Post by Nevan J. Blake on Aug 19, 2014 22:36:31 GMT -5
Witches and their ilk, those with the power to use non-traditional magic for arts the general population couldn’t understand, had long been accepted in the human city. Sometimes it was with fear and suspicion but Witches had always put their best foot forward when presenting to the public. They were all smiles and carefully measured mystery, careful to mix alluring nature with harmless atmosphere. They were generally successful. The Blake family of which Nevan was a part had a long standing status within the City. There was an air of terror about them but no one in the City could have ever really put their finger on why the Blakes were so dangerous outside of a vague sense of supernatural wrongness.
It was very important to maintain this careful balance which was why Nevan had waited until the dead of a moonless night to perform some acts that might tip the scales in the wrong direction. The young witch boy wasn’t in his traditional garb, although he still wore all his jewelry and had Torin draped over one shoulder. He was dressed in dark red pants and a linen black shirt that flowed over his skin and helped keep him cool in the heat of summer. There was a faint scent of potions and herbs that clung to him but it was mostly covered by the lemon juice he had sprinkled over his skin and the even fresher smell of grave soil.
Under one arm, Nevan had a neat little stack of bones covered in a fold of black velvet fabric. It would have blended seamlessly into his shirt where it not for the brilliant golden runes painted along the side of the fabric. They were important, the bones Nevan had dug up were from a young child that had died only nights before. He had dug up the coffin and then cut open the girl, stealing the long bones of her arms and legs, as well as all her teeth of her lower jaw (which he kept in a red glass bottle under the velvet). Anyway, the runes kept the girl’s spirit at bay, keeping her soul from haunting her own disturbed bones until they could be prepped. All they really needed was the fresh marrow, tomorrow Nevan would return and bury her bones in a new, shallow grave over the old one so her soul could be laid to rest. With any luck she wouldn’t be attached to the marrow and wouldn’t try to haunt the potion. Some of them did it and all it meant was Nevan would have to smear ghost repellant on the bottle.
Nevan sighed as he walked, squinting through the dark night and trying to figure out what was ahead of him. Damn the dark nights, and damn the sleeping cat sprawled over his shoulders. Nevan was firmly of the opinion that if the cat wanted to it could have lead him back to their shop just fine. As it was the human was left to stumble along the streets with an armful of bones in almost complete darkness.
It was very important to maintain this careful balance which was why Nevan had waited until the dead of a moonless night to perform some acts that might tip the scales in the wrong direction. The young witch boy wasn’t in his traditional garb, although he still wore all his jewelry and had Torin draped over one shoulder. He was dressed in dark red pants and a linen black shirt that flowed over his skin and helped keep him cool in the heat of summer. There was a faint scent of potions and herbs that clung to him but it was mostly covered by the lemon juice he had sprinkled over his skin and the even fresher smell of grave soil.
Under one arm, Nevan had a neat little stack of bones covered in a fold of black velvet fabric. It would have blended seamlessly into his shirt where it not for the brilliant golden runes painted along the side of the fabric. They were important, the bones Nevan had dug up were from a young child that had died only nights before. He had dug up the coffin and then cut open the girl, stealing the long bones of her arms and legs, as well as all her teeth of her lower jaw (which he kept in a red glass bottle under the velvet). Anyway, the runes kept the girl’s spirit at bay, keeping her soul from haunting her own disturbed bones until they could be prepped. All they really needed was the fresh marrow, tomorrow Nevan would return and bury her bones in a new, shallow grave over the old one so her soul could be laid to rest. With any luck she wouldn’t be attached to the marrow and wouldn’t try to haunt the potion. Some of them did it and all it meant was Nevan would have to smear ghost repellant on the bottle.
Nevan sighed as he walked, squinting through the dark night and trying to figure out what was ahead of him. Damn the dark nights, and damn the sleeping cat sprawled over his shoulders. Nevan was firmly of the opinion that if the cat wanted to it could have lead him back to their shop just fine. As it was the human was left to stumble along the streets with an armful of bones in almost complete darkness.