Quaerere (Open)

[Abel Riese (DELETED 8904)]

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“****.”

Under different circumstances, Abel might have put more thought into the why pertaining to his sire’s absence. It could be that Calen’s business had gone awry. Or that the extensive act they’d put together for his funeral had failed to detangle him from his past. Whatever the cause, figuring it out wasn’t at the forefront of the necromancer’s mind. What consumed his thoughts was the what. As in what the **** do I do?

Raking both hands through his long hair, Abel glanced at his surroundings. The heavy volumes were as unpromising as they looked, stacked high and coated in a thick layer of dust. When he considered the nature of the professor’s work, he doubted that Calen would leave any serviceable research at anyone’s disposal.

So, what now? Who was Abel supposed to turn to in the absence of his mentor?

Books and tomes had proven unhelpful in his quest for answers. Perfect strangers were not welcome to such intimate details of his life. The internet was too questionable a place to seek answers on such a desperate matter. With his last lead a dead end however, it seemed he’d have no choice but to branch out past his comfort zone. Unless he found a happy medium...

Calen had spoken of an elusive, strange woman who went by a name Abel hadn't retained. How likely was it for him to find her in this city of millions? The many leather-bound tomes he’d collected offered no rituals to find one’s predecessors. (A term search of the Crownet had confirmed this). If he’d found one, he’d have focused on contacting Calen rather than conjuring a ritual to break into the man’s office.

The necromancer didn’t know her name or any means by which to find her, but he remembered a single detail: crypt dweller. What if he was wrong? What if he didn’t remember correctly? Time altered people’s minds, and he was not in his right one given his mental state. No, surely such an unorthodox fact had not stemmed from his own imagination.

Retracing his steps, he found the annotated maps he’d overlooked earlier. Whatever Calen had been looking for when he’d marked up the maps eluded Abel; he knew little of the details of the professor’s research. Yet, retracing his sire’s steps was a far better plan than than going into the city’s underbelly blind.

Given the time sensitivity of his problem, Abel didn’t waste another minute. Tucking the rolled-up map into the inner lining of his jacket, he left making no effort to cover his tracks. As he walked through the campus, he sought to cover his bases by casting a wider net. He was far less complexed about sharing this than the rest.

Leaving his car parked along the university’s backstreets, the necromancer sought the nearest entry point into the sewers. The night was young, but his patience was worn thin and his spirit near breaking. If he avoided her phone call, it was because he’d yet to find the answers she wanted.

[Atabei Narcisse]

Certain precautions and measures had to be made before Atabei could carry out her 'plan.' She had walked the length and width of the graveyard in Cherrydale looking for the perfect spot. Not out of romantic ideas or to set a scene, but she did not want to interrupt those that eternally slept there and what she was going to do required some discretion. She couldn't have things being interrupted, or vandalized like so many graves and crypts had been over the last year or so Atabei had taken up residency in.

Atabei had settled on a place towards the back of the graveyard, somewhere between crypt eight and ten. There was enough space to make sure she wouldn't be disrupting anyone with her digging. The dark skinned woman found both her knees after a couple of mumbled words to herself, and then, as if her hands were shovels, Atabei began ripping into the earth. Her arms arced high above her head, while her hands acted as cups; scooping up the humus and topsoil near the surface, then making a pile to the left of where she knelt.

Ajamu was to blame for this erratic behavior of Atabei's lately. Gifted zombie hoards had not phased him, or drawn his attention towards her. The continual cursing had little to no impact either. Not even the doll with endless twigs and gashes in it had resulted in anything. Not a single word. If Ajamu were of the same cloth as the others, it would not have bothered Atabei, but deep down, she felt a sort of kinship to the male. Maybe because he reminded her of the ways of her sire, or just because of his nature. He was not tangled in complexities of modern necessities.

Soon, there was a pile of humus and topsoil that came to Atabei's shoulders, but still she dug. It had to be deep enough and long enough. As she hit subsoil. Atabei climbed in and laid her body
in the supine position as she tried to guess her height against Ajamu's. He was much taller, so it would need to be longer. Much longer. If her feet were able to touch the outside wall of the hole Atabei was making, then it would not be long enough. She continued this way; digging, crawling inside the hole, then digging some more until her fingernails bled from the large pieces of rocks that were found mixed in with the subsoil. These larger rocks let Atabei know about how deep she had dug. Deep enough.

