwise continued. “In the dream I was in Pangea, just before Urfarah howled and brought down the Gauntlet, seperating the spirit and the flesh. The werewolf in my dream also let out a howl. It was different, and yet, the same.”

“How so?” Heartsblood was curious. They had all received a retelling of Doomwise's dream back in Chicago before they decided to head to Denver. Doomwise had time to think it over.

“Father Wolf's was more sorrowful and dying. But the werewolf's... was different. It drowned out the laughing and seemed to be more enraged, and a call to battle.” She struggled to explain. “There's something about them. I think they're from the same being.”

“So you think, that the werewolf in your dream, is Father Wolf reborn?” Elias shook his head. “It's not possible. Is it?”

“If he came back, he would come back at the place where his resonance would be strongest. Maybe the deepest forests or the birth place of all wolves,” Kalila pitched in. “He wouldn't come back as one of his children.”

“I understand that,” Doomwise replied. “I still think that the werewolf in my dream and Father Wolf are one and the same.”

“Doomwise’s visions have had great weight before. Her vision of the conflict with Gurdilag, and other disasters have proven the accuracy of her dreams. If she thinks Father Wolf will return, then we should listen. And what of the moon?” Heartsblood changed the subject, or else there was going to be an argument between their shaman and seer.

Doomwise thought on it, collecting her thoughts. “It starts from new, then moves through all the phases to full before it blinded me and I awoke.”

“So...” Dana said. “We have a month to stop this? The new moon's only in a few days away.”

“I'm not sure what the moon means. Starting on the new moon could mean that we need to be in Denver then.”

The van passed by a wrecked hotel, the giant six was crashed into a pile of rubble. Emergency vehicles surrounded the parking lot, their lights flashing. Firemen dug up debris and pulled bodies out. News vans had reporters on the scene, televising the incident to the world.

“Which is why we’re back here,” Kalila chipped in, a hint of egotism in her words. “Someone needs to remind the spirits who’s in charge.”

“Yeah yeah,” Dana said. “We all know that Doomwise is the precious prohpet of the Uratha. I still don’t see why we have to come back to this hellhole because she had a nightmare.”

There was silence in the van: Doomwise glared at Dana, hatred and anger in her eyes. Everyone could feel the anger pulsing towards the surface within the werewolf.

The albino woman used every bit of willpower she could muster to maintain control of her anger: her Rage. She felt it build up within her, and she forced herself to keep her emotions under control.

“Dana! That's enough,” Elias’s cold voice said. Frustration rose within him as well. Being the alpha of this pack took its toll on his patience, especially with Dana’s remarks and gusto. At least she had the guts to say what the pack was thinking.

This wasn't their territory, or their fight. They were responsible for their own hunting grounds back in Chicago, which they left on a moments notice, barely getting a trusting pack to watch over it for them. Chicago had it's own issues to deal with, and Elias' pack couldn't spend its time running around just because Doomwise said so.

But.

Doomwise had been right about her dreams before. Every time she was given a dream from Luna, the moon goddess, it was detailed, vivid, and accurate to a tee. Last time she dreamed of Denver, a massive battle erupted between the few werewolf packs left and the god-spirit Gurdilag. Of course, their pack had been in the thick of it, helping out with the spiritual guerrilla warfare, up to the final battle against the spirit.

They were lucky they had walked away in the end.

The van drove down Denver’s streets, silence in the air. Elias pulled into a hotel, parking right next to a golden-tan car with an antennae sticking on the roof.

Turning off the engine, Elias opened the door and stepped outside. The air was filled with the scent of smog, discarded food, and garbage as he stretched his sore legs.

“I’ll get us a room for the night. Dana’” he looked back at her, leaning against the van’s back doors. “You’re on first watch, until I relieve you.”

“Sure,” Dana said as she opened the van doors.

“Doomwise, Kalila, take the beds. Me and Heartsblood will use the floor.”

“My, my, my,” Kalila stated as she hopped out of the van and onto the pavement. “Generous aren’t we Elias?”

Elias rolled his eyes as he headed for the hotel’s lobby. He knew Kalila was getting his goat, and acting her usual self. Doomwise and Heartsblood exited the van, leaving Dana in the back where she readied herself. Dana stayed in the back of the van, her hand close to a spear longer than she was tall.

“Sleep tight. Don't let the sharatha bite,” she teased as she held the doors to the van.

“Knowing you’re out here,” Doomwise replied. “We couldn't be in better hands.”

Dana let a smirk break her lips. Even though she had just waved off Domwise's vision as a mere than a nightmare, the seer still had respect for the woman. Of course, fighting side by side against nightmarish hells would still make a begrudging respect between people that didn't care for each other.

Sure, Dana didn't like Doomwise. The seer's visions and dreams always meant trouble, not just for her pack, but for entire cities. But Dana had seen her knowledge of the spirits to be invaluable, and her dreams were accurate. They were also bound by pack. Even if Dana hated Doomwise, she would still be honor-bound to protect and help her.

Dana knew that Doomwise had brought them to Denver for a reason, and that reason might shake the foundation of Uratha society if her thoughts on Father Wolf returning were true. She respected Doomwise, begrudgingly. Just never showed it to the seer’s face. In a way, she was jealous of the attention Doomwise received. That and her dreams were never a simple fix.

As she sat and watched the windows. She could felt something. The Spirit World was active around her, but she couldn’t tell why. Perhaps Kalila would know more about it. Dana was an Irraka, changed while the moon was new and Luna hidden. A stalker ahead of the pack, she could move unseen. She could also perceive the happenings of the spirit almost better than Kalila. She may have been able to sense the Shadow, but wasn't the best schooled to interpret what she felt.

The Irraka looked up at the moon as it continued its centuries old cycle. She didn't care for Luna. In a way it reminded her of her own mother, never there for her when Dana needed her. The others could see the moon during their birth phase, but never her. It annoyed Dana. She knew Luna was up there, but just couldn't be seen. Afraid to show herself to the world.

She positioned herself to keep watch over her pack mates, sleeping inside the motel. Dana would keep them safe on her watch. Even if Luna refused to show herself, slinking away to the darkness, Dana would defend her pack with her life.

Hi everyone. I thought I'd post a story I've been working on for the last few months. It's under gone some major revisions, and I'm pretty content with it. So sit back, relax, give it a read, and tell me what you think. I'll upload the following chapters later.

