Thread: Why Not Be A Necromancer {missedstations & Kawamura}

??I--? Will started, then stopped, brain incapable of supplying any sort of predicate to that sentence. Now that was a shocker black magic workers didn't really invite people over for supper. They weren't exactly social folks, something he knew from the lapsed necromancer who had married into the family some ten years before Will. Hell, even his necromancer didn't take dinner with him most days, and he hadn't even thrown a shoe at Eoin. Luckily for him, this sort of frantic, confused thought process took place very shortly after that aborted attempt at being angry again, or else he would have really looked a fool, wouldn't he? ??What?? the redhead finished stupidly, not entirely sure where he had lost the flow of the conversation. Nasty magic. Check. Shoe throwing. Check. Second shoe throwing. Check. Angry. Check. Dinner. Oh, good, it wasn't him that had gone and thrown a curve ball. The bear of a shaman wasn't exactly a subtle man, so his conversation partner could probably see the look of disbelief that had taken over the man's whole face even from that height. Needless to say, Will was a horrible poker player. He was, however, a good shaman. And since this Ward had no Warden, he'd, well, he'd have to take care of the magic spilling over, wouldn't he? The damned place was a city, sick enough with pollution and buildings that had been of materials never asked for. It didn't need a bunch of black magic seeping in as well, poisoning the place further. ?? Fucking hell.? Rather than remark on the ??killing yourself? bit, he tramped off towards that corner store to pick up what he needed. Not compost, of course, since he did most of his work with chalk and herbs, not humus. Shamanism was as much a misunderstood tradition as whatever his good fellow upstairs was practicing on dead bodies undead, he had said. Necromancer, then. Perhaps other things as well, who knew?, at least that's what he figured whenever some New Age pothead asked him questions. The clerk there didn't even blink an eye when Will, all one-hundred-ninety centimetres of him, purchased a bucket of sidewalk chalk and a half-dozen candy bars. It must be the hair and the giant stick. Got him nearly everywhere, it did, without much of a question. Why is that man buying candy and chalk? Is he a peadophile attempting to attract children? Or just nuts and hungry? Whatever, he has feathers in his hair and a giant stick. Not going to mess with him. Returning back to the necromancer's building wasn't all that hard there was a shoe, after on, laying on the street right next to the sidewalk. Will picked it up on his way across the street, jaywalking like every good city-dweller. It wouldn't be hard to find which door was the necromancer's this close, and the magic was ? visible. He had no other word to describe the almost-colour of aura seeping out along the floor and steps, slithering down to the ground. Fucking Christ on a damned pogo stick, but mages were always so stupid . Didn't they see the mess they made? Shamans weren't magical maids to clean up their messes. He knocked on the door using his knuckles, the shoe tucked away in his large hand. There were tattoos even down his fingers, aboriginal magic users preferring to use their bodies as their main spell books, after all.