When it was all said and done, Atabei crawled out of the self-made grave, ripped away the nails that were barely hanging to her skin and tossed them into the large hole. It was both big enough and perfect for Ajamu. Now, all she had to do was find him. Which required some semblance of clothing. City folk were not comfortable in their own skins.

[Abel Riese (DELETED 8904)]

Turn Left… Continue forward… Pause. Abel could turn the corner and navigate through a maze of that’d been completely drawn over with arrows and crosses. Alternatively, he could continue onwards and take the long way around, simplifying the journey at the expense of time. The latter would bring him closer to Gambondale, where the old cemetery lay behind the quarantine walls. If he wanted to make both locations before dawn, surely that was the wisest course of action.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wondered why he’d not taken the train at Newborough Station and saved himself the hassle. Even the car would have been more practical than this… It wasn’t too late to go back. After all, time was a precious commodity.

Taking another long look at Calen’s map, the necromancer resigned himself to his original plan. If the woman he sought dwelled in these dank, dark places, then he was likelier to find her by staying underground. It might have been an absolute lie, but the thought was enough to justify the quarter-hour he’d already wasted. He was a man in dire need of reassurance.

A glance at his watch confirmed he had no more than twenty minutes to avoid the unbearable pain crossing water caused. A fourth look at the map suggested the left turn was the most reasonable. Black marker had made a mess of the guide, but the gist of it was clear enough.

Left, left, right, and… that was probably where the river was. It’d be the most challenging part of the evening if he didn’t time it correctly, and so he wasted no more time. Perhaps, deep down, something would guide him in the right direction without having to pause for confirmation at each turn.

As he walked, his phone vibrated. It was odd that he’d receive signal so far down, but not all sections of the sewers lay at the same depth. Walking alongside the trickle of water, he checked his messages and found two replies to his query. Only one seemed viable, to which he paused in his step long enough to reply. With a bit of luck, he’d get good news before the night was out.

11:57. Three minutes. Standing idle in wait for midnight, Abel cursed his bad luck. It made no sense to him that water would elicit such pain, but beyond incomprehensive, it was an impractical curse. Caroline crossed his mind. The vision of her hollowed cheeks and swollen belly put him to shame. Here he was avoiding pain when her life was on the line. The thought was enough to push him forward, though it seemed his willpower struck just in time. Without issue, he made for the other side of the river, and paused to give the map one final glance.

If he continued onwards, always veering left, he’d find himself in Cherrydale. Though he’d not spent much time in the catacombs or the mausoleum, Abel figured his chances of finding this ghost of a woman were higher there than in the quarantine zone. Then again, he wanted to believe that the case, else he’d have a longer night ahead than he hoped for.

There was no guarantee he’d find her, either. It had been months since the necromancer had reviewed any of this conversation. Perhaps there were details that Calen had passed on which were now missing. Perhaps this woman operated on a fixed schedule, and she was nowhere to be found on a Thursday night.

Negativity seeped through the cracks, doubt a gaping wound which bled confidence, leaving him at the mercy of his volatile emotions. The frustration, anger, anxiety, and desperation propelled him onwards at an inhuman speed. Long legs made quick work of the tunnels, leading him to one of the Cherrydale exit just outside the town shops and oldtown theatre.

Tucking the map back into the inner lining of his jacket, Abel did the best he could to avoid the floodlights and the attention of mausoleum guards. It was just as well he’d not driven, else he’d surely have risen some eyebrows heading into the cemetery at this hour. Even with the news of vampire kind walking the streets, there remained many who had not taken to the idea of the undead living amongst them. Over the course of the past year, the mausoleum guards had made the front pages once too often for shooting first.

Rounding the abandoned church, Abel was spotted. His hands lifted to the sides of his head, eyes scanning the perimeter. Only one guard — a scout, no doubt — had spotted him. Hidden from the harsh floodlight beams, the necromancer was granted a chance to make his escape. It was easier said than done when someone was pointing a gun at his back, but if he timed it just right…

“Down! On your knees, hands stay up. Now!”