Prologue

Turn around.

We live our lives, day-by-day, content in our knowledge of the world. The only pressures stemming from the normality of life. Getting a job, raising a family, any attempt for our own happiness is all we want.

This is your last chance.

Science explains our origins, our passions and even our most insatiable desires. Magic doesn’t exist, vampires are myths, and shape-shifters are pagan beliefs from when we cowered from our own shadows.

You’ve felt it though: a feeling that the world isn’t right.

That shadow that followed you wasn’t your imagination. The big dogs that you see in your front lawn aren’t normal. Something seen in the mirror and gone when you turn around. Someone’s watching you when you’re alone in your own home.

Congratulations. Your normal life is over.

No matter how hard you try, you can no longer ignore what you’ve known all along. That chill you feel in a warm room. Why people you don't know greet you on the street. Finding yourself in another place, if only for an instant.

The veil around your mind has been lifted.

The world isn’t as cut-and-dry as science makes it. There’s more. Much more. Creatures hunt the night under the full moon, stalkers feast upon your blood in the dead of night, and eccentrics manipulate reality in front of your eyes.

Welcome. It’s a World of Darkness.

* * *

A circle of candles sent lengthened shadows up the gray-tone walls. Each candle was a different size, their wax dripping down the sides onto the floor. Next to the candles on the floor were various objects. Video Home System tapes, magazines, lingerie, and several crystals were being coated with various colors of candle wax. The candles lit up the room just enough, small points of light in the darkness.

The room itself was bleak beyond the circle. Bleak, if one ignored the symbols drawn into the walls and ceiling. Symbols that resembled slash marks etched with a large knife into the walls, or drawn by hand. They resembled strange hieroglyphics, decorating every exposed area in the room.

Outside of the illuminated circle were collections of various rags and junk. Light showed dark dried liquid on various clothing, caked into the fabric. The piles arranged to two corners of the room, stacked a few feet high, pushed out of the way.

Inside the circle of candles was a young woman. She was nude, the candlelight illuminated her body in a dull orange glow. Her breathing was almost silent in the strange room, where she had been taken against her will. Ravished, raped, used only for her captor's wishes, her spirit was broken her mind catatonic to what was now going on.

Her captor was sitting outside of the circle, staring at the flickering flames. It was nearly time for him. Nearly time to begin. He scratched his torso as he tried to go over everything in his mind. His nails left long red marks along his skin, looking as if he had let them grow, then filed them to a sharp point. Hair covered most of his body in thick tuft, covering his chest, shoulders, even down to the backs of his palms.

The light was weak, but was strong enough to note a difference in his features as he stood. His height was above average, even giving way to the fact that he was large. Not fat or bulky, just built and toned. His face was almost human. The lines of his nose and eyes were angular, protruding outwards slightly, giving him a more feral appearance. Shagged facial hair grew out wildly from the sides of his jaws, matted and clumped.

“Almost...” he forced, his breathing irregular, almost frantic.

“Do not put off the ritual any longer,” another voice echoed in his ears. “We have waited long enough for you to start the process...”

He turned to the voice, and nothing was there.

Of course nothing was there. Nothing that could be seen.

The voice had come to him through an ancient tongue. A tongue that he remembered spending days and nights perfecting. The tongue that only few could learn.

“Almost....”

“Enough stalling,” the voice said again, harsher. He looked in that direction, and there was a massive gray wolf standing to his right. It looked every bit like a normal wolf with a healthy coat of fur. Except for the empty black eyes staring at him. “You must begin...”

“Yes, yes,” he muttered back as he walked to the piles of junk and cloth in the back corners.

He bent over, moving with a fever matching his erratic breathing. Digging through the items until he found something. Pulling it effortlessly, he was disappointed that it wasn't the object he was looking for, but instead what remained of a human foot. Frowning in disappointment, he dug again, pulling on something else, this time causing the upper torso of someone to fall to his feet. Again, not what he was looking for.

The piles of cloth and junk were more than that, they were piles of bodies. Pieces of humans and wolves that he had brought back here, to his little secret place, and indulged himself in his desires. Sometimes he took their teeth and ate them after death. Others he had gnawed on their bones while the moon was high in the sky. If there was a method to his madness, it escaped everyone. Even him.

Finally he retrieved a knife, yanking it from an earlier victim. Blood soaked the blade from where it had been, and he licked it. A bolt of pain raced through his mind as he slightly cut his tongue on the cold metal. The cut wasn't bad, but he relished in the pain it brought.

He staggered over to the circle of candles, and the woman lying there. Staring at her, he was finding it difficult to avoid ravaging her body once more. But, he was being watched. And his guest did not like to be left waiting. The man glanced back at the wolf. It's features still. No movement of the tail, no twitching of the ears, no movement of the whiskers. Just a dead stare with those black, shark-like eyes.

Taking the knife the man cut both of his wrists, the metal causing his skin to burn and smoke as he let out a snarl of pain. Blood dripped down onto the floor before he let it drip into the circle, swinging his arm to let the blood fall upon the girl's unmoving form. He did this for several minutes, his blood never never stopping and the wounds stayed open.

Finally he stopped. The offerings were in place, and the blood had been spilled. Letting the knife drop to the floor, he began to chant. Sounds, not words, flew from his mouth. A combination of hushed tones, snarls, growls, chirps, and other odd sounds came from him. His hands made wild gestures, his long nails reflected in the low light. He stomped his feet, a howl bursting from his throat as the strange chanting continued.

The wolf just watched, its eyes staring at the man as he continued the ritual.

More the man continued with his animalistic chanting and howling. But there was more. He wasn't simply going through the motions, he was putting his own energy into it. Something unseen, yet tangible was flowing from his own body into the girl who was laying in the middle of the circle. More of this substance was being drained from the crystals covered in wax and blood, into the girl as well.

It couldn't be seen, but the man could feel it happening. Like letting out a sigh after a cold drink on a hot day. The slow washing away of his own energy into his actions.

The girl was laying on her side when the ritual had started. Illuminated only by the candlelight, her body was covered in sweat, blood, and other substances, decorated in a similar fashion as the markings on the walls. As the ritual commenced, she could feel something, like a mist, hang around her, being absorbed.

