Thread: Stolen Bones [Alakazam & Grungeknuckle]

It was well past midday before Samuel returned to the city, and later still when he finally entered his house, and slumped into one of his rickety old chairs. Deayojee, the hound spirit bound to his coat, tensed up, and Samuel could sense a growl from it. He rubbed his eyes. Not now. Down pup, down, he mumbled, weary. It might be dead, but the spirit still acted like a dog, which meant sometimes barking at nothing. Still, it was restless, and needed to move around. Samuel took off the coat, and as soon as it hit the ground, the spirit took form. The back tails twisted, while the front arms bulked, and the entire coat seemed to wrap around an invisible form, as if becoming it's skin. The spikes stood up, as the shapes of muscles and sinew and bone stood out under the coat, though there was none present. For all the world it looked like some monsterous hybrid between a hedgehog, and a hound, but with no head. The empty coat began to strut around on all fours, it's collar close to the ground. Samuel ignored it, and went upstairs, intent on falling into bed, at least for a few minutes. He'd have to preform the rite on the Urn again soon. The window was open. Samuel stared at that for a moment. He hadn't left the window open, had he? Pondering, he reached out, and closed it, unsure. He could feel Deayojee's silent snarls from up here. Something wasn't right. Afraid, but unsure what he was afraid of exactly, Samuel quickly began striding through the house, panic building in his head. When he reached the cellar, Samuel found something to be afraid of. He stared at the empty spot in the middle, mouth hanging open, unable to speak. Someone had taken the Urn, the thing he'd been laboring on for a month. Someone in the city knew he was a necromancer. And the Urn was out there, somewhere, unstable. The power bottled in it... should the seals fail, it could explode, blight the city... Samuel found himself walking around the circle, trying to think, trying to calm down. No, no, no, no, no, this can't be happening, I... I... He'd have to move again. He'd have to pick up everything and skip town. He'd always left when he thought someone was getting wise, but never left any real proof. But this... someone would find out. They'd link him to the Urn going critical, to all those deaths it would cause... He'd have to find it. He'd have to get it back. Now that he had a plan, Samuel could think clearly again. It was his work, his craftsmanship, he had a connection to it. He could find it. Samuel stepped into the middle of the circle, and sat down, cross-legged, taking his staff into his hands, concentrating. His breathing slowed, the air around him seemed to grow colder, the lights, darker, as he drew power from the staff, and reached out with it, seeking that which was his. Somewhere, out there, he felt it. But that was all. Best he could guess, it was in the city, but something was blocking him. He couldn't narrow it down, and would never be able to find it in time. He couldn't even tell how close it was, or which direction to go, only that it was still in range of his senses. Samuel closed his eyes. This was it. This was the end. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Like all the Hells it is. He opened his eyes. Now wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself. Now was the time for action. Someone had stolen from him. From him. No-one did that. Samuel stood up. Yes. Rage. It was a powerful force with the dead. It was a powerful force with the living. And he straddled both those realms. Samuel forcibly drove the staff into the earth, let go, and spread his arms out, drawing power. Ruhru iz! Rise up! Ruhru! Muhru uhu, nuhru sursuhrph rzuhsuhsr, nuhru zi'assurr a su Ursusphi'asu a su uhsrs suhsssu! Shake thy bones! The dread tongue of the dead, of black arcana spilled from Samuel's lips, calling forth spirits below. Si'ahu sil sirsil arur, irsa suu I sanni'ars! Fsan su asri'ahur szuhsuhphs, szuhs suusuhrph rssinnuhrph suhu, i'ars sass, i'asi'ars sui'as, I sanni'ars suu! I sanni'ars suu! Ruhru Uz! Rise Up! Five little mounds around the edges of the cellar, grew bigger, the earth cracking, crumbling away. Five skulls rose up out of the earth, like foul weeds, as whirling trails of smoke and shadow flowed from their open jaws and empty eyes. Breathing heavily, Samuel commanded them. Some one else has trespassed in my home. Someone else has taken what is mine ! MINE! He pounded his chest, turning to address the spirits behind him. But no-one moves without a trace. No-one walks, and leaves nothing behind. Search. High and low. Inside and out. Do this... Samuel pointed his staff, swinging it around at the spirits surrounding him, And I shall release thee. That was a big reward. He was going to use these spirits to power his spells, maybe even to create the final bindings on the Urn. This was more important, though. Without their help, there would be no Urn. Samuel sat back down, and waited. The spirits sifted and streamed through the house, flirting through the walls, snaking up it's corners. And then, one returned, and dropped something into Samuel's waiting hand. A single strand of hair. Samuel set his teeth grimly. This would work.