…the problem with aggressive men was that they didn’t understand personal space. As soon as Abel felt the air shift immediately behind him, he canted his head to the side and wished a distraction into existence. Just as soon as he’d thought it, the ground shifted, releasing from its bowels the undead.

Code: Select all

You summon the dead to rise around your location, who amble around blindly looking for a target.

There was no time to waste. If he lingered, the zombies were as likely to turn on him as they did on the guard. The fired shots elicited yelling from the mausoleum’s barbed perimeter. Abel slipped out from the church’s shadow and disappeared into the adjacent graveyard.

Wearing

[Kitchi]

At first glance there would be no signs of life. Nothing to detect that in the rustic master bedroom of CT #302 there was any hope left for the stretch of skin and muscle that was absent of respirations to count or warmth to be discovered by the investigative touch.Like dark storms brewing into the credible warning of more to come lids lifted like shades giving up on their purpose in a low budget motel room. Killer eyes steeled to set wide open finding the ceiling above him was where he last saw it. Just like it should be. Now that the day’s last light faded the cascade of obsidian hair dangling from the pillow down to the bedside floor showed signs that the presumed dead could actually rise more than once or beyond a thousand times.

Kitchi was greeted by nothing in physical presence beside him. Not that he expected anyone in particular. Paskus was reachable only with his dreams when he was granted them. Outside that this was how it had to be and had been for so long that he had come to prefer it for the comfort and space it afforded him. Not that he was entirely alone. He was subjected to a haunting that was unshakeable and entirely active and real.

It was present in action no matter what he did to get out of reach. So much so that he never fully escaped the weight of doom trying to gain access to him. In the past it rarely failed to take hold and set him off his chosen course. It carried the possibilities of threat, tapping at his balance of energy and sense of control. Simple actions like crossing a street needed to be approached with the preparation of anything happening. Lately it was getting to even out far more in his favor or he was just getting that good at dodging the dangers presented to him. Either way it was becoming a routine that the woodland cree was willing to accept as much as the ingrown toenail that really never went away once he cut it.

It … scratch that. The black magic Iskwêw responsible always came back just like the hunger that clawed at his insides. It was like an invisible chain he was sentenced to wear. The cursed gnawing that he answered to because there was little choice since the decision was made for him years ago. No surprise the bear responsible for what he was went AWOL and disappeared. Machk was long gone and for all he knew never to be seen again. That guy certainly had his own hell handed to him to deal with so Kitchi wasn’t about to throw stones over getting the short end of the Acheron death stick. Reality was hitting him and it was up to him alone to deal with it.

Awake, burdened and alone there he was three floors above the Wickbridge section of Harper Rock towering in the earth seasoned skin he was born in. It was same **** on a different night yet it never failed to motivate his bare form to rise from where he chose to take his imposed rest. From the coiled sheets that failed to hold him down the darkness found another to be cautious of while the moon was in it’s glowing reign. A killer was leaving the cool bed that held him and potentially lethal first steps were made to join the nightly hunt.

From the cleansing natural rock shower and into the fit of what he permitted to cover his body only minutes passed. Wearing the expression of ancient chiseled stone he left the interior walls of the apartment behind. A purposeful stride lead him out of need and in favor of getting closer to what could possibly sate some of what drove him to head out into the darkest of nights. What couldn’t be satisfied would be dealt with on his terms. The fluid movement of wide shoulders and a silk train of black hair flowing behind was barely noticed as the doors closed to the lobby. Nothing caught his attention until the moonlight landed on his head. With the flawless motions of a ceremonious greeting his face turned heavenward. The chatter ceased between those making visible efforts at stepping around his imposing frame when he disappeared into thin air. The odd out of place scent of fresh cut black spruce and the sharp hint of blood filled the lungs of those left to inhale out of need.

“Did you see that?” One asked the other clearly bewildered at what just happened. “He just poofed.”
“The tall dark guy with insane hair?” The door was pulled open so the one asking for a credible witness could step safely inside. “Nope. I didn’t see a thing.”