She started withering on the floor. Something was wrong. Her eyes wide open, yet empty of any emotion, even fear, she felt but didn't comprehend the sensation of energy being absorbed into her. Filling her body with the sensation of several emotions.

Her body arched and jerked as more and more energy was sent into her body. It arched up, pushing her stomach as high as it would go with the curve of her spine. Something was working its way inside of her, and her face was contorted into a silent scream. The sensation coming from this was a combination of pleasure and pain. So painful that if she had her mind, would be erotic.

The thing, inside her, was growing, ready to birth. And using the woman's body as a host.

She registered the pain, but could not scream, as her mind was being filled with more pleasure than pain. More and more energy flowed into her, feeding the thing now working inside of her. Something could be seen slithering around inside her body, under the skin. Getting bigger with every mote of energy offered it.

A final burst of energy from the man and the crystals around her. She gasped as she felt the thing inside her taking shape and form. No longer telling pleasure from pain, her eyes rolled back into their sockets as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Then the sensation stopped.

In what could be called an explosion of blood and energy, the woman died. The candles were blown out as her blood splattered the walls in a horrific display of power. Smoke rose from where she had been. The man had been knocked back from the force of the blast, landing on his rump and staring at the smoke now filling the room. The wolf just stared at him. No sense of emotion or thought given away by its still form.

Sitting dumbfounded, the man stared at the smoke. Thoughts of failure raced through his mind as he looked at the wolf, standing off to the side. Had he failed the ritual? Was it supposed to end like that? Why wasn't the wolf tearing him apart if he had failed? Should he run? Would he have to start over again?

A soft coo grabbed his attention, and his eyes snapped back to the smoke as it now started to clear. Even with the candles blown out, he could perceive the darkness as if a light was on.

A thin arm lifted itself out of the thick of smoke, open palmed to the ceiling. The arm was thin, feminine, wrapped in a long black arm warmer covering it right past where it disappeared into the smoke still clinging to the spot. It moved gracefully, almost teasingly before it disappeared back into the smoke.

It was another tense second before he saw a form rise from the smoke. The form was humanoid, a tight black dress clung to the body as it rose up on her hands and knees. She looked back at him from over her right shoulder and he could see a glowing red light coming from behind the hair that hung in front of her face.

He just stared as she rose, a thin ,beautiful, woman standing before him. Her long black dress had a slit running up past her hip. Long black hair waved down to her rear, even snaking around her shoulders. A swirling dark tattoo of some sort snaked its way all down the right side of her body, from her face, arm, and down to her feet. Her shoes were stark black heels, giving her an even taller appearance.

“Ooo,” she cooed, a soft purr in her voice. “It's so,” she stopped looking for the word. “Wonderful.”

Softly she walked towards the man, her footsteps silent on the blood covered floor. He stared up at her, shock in his eyes.

“It... It worked?” he said exasperated.

Bending down, the woman looked into his eyes. Hers were a nice violet, the same color as her lips. “Oh yes my little servant... It worked.” The spot where her right eye was supposed to be started glowing red through the hair.

She leaned down more and planted a kiss on the man's lips.

A burst of power flew from her into her minion. His body buckled and twitched from the power flowing into him, muffled yells and screams caught dead on her lips.

As the woman unleashed her power into the convulsing man, the wolf looked on. Its black, soulless, eyes watching everything. Silent as death.

* * *

Chicago was always a busy town. Late at night everyone had somewhere to be. Even in the less splendid section of the major city, people were moving about. Taking the train, walking to and from clubs, stumbling home after being kicked out of a club.

As a public transit train roared past an apartment building, one of the tenants was fast asleep in her bed. She didn't live alone. Four of her closest companions shared the apartment, either sleeping on the floor or taking one of the other rooms, depending who was busy.

She was a white haired beauty. Not old by any means, but fairly close to being considered an albino. Attractive to anyone who saw her, however her attentions weren't towards love or affection of any kind. Many didn't even have the nerve to hit on her.

It wasn't that she didn't care at all, or had no emotions. The opposite was true. She had a deep hearted attachment to the People.

Her kind.

She wasn't a human. She was something more. A creature united of the spirit and flesh. Able to walk between the physical and the immaterial.

She was a werewolf, and her name was Doomwise.

Doomwise was a prophet among her fellow werewolves. As creatures tied to the spiritual side of the world, they had a large responsibility on their shoulders that humans wouldn't care about, let alone know about. Prophets were listened to, as their dreams often had a large impact on a pack's territory.

She, however, was a prophet among prophets. Every dream she had came true with such devastating accuracy, that whenever she spoke everyone listened. Putting aside their heated territorial disputes to solve a much larger problem. Of course, this gained her a bit of notoriety as well, hence her name.

Images passed through the sleeping woman's mind.

Plants growing with a feverish speed, overflowing with a lushness that surpassed anything known. Enveloping her in a land, pure, and healthy. Energy flowed from everything. Water, to rock, to tree, and even into her. The sensation of this essence was so intoxicating, nothing like she had ever experienced in her life. She could perceive everything. Every rustle of leaves. Every step an animal made. Every scent one could imagine.

Without warning there was a loud, deep, howl. It was sorrowful, aching, and one of death. Doomwise felt the ground shake, the plants and animals wither to death. A separation. Something cut off the energy she felt from the world, nearly killing it. Tearing the world asunder, drawing streaks of red across the sky like blood. She knew the reason. She knew the cause.

Sorrow gripped her.

The perception shifted again. Red stained the sky as she tried to concentrate on the images before her. A city-scape. Barren, dead. The skyscrapers were hollowed wreckage as the black clouds littered the sky. She heard laughing and turned to see nine human figures standing around on top of rubble, their eyes glowing bright red.

Energy seemed to flow into them from everywhere, and she tried to see the source. When she found it, a greater fear tore at her heart.

Bodies. Hundreds of hundreds of dead human bodies covered the ground. Some skeletons, others freshly killed, and all in the throws of death. It wasn't only human bodies, wolves were scattered among the dead as well. Stacked like mountains in the horizon. Their fur matted with dried blood, skins torn from their bodies leaving the flesh to rot.

It made the werewolf want to lash out. To unleash the sorrow at the scene of death and destruction before her. The death of her kind.

A howl pierced through the laughter. A strong howl of anger and Rage. A howl of the hunt. There was a similarity in the howl. Something matching the roar from earlier. Not on the surface, but the howl was from the same creature.

Images shifted once more. This time, she was surprised to see not the wolf god, but a werewolf howling to the sky. Muscles quivering under the fur as its hands flexed, prepared for battle. Legs tensed and cocked, ready to lash out and fling it forward.

Hope started to fill her heart as she saw the werewolf before her. Then it changed to confusion as she saw the moon form behind the shapeshifter, still howling. The moon started new, then swiftly changed phases. From crescent, half, gibbous, and then to full. At the full moon, the heavenly body started to glow so bright, that it enveloped Doomwise in a bright light.

She awoke with a start, as the train finished careening past the apartment, leaving a long whine as it went along the tracks. Doomwise breaths were sharp and shallow. Wide-eyed she was surprised she hadn't shouted in her sleep like many dreams from the moon had done before. Quickly she grabbed a robe and walked into the living room of the apartment.

Two figures were in the living room, one was laying on her stomach on the couch in the corner, a long spear at the ends of her fingers on the carpet. The other was a canine, curled up in the shadows under the window across the room.

Doomwise looked around the room. There should be two others in the apartment, but those packmates were probably on patrol, and she wasn't sure when they would be back.

Normally the dreams wouldn't affect her this much, but this dream had the werewolf scared. She had seen death before, but not death on that sort of scale. Flipping on the light in the larger room, she closed her eyes before trying to adjust them.

The young woman on the bed was up instantly, grabbing her spear and panning the room with her eyes, half expecting a brawl. She had aimed and was ready to attack the white haired woman before realizing what was going on.

“What? Shit Doom,” she said sleepily. “What's wrong? I nearly put this spear through your head.”

“It's another dream, so put your weapon down!”

“Hey, don't get shitty with me.” the woman snipped back. “You're the one flipping on lights in the middle of the night.”

The red haired canine in the corner was waking up as well. His fur was a rusty crimson, as he stretched out, opening his jaws into a large yawn. Shaking the sleep from his body as he stood up, continuing to stretch.

“Was it another dream?” the wolf asked in the spirit language, a speech heavy with a growling rasp.

Doomwise nodded at her pack mate, still in his wolf form. “Where are Elias and Kalila?”

“Still on patrol,” Dana replied, rolling herself over, facing away from the light. “Won't be back for another hour or so.” Heartsblood, the wolf sitting and scratching behind his ear, was silent as his pack mates talked.

The prophet sat down in the middle of the room, trying to calm herself. She needed to think through the dream. To pick out the message between the imagery. Giving names and meaning to the places and things.

Something stuck out in her mind. The cityscape shown to her by the moon goddess' graces. There was a notion that stuck to her mind as she reviewed the dream over and over. A good thing, perhaps, were that prophets could remember their dreams with such clarity, that it was almost as if they re-lived it.

Doomwise thought about the buildings in her dreams. Something about them seemed familiar. They weren't Chicago buildings, they were scattered too far and so few skyscrapers that it couldn't be the Windy City. Yet it was so familiar that Doomwise was positive she had been there multiple times.

She sat there for a few minutes as she tried to recall the images of everywhere she had been. Werewolves weren't one to take pictures of their victories like trophies. They were a bit more conservative in what they took. A piece of their fallen enemy, a spiritual fetish from another. The prophet worked through her memories and the vision, mentally comparing places and landmarks.

Then it clicked.

“Denver,” she said with a shocked realization.

“What?” Dana replied, half asleep on the couch.

“Denver! We have to go back to Denver!”

“Huh? Are you crazy? Last time we were there we nearly got our selves killed kicking Gurdilag's big ass.”

“Yes I know,” Doomwise replied. “But this is worse. Much worse.”

“Doomwise's predictions have never been too far off the mark,” Heartsblood chipped in, nearly a whisper.

“You got a point there fuzzball,” the woman replied as she forced herself off the couch. “Fine, I'll get the others back here.” She reached for a cell phone nestled in next to some of her bladed weapons at the edge of the couch.

Doomwise nodded. She knew where they had to go.

She just didn't know what to do when they got there.

So I guess I owe an update of sorts for everyone who's around and is surprised to see me back in the saddle of drawing. For lack of a better word, I've been out of it for a while. So burnt out on school and work that when I get home, I veg out. This also doesn't cover the occasional drama that I don't care to deal with, it just seems to happen because the other friends I have are thin-skinned and jump to conclusions. My computer also seems to be having issues, shutting down randomly. It's only done it three times in the last few weeks, twice while I was playing World of Warcraft, and the third while it was just sitting there, running. I don't know why it has been doing this, although it may have to do with a couple of factors that I'm working on getting resolved.

The other reason I've been so lethargic is because of my car. Some of you know (or don't) that it broke down twice in the Fall, and I've officially been without it since August. I just got it back this weekend however, and so I'm a bit more mobile and much of my stress has been alleviated because my truck is fixed. So what have I been up to?

Well in September I went and gave a talk to the Society of Vertebrate Paleontology annual meeting in Bristol, England. My official first trip over seas and first time ever in England. Was a blast. I've been working in a museum since August as part of my schooling, while it doesn't pay for tuition like the Teaching Assistantship does, I get more experience working the curatorial and collections aspect of Paleontology. I've been planning to spend more of this week working on my thesis, however it hasn't been that easy as I've... well... been under the weather the last few days and I took Monday off. I still need to push myself to get up before 10AM.

In November a friend of mine died, which lead to the worst weekend of the year. And there have been some keepers. In the span of 4 hours I had to 1) Stop someone from going to jail. 2) Stop someone from hitchhiking back home. 3) Go from grieving friend to leader in 10 seconds. 4) Rent a car to get back home. I dealt with a lot of drama and hurt feelings and depression and sadness that day, and barely got to deal with my own. Some have told me those are the characteristics of a leader, but I doubt it. I was just trying to stop everyone from doing something stupid. I'm cooped up in my room most of the time because of drama, I don't like dealing with it, it's stupid and silly. We're in our 20's+ right now, we shouldn't have to act like we're in pre-school.