[Atabei Narcisse]

Atabei had retreated to the all too familiar crypt that had most of her prized possessions. The only things she would ever need, in her mind. Most her ritual ingredients, and other odds and ends. Some scarves that were ripped or dirty that had been found in countless garbage bins around the city, and two sarongs that had been acquired in the same way. More often than not, Bei usually just wore the scarves to hold her hair in place, given the bounce and natural curls they possessed.

She had just left the crypt with a sarong wrapped around her and a scarf in her head (one that didn't match, not that she cared) when Atabei heard the sounds of the modern, mortal man nearby. "Always so eaga ta be kill'n sum'tin dese nights." She said with a shake of her head, eyes moving around the graveyard. More times than not, she woke up with anywhere between one and four new grave sites on the premise. Modern man was going to be their own undoing, Bei had decided long ago.

Oblivious as to what was going on outside the cemetery (other than what she heard) Bei continued towards the entrance of the cemetery. Her Ajamu could be in a couple places. it was unlikely that he was in the home that held other tiny homes inside of it. If he was, he was in for a surprise when he walked in the front door. That left the place below the earth, or the castle on the other side of town. Which would be problematic for Atabei. She shied away from places that had too many vampires in its area and the last time she had stumbled inside the building there had been vampires at the front door en mass, off to secluded areas and a couple times she had seen the same, gigantic man in various places. Some sort of magical vampire power she wasn't aware of, but wasn't going to stand around to try and figure it out. The place below the city is where she would start.

Atabei more or less made her way to the front of the graveyard by a crouched crawl. It was a defensive walk, more than anything, ready to protect her body should the need arise. More sounds of gunfire drew her attention away from the main area and to the side where she saw staggering bodies collapse to the ground. The walking dead, not vampires, but those that had rotted away and could be influenced by vampires. There was not an ounce of grace as the bodies fell, and bones clanked together before crumbling apart from years, or decades of decay. Her head shifted away from what was going on outside the graveyard to what was going on inside. Footsteps, light as can be. "Who thurr?" Atabei asked, positioning her body towards the sound, still in her hunched form, wild eyes scanning the darkness.

[Abel Riese (DELETED 8904)]

Whether or not the guards would follow into the cemetery was a matter Abel considered only once he’d crossed onto holy ground. It’d be in his best interest to find a place to hide should he find himself pursued, for digging a grave in this place could lead to an unpleasant surprise... and yet, he couldn’t lose track of what he’d come here for.

Moving away from the entrance, the necromancer veered off the cemented path. His best bet was to search the grounds systematically, and hope he wouldn’t be followed. If he was, there were plenty undead he could call to his aid. A female voice sounded amidst the darkness, startling him. Brow furrowed, Abel hunched forward as he paused, not wanting to give a possible assailant too big an advantage. Though a monolith of a man, Abel's height was as much a strength as it could be a weakness. Broad shoulders gave bullets a bigger target area, and his centre of gravity wasn’t great should something come at him - fast.

“I’d rather do introductions face to face...” he replied to the darkness, turning cautiously on his heel to search for the voice’s source. Could this be the woman Calen had spoken about.

[Kitchi]

Silence. A deafening silence covered the wilderness when he appeared from what would seem nothing more than thin air. A minor sense of disappointment etched into the flesh on his forehead. It was too still for the world that should be moving with purpose. The woods were to be considered wise as a whole. Nature was prepared for infiltration and penetration from outsiders. Kitchi knew where he was standing all too well. The movement of his feet caused the earth beneath to sing with the snap of sacrificed twigs and the crunch of rock as he traveled beyond the first line of trees. A pungent odor worked through his nostrils and lungs as well as settling on the surface of his tongue. The sour heat of large game sank in his pores and invited him to make the attempt to catch it if he was willing to use the energy.

A fierce speed found his form. In the first stretch of his leg the woodland cree was pulled from the ease of the casual pace of walking and thrust him forward into a full sprint. As he divided several bushes with his body the lining of his mouth captured the pollen of the hidden sedate blooms that were requiring daylight to discovered. He moved faster evading the distraction his parted lips offered while taking to task the further stretch of his sprint and leaving it behind.