I've been spending some of my time drawing, working on designs, and some other stuff. In the last few months I've been on YouTube, listening to religious discussions, making videos, and basically keeping myself entertained for the most part with some background noise. Also been listening to Best of RiffTrax, on YouTube by several members. If you want to hear a good one, look for the Iron Man one, it's awesome. So are the six Star Wars movies they riffed.

However, in my down-time of sorts I've done some more work on Magick and I'm almost content with it. I'll post what I have at the end of this message if anyone's interested.

So that's a decent summary. Hope you guys have had a better time than I have as of late. And right now I need to go get copies of my receipts from my trip for my taxes ^^U. Later all! Expect new Magick soon, I'm working on Page 10! ^^

Lataz!

[center]The World:[/center]

Mana, a nearly intangible energy source that ties everything together. In some occasions, organisms can tap into this source, allowing them a sense of increased strength, clarity, stamina, and so forth. They cannot constantly tap into this force as a conscious decision, however.

There are those that can tap into Mana, and know the power it holds. Mana comes in many flavors, the basic elements of the earth and universe itself. Mana forms and pools in areas where their influence is highest, sometimes affecting animals and even manifesting itself in the world.

Creatures of myth and legend were beings formed of Mana in a time where Mana was more plentiful in the world and humans were sensitive to such fluctuations and rhythms. These beings were called Dæmons, and were allies, lovers, and instigators for those that could sense and manipulate the Mana.

Humans who could feel and use Mana were called “Magi.” Each had their own inkling for an Affinity, an inborn affinity or alignment. They channel Mana subconsciously, storing it until use. However, many require a Dæmon Familiar to give some of their Mana too, unless they become so saturated that they can “burn” from their own Mana. Fire Magi can spontaneously combust, Light Magi explode in a burst of light, and Vitali Magi become so healthy that they can die from their bodies rejecting any food that is not natural or healthy for them. These are just a few examples

Mana is a powerful force, but too much, or too little, and the Magi can die.

[center]MAGI[/center]

There are four known Aspects of Magick: Element, Illusion, Invoke, and Weave. Every Magi has an innate connection to an Affinity, a specific type of spells and abilities one can have within an Aspect. As a Magi gains power, he can share Mana and information with other Magi to gain a broader understanding of what Magi and Magick are capable of. The highest ranked Magi, Archmagi have access to most if not all Aspects of Magick, as well as a general understanding of their Affinities.

Every Magi has a Dæmon Familiar unless otherwise stated. Only Archmagi seem to be able to go for long stretches without a Familiar of some sort.

[center]Element Aspect
Elemental Aspect Symbol
Elemental Array[/center]

The raw forces of nature at the command of the Magi. Perhaps one of the most common types of Magi, they are also the most powerful. Focusing on small to large scale effects with their spells. Summoning jets of flame, white river rapids, gusts of 30 mph wind, or earth uplifts. Elemental Magi channel Mana of their specific type, but can share Mana with other Elemental Magi in access to those other elements. A Fire Magi with some Water Mana could create a bank of steam for cover. Or a Wind Magi with some Fire Mana could make a twister of raw flames.

After enough training, an Elemental Magi can use mana of any Affinity besides their own. Until then they have to share the Mana with their fellow Magi of a different Element Affinity until they learn how to. Those that can are known as Elemental Keji or 'masters.'

Fire – Fire Symbol Raw power, passion, unhinged desire. Fire is at one the most inspirational and most destructive element. Most often an element of anger and rage, it it also an element of desire, passion, and love.

Water - Water Symbol Ever flowing and constantly changing, Water is both a giver of life and a smooth flowing body. While calm on the outside, it can also turn into an engine of destruction quickly.

Earth - Earth Symbol Hard and sturdy, the earth has endured much, and will continue to endure. Stubborn and steadfast, the Earth Affinity is hardy and more than often take the most damage before falling. As long as there is ground (concrete can count) the Earth Affinity can survive.

Air - Air Symbol Free-spirited, lively, active, these are some of the characteristics of the Air. From frigged temperatures to scorching heat, the air element controls wind and weather. Of the other Affinities, Air can create ice and snow by reducing the temperature, but it is more potent when combined with Water mana.

[center]Illusion Aspect
Illusion Aspect Symbol
Illusion Array[/center]

The sleight of hand known and practiced by mortal magicians may be quaint in comparison to Magi, the Illusion Aspect makes those tricks reality. While both Affinities have their own offensive spells, they also deal with tricks that few other Aspects cannot learn. Techniques such as Vanishing, teleportation, and penetration are used by both Affinities, however the methods and appearance of the spell are carried out either by light or shadows.

Light - Light Symbol The Light Affinity is just as it sounds. While historically it has been attributed to healing the sick and damning the sinners, the actual Light bears some and yet none of the hype. Light spells are varied in their capabilities, however most are defensive or as boosting abilities to the Magi and allies.

Shadow - Shadow Symbol Despite its trademark for evil and malevolent purposes, the Shadow Affinity is no more evil than the Magi who practices it. Used primarily for sneaking and taking advantage of a situation, Shadow has more offensive spells than Light, and any 'boost' spells deal more with 'hamstringing' the opposing force than giving allies an increase in their abilities.

[center]Invoke Aspect
Invoke Aspect Symbol
Invoke Array[/center]

Mana makes up and has hold over many things. Invokers can channel into that connection and use it for various purposes. While both Affinities of Invokers do similar things, the method differs. A Shaman calls upon and channels Dæmons (most often Pneuma) through her, while a Conjurer summons a Dæmon of any kind to fight alongside or for him.

Shaman - Shaman Symbol Shaman, unlike other Magi, have no familiar, instead allowing various spirits to follow them, and absorb the Mana they collect. The Shaman's abilities rely in channeling the abilities of spirits of animals and items for their power, flexibility, speed, or wisdom. Those who can see the flow of Mana, can also see collections of spirits follow the Shaman. While not a dæmon familiar, the Shaman may pick one of the spirits to act as a Mana reserve similar to a regular familiar.

Conjurer - Conjurer Symbol Conjurers are summoners that make pacts with various Dæmons, marking them with their mana. Summoning them to preform tasks, fight along side, or for the Magi. A dangerous Magi to be, they are even more dangerous if they can handle it. Choosing this path can be dangerous, as many Dæmons do not wish to be bound by deals or pacts. Any Everse will try to squeeze out of the contract, while Fae may hold up the deals literally.

[center]Weave Aspect
Weave Aspect Symbol
Weave Array[/center]

To see the strands that bind everything together, these are the Weavers. The Weave have two Affinities, Alchemy and Vetali. Like two sides of the same coin, one deals with the inorganic while the other deals with the organic make up of organisms and substances. Those that find themselves as Weavers seem to have an innate ability to see how something is put together, why it's broken and how to fix it.

Alchemy - Alchemy Symbol Alchemists are potent Magi who are able to break down an object and reconstruct it for a different purpose. Many can craft weapons or items useful for their fellow Magi, and can focus their mana into objects while making a transmutation. They can craft weapons out of rocks and wood, even supplementing various materials into a versatile weapon. Their skills are more useful when given time, as 'on-the-fly' alchemy may not be as potent or sturdy, but some have mastered the abilities to make items on the fly.

Vitali - Vitali Symbol While Alchemy deals with the inorganic items, the Vitali deal with the organic. Known as healers and doctors, the Vitali are highly sought after for their knowledge and skills in healing the body of both Magi and Dæmons. Some may lap over with Shaman in their abilities to see the web of Mana that connects everything together. Other spells that can heal or increase aspects of ones physiology are common.

[center]Dæmons[/center]

Beings made of Mana come in different types and collectively called Dæmons. Dæmons, include a menagerie of creatures formed from Mana. Mythological creatures of ancient legends are made of Mana, and many such Dæmons are passed down through family lines of Magi or are “born” when the Magi realizes their potential and can tap into Mana on their own. The concentrating Mana giving a common animal the intelligence of a human, becoming that Magi's Familiar.

Dæmons commonly have three forms that they have access to. Animal, which is a normal animal, or appears to be, easily overlooked by normal humans. The Animal form requires the least amount of Mana to maintain, usually a single mote will keep the Dæmon going for weeks at a time. Anthropomorphic, which is a human with various features associated with their other forms, such as wings, a tail, slited eyes, different ears, claws, ect. This form requires a little more Mana to maintain, but isn't unreasonable to keep it for extended periods of time. Their third form is considered their 'true' form, Legend. A being fused with Mana and a monstrous fright to behold. Such a form burns through Mana constantly, and is considered one of the most powerful, and costly forms a Dæmon could take.

Devos: The Devos are the creatures of legend and antiquity. Back when Mana was plentiful and humanity young, these Dæmons are those that have had myths born of their being. Dragons, werewolves, vampires, griffins, and other such creatures fall into this category. As Dæmons they allow for more potent Mana manipulation and spell casting, and these are commonly the ones handed down through several generations. Some Devos have even blended in with humanity, keeping their heads down so not to draw too much attention, while others live like hermits in the wild woods to avoid any and all human contact (even with Magi). The few that have been claimed as familiars serve several generations depending upon the original agreement with the first Magi they serve.

Everse: While not evil persay, but more along the lines of self service and self indulgence, the Everse are Dæmons who resemble demons. Dark entities, but not evil by default, they view the world as a place to satisfy their own indulgences. Succubi, incubi, demons, devils, imps and goblins are some of the kinds of Dæmons that make up the Everse. Their favored method of regaining Mana is through making deals, and many come through to weak willed or ignorant humans with promises of power and strength in exchange for their 'soul.' Whether or not the humans know that the Everse are draining their Mana is not up to question.

Fae: Faeries, elves, sprites, elves. Primarily alien in the way they deal with humans and problems, the Fae refer to any form of contract, verbal or written, to the most literal of sense. Dealing with the Fae brings it's fair share of problems, however their own potency cannot be ignored through their fickle ways and dealings.

Lumos: When a Magi awakens to their legacy, many times there is not a Dæmon nearby to take the Mana quickly flowing into them. As such, the Magi may instinctively reach out with her mana, picking an animal that is compatible with them. These animals turned Dæmons are referred to as Lumos, or enlightened. Enhanced by Mana to human intelligence, these Dæmons serve their Magi faithfully, and mostly come from domestic stock, although Lumos that were wild are not unheard of.

Pneuma: Dæmons of spirits and the material world, these are the most abundant and diverse Dæmon known. Generally weaker than other Dæmons, the Pneuma have their own spheres of influences that allow them to survive. Since everything can have a spirit, the types of Pneuma are varied beyond imagining. While considered one of the weakest types of Dæmons due to their short lives, they are some of the most tenacious as they struggle for their survival.

Wraiths: The most dangerous type of Dæmon. Wraiths care not for human or Dæmon concerns. So starved for Mana that they drain everything and everyone that they can in the name of survival. Shapes and forms differ, but the common element is hunger. The Wraith is always hungry for Mana of any type, from anyone, and anything. All will go to great lengths to get it by any means necessary.

[center]Æther[/center]

The Æther is a place separate, yet connected to the reality that we perceive. Mana that ties the world together also ties the universe together as a common strand. In the Æther, a Magi can find their own use of Mana amplified, and their Familiars do not have to resort to Mana-efficient forms due to the simple fact of abundance. One’s strength of mind is how they reflect themselves in the Æther, and can imagine themselves to look like anything their mind can conceive. However, they can’t make themselves a member of the opposite sex, or else they end up with some interesting clashes of anatomy.

Home to the true safe haven of Magi, the Æther houses the massive landmasses that appears to float through the universe, observant but unaffected by the laws of physics and biology. Such a thing has the truest haven for any Magi, and the only place where they can truly be themselves without fear of discovery, or death.

The main landmass in the Æther is known as Etheria, and has old structures that seem to indicate a population older than man once thrived there and used Mana. This, however, is a debate among Magi scholars and historians. With Etheria are other large landmasses floating around in the same area of 'space.' Each land mass is like a planet, housing it's own distinct ecosystem and ties to the four various Aspects of Magick, as well as the Affinities there of.

[center]RANK[/center]

Rank is at once a simple concept, and yet the hardest to consider among Magi. When a Magi first gains access to her powers and the ability to manipulate Mana, she is considered a Initiate, for convince sake. As a Magi grows in power and knowledge, she rises up in rank. This isn't an easy thing to recognize, and it's not a caste system by any means. Being able to know someone's rank as a Magi involves being able to see their Magick Array, the complex array of circles and shapes that appears when they cast a spell. The more complicated the array, the higher the Rank.