Wild eyes watched him from the distance safely concealed from the threat he posed while he stayed on the path of his intended prey. A few of the fast, the hungry and spirited nocturnal predators attempted to join in on the chase. An impromptu pack always lessened the burden of catching what fought to survive.It was fruitless on all accounts. None were successful in intervening or scoring what was to be his once the killer left his feet.

His elongated fingertips produced lethal, razor sharp claws. Weapons or tools they could be considered. In this case they were used for leverage. Each one governed by the powerful vice grip of his hands penetrated the warmth of the first layers of the massive bull moose that naturally struggled beneath. Easing his grip his legs wrapped around the body beneath and secured his catch. A graceful smooth passenger above, Kitchi made it look easy and effortless. Riding it’s startled mass deeper into the darkness had branches biting at his face on the rebound of the impressive rack in the lead. Clouds from the beasts lungs washed its potent scent over him as he stayed with the attempt of it’s life preserving run that would end sooner than later. The moose would provide what he needed in blood, bone and hide as it had for his people for as long as the woods and woodland cree had been one. It's spirit would be honored like the rest.

[Atabei Narcisse]

Atabei's eyes narrowed as she glanced towards the sound of the voice. It wasn't familiar, but that was no surprise. There were few the dark skinned woman, with just as dark of hair knew and conversed with, rejecting most of the vampire species the second she had been slaughtered by them centuries ago. “Very well 'den.” Atabei obliged the request, not knowing just who, or what she was going to be meeting. She moved out into the open, but as she did this, her attention shifted to her Ajamu and as usual, with the assistance of a few quiet words, sent him something, letting him know she was thinking about him. Attempting to coax him out of his pattern for the night. Eventually, he would tire of the curses and seek her out.

Atabei's dark and wild eyes dropped from focusing on the night around her as the woman crouched down and took to both hands and feet. “Well, yous com'n out, or yous gunna stay in da dark? I won't bite chya.” Atabei said, her voice almost coaxing, but laced with something dark and almost primitive as she sat there, crouched on all fours. “I was named Atabei, sum time latah da white man give me da name of Narcisse ta go wit' it.” Her head moved from left to right as she peered into the darkness, then up and down. If he didn't want to come out, she might be tempted to meet him in the darkness he seemed to remain in, as if it were some sort of security blanket. In Harper Rock, hanging in the dark was the worst thing a person could do, a lesson he might very well learn sooner than later.

[Abel Riese (DELETED 8904)]

The wraith had explained that the shadows would become him — or that he would become the shadows? Hykajae spoke in riddles that Abel had gotten too lost in to fully appreciate. When the woman spoke of shadows, he was confused. He did not believe himself so quick to acquire the gift unlocked by the wraith’s knowledge. But it didn’t matter.

What mattered was the oddity before him. There was no doubt she was a woman, the scarcity of her clothing made that evident. There was some doubt as to whether she was the woman. The memory of Calen’s words didn’t get much clearer, but there was something within his mind that pulled and pulled and pulled. Abel stepped forward under its influence, shedding darkness with the ease he’d apprehended it.

The attire… the crouching… Atabei… white man.. Narcisse… Just looking at her — well, there was a lot to unpack, but what he wanted to know he somehow knew. The meaning of Calen’s words surfaced — as though roused from the depths by Atabei’s presence.

Abel towered above most, but her position made him all the more aware of his height. Taking a step closer, he lowered himself onto his haunches, forearms resting on his thighs. He had said face-to-face.

“I’m Abel - Abel Riese. And I believe you’re the one I’m looking for, Atabei Narcisse. Do you know a Calen Phair?”

[Kitchi]

Like the curse of an angry woman out for blood it came over him with the wrath it had never presented before. It took its fierce hold and as soon as it did the grip he had on the beast beneath him lost its strength. Kitchi found the world spinning around him as he lost his connection to what he had been drawn to.

Shadows belonging to the eyes that witnessed what happened next became a blur within the dark evergreens and the sudden rush of unexplained wind that delivered him hard and fast to his bounce on his knees. Silken flames