Each Affinity also has it's difficulties in power, or levels. All Magi start at Level 1 Magick, and as they become accustomed with their Affinity, their level increases. Granting them access to stronger spells through experimentation and stress, and increasing their ability to manipulate Mana. The highest level in any Affinity is 3, and this can also show up in the Magick Array when a Magi Casts.

The Ranks:

1) Initiate: Has just discovered Mana and their familiar. Know few basic spells of their Affinity (Level 1, 1-5 spells).
2) Novice: More experienced than Initiate. Knows stronger spells, and has a better handle on Mana manipulation and control that they start to look into the other Affinities of their main Aspect. This can last from Level 2 to Level 3 Spells (Level 2-3 main Affinity, Level 1 other Affinities of the same Aspect, 6-18 Spells).
3) Scholar: Many experienced Magi are considered Scholars, those that survive that is. Magi reach this Rank when they start branching out into other Aspects, to better learn the flow of Mana and other spells. Some magi are this rank for most of their life (Level 1 in some Aspect's Affinity, Level 3 in Personal Aspect and Affinity, 19-?? Spells)
4) Archmagi: The highest level of Magi. There are a total of 15 known Magi who have achieved this rank, and thus are considered the highest honor of governing the Magi among the Magi Council. The spells they know are unknown, and many have been around for hundreds of years. They resemble some famous mythological people, as they probably birthed those legends themselves. (Rank 2 or Higher in any and all Affinities, Spell count unknown)

Note: Magick Array:

The Array does nothing per say, but acts as a manifestation of a Magi's abilities. The Array starts out as a simple pentagram with the Magi's Personal Affinity overlapping the star. As the Magi grows in knowledge and power, the Array changes as well, marking the increase in power in a noticeable form. The Array only appears when a Magi casts a spell. However, the degree of which it appears depends on the strength of the spell and the strength of the Magi in question.

For example: A Initiate Magi casting the strongest spell she knows (Level 1) may make her entire Array light up like the sun if she puts enough Mana into the spell. While an Archmagi using a Level 1 spell with little Mana may make only the area around his feet illuminate with the Array, even if the total Array may be the size of a city block.

Only Magi can see another Magi's Array when they cast a spell. However the breif appearance isn't long enough to give the other Magi a clue as to what one knows. There are some Magi who can see the flow of Mana, and can see the Array, even if the other Magi isn't casting a spell. Although this is a rare ability, even among Archmagi.

For Example: Here

This isn't something I want everyone to describe, it's more a cosmetic effect and something nice and showy to add a bit more dramatic scenery to the RPG. So don't go describing it unless you really want to. A suggestion though, pictures would be easier.

[center]ARTIFACTS:[/u][/center]

Throughout history there have been items that held miraculous power. Excalibur, the Holy Grail, Thor's Hammer, the Golden Fleece, these are some examples of Artifacts. While many modern day Magi may not have the Sword of Kings or the God's Hammer, Artifacts take shape in more subtle form. Books like hand written journals, tomes, or Grimores can serve as artifacts, so can simple jewelry.

Artifacts are commonly handed down through family lines, but those lost to time can also be found by curious and brave Magi.

An Artifact gives an extra boost to the Magi's spells, increasing their potency. If an Initiate Magi happens to receive an Artifact, often they can't cast Magick without it. Using it as a focal point for their spells. As they grow in power, holding and using the Artifact becomes more an issue of habit than necessity.

Need I say more?

Okay, so I have a question for my Magick viewers out there (you know who you are... what few of you there ARE), regarding pacing of the next few chapters.

So far the original script has Wic and Brianna having their first fight against another Magi at the end of Chapter 4. However, I was wondering of postponing that arc for about one or two chapters of character development for Wic and Brianna themselves, before going on to the larger Magi world.

The set up for either is still do able at the moment as I'm finishing up Chapter 2 at the moment and Chapter 3 will follow. Some feedback or ideas would be greatly appreciated.

Later!

So as to not completely piss off my loyal and perverted audience, I'm going to basically draw up an entire chapter of Magick at once before any touching up is done. This should give my fans a large bulk of mana-infused sex to sedate them until the next chapter.

Okay,

So looks like I'm back, more or less, from the summer and the time I spent at the museum in Wyoming. And of course as soon as I get back I don't want to do anything for a couple weeks (hell, I still don't) but I've been getting off my keister.

I've been thinking about Magick again, working on details of some later parts, without getting around to working on the main story. So! I'll probably be working on some part of Page 5 for the next few days.

Also, I'm thinking I should really just draw up the entire issue THEN take my time in Photoshop and finish it up. It doesn't really take that long..I'm just lazy.

I'm also leaving for England in about a week and a half, so that's where much of my attention has been lately. I'm going to go give a speech at a paleontology conference on a mapping technique I developed (who says art isn't useful?).

So that's the story guys. From looking at it... I've got cash (if the loan goes through), to survive in England for... 2 weeks. MY VACATION!

Then when I come back it's back to work on my thesis to try and get that finished in the next year so I can graduate in May.

So I'm back for the time being hA, hope ya missed me.

YES! Since I'm looking like I'll be in a bit of a bind for cash for a bit now, I've decided to start charging for Commissions. Shouldn't be too bad, however I think I'm being reasonable with much of the prices but eh *shrugs* It's cheaper than I've seen.

Commissions:[/u]

Provide me with a detailed explanation of what you want, at least a paragraph in length. Provide as much detail that you can, the more detail I have the better your image will turn out. Since I’m a Grad student, I can’t devote ALL of my time to art, but I can try and get done what I can.

Rates (Effective after February 7th, 2009):

Line -> $10: Single character, black and white lines, no color.
- Color -> $15: Add color for only $5 more!
Manga Panel -> $20: Single Page comic, Black and White lines. Provide situation, characters, or script (or all three) in description.
- Grey tone: + $7
- Color: + $12
- Number of pages: + $15 for each page past the first.
Extra Characters: + $5 per character.

Example: A three Page Comic with two Characters in Grey Tone would be a total of $62.00. 20(Manga) + 30( Extra Pages, 15 x 2) + 5 (extra Character) + 7 (Grey tone).

I accept PayPal Only. I keep all hard-copies unless you would like to add another $5 for shipping of the original.

And don't forget about the Magick Characters Contest thingie... Not really a contest I guess.

Magick.
The world has Mana, a nearly intangible energy source that ties everything together. In some occasions, organisms can tap into this source that flows through them, allowing them a sense of increased strength, clarity, stamina, and so forth. They cannot constantly tap into this force as a conscious decision.

There are those that can tap into Mana, and know the power it holds. Mana comes in many flavors, the basic elements of the earth and universe itself. Mana forms and pools in areas where their influence is highest, sometimes affecting animals and even manifesting itself.
Creatures of myth and legend were beings formed of Mana in a time where Mana was more plentiful in the world and humans were more sensitive to it’s fluctuations and rhythms. These beings were called Dæmons, and were both allies, lovers, and instigators for those that could sense and manipulate the Mana.

Humans who could feel and use the Mana that flows around them were called Magi. Each had their own affinity for one of the Elements, an inborn affinity or alignment. They channel Mana subconsciously, storing it until use. However, many require a Dæmon Familiar to give some of their Mana too, unless they become so absorbed in the power that they can “burn” from their own storehouses of Mana. Fire Magi can spontaneously combust, Water Magi can drown in their own Mana, Air Magi end up freezing themselves, Earth Magi have been known to break down into their bodies basic elements.

Mana is a powerful force, but too much and the Magi can die, too little, and the Magi (or any other organism) is sluggish, lethargic, and difficult to move.

Dæmons come in different types. Familiars, demons, and Wekufe are created out of Mana itself. Mythological creatures of ancient legends are made of Mana, and many such Familiars are sometimes passed down through family lines of Magi or are created when the Magi realizes their potential and can tap into Mana on their own. Dæmon familiars have three forms that they can take: Animal (a small pet-like version of themselves), Anthropomorphic form (combination of human and animal characteristics), and a more Mana-infused animal (A fright to behold for others of those of a Supernatural, and natural, descent). Spirits of objects, animals, and ideas are formed of Mana as well. They can be used to influence change in the physical world or aid in the Magi performing some task.

Dæmons that either posses a Magi, or a human who has Mana concentrate around them at an incredible rate. They cannot survive in the world for long, their home in the Æther much more plentiful of Mana than the physical world itself. The sexual intercourse that they have with humans is to drain the human’s Mana, leaving them drained, and using that Mana to sustain their own lives. The Cubi (the Dæmon species referred to) are able to hold their true forms and transform into desirable humans, however their true forms are those akin to Japanese Tentacle Monsters. Incubi normaly take the Tentacle approach, draining Mana as fast as possible from their victims, while Female Cubi use their charm and insatiable appetites for sexual intercourse to weaken theirs. Sometimes Magi strike a deal with the Cubi in order to gain favors or to sick them on their enemies. Allowing the Cubi to posses a human and fulfill their Æther desires. Imps also exist, but their trouble making is limited to practical jokes for a laugh at others expense.

The most dangerous Dæmons are the Wekufe. Beings that give no credence to those they hurt or drain of Mana for their own survival. Commonly (although wrongly) grouped with the Cubi, they act on more instinctual levels of survival, sometimes injuring, if not outright killing their victims due to Mana drain.

The Æther is a place separate, yet connected to the world that we perceive. Mana that ties the world together also ties the universe together as a common strand. In the Æther, a Magi can find their own use of Mana amplified, and their Familiars do not have to resort to Mana-efficient forms due to simple abundance. One’s strength of mind is how they reflect themselves in the Æther, and can imagine themselves to look like anything their mind can conceive. However, they can’t make themselves a member of the opposite sex, or else there end up some interesting clashes of anatomy.

Home to the true safehaven of Magi, the Æther houses the massive landmass that appears to float through the universe, observant but unaffected by the laws of physics and biology. Such a thing has the truest haven for any Magi, and the only place where they can truly be themselves without fear of discovery, or death.

There are four types of Magi, that depend upon which they show more emphasis on. Elemental Magi use the elements of Fire, Water, Earth, and Air for various effects. Often considered the most powerful, but also the most limited depending on the massive use of Mana they require for their spells. Illusionist Magi use the elements of Light and Dark, neither indicative of “good or evil” but rather deal with the absence or presence of light to cast illusions as well as some other support spells. They can also study Elemental spells. Alchemists use Mana to infuse chemical reactions, creating weapons, potions, and items that Magi and their familiars can use. Shamen are the most versatile of the Magi, limited in their power, they lack a static Familiar, but can summon and ask Spirits for aide depending on the task at hand.

Mana can be transferred through several means. The most common and quickest one is sexual intercourse between Magi of different Elemental strengths to share Mana and give the Magi access to different forms and flavors of Mana.

So here we have, a character creation process, per-say, of either “Magick-fying” your current OCs or coming up with completely new ones to join in on the crazed fun of Magick. So, the rules for submitting your characters as cameos or one-shots or what-have you in Magick (since I like have loads of ideas to draw upon), I give everyone an option for this. It also helps me come up with some ideas for character design.

So, the nitty-gritty?

MAGI INFO
Name: (Character's name)
Age: (their age)
Sex: (M/f)
Magi Type: (Elemental, Illusion, Shaman, Alchemist)
Main Element: (Fire, Water, Air, Earth, Light, Shadow)
Personality: (How do they carry themselves, act, ect)
Appearance: (physical description is nice, but drawing the character works too)
History:
Familiar: (if applicable)
Spells: (What types of Maigck spells does your character know?)
Relationships: (Any blood relations, or just platonic relations with other people?)
Other: (Anything else not covered in the above categories)

DÆMON INFO
Name:
Age: (Some have been around for a loooong time)
Sex: (M/F)
Type: (Familiar, Spirit, Imp, Wekufe, ect)
Personality:
History:
Appearance: (physical description is nice, but drawing the character works too)
Relationships:
Other:

I would LOVE for some artwork to give me a better idea of how the characters look, so some links to other sites if you aren’t on hA would be nice. Other than this template, let your imaginations run free my perverted brethren. People kind enough to come up with characters shall get a cameo or some other appearance in Magick. Possibly in the BIG image I have planned for when the main Chars get to the Ætherial Realm for the first time.

Have at it.

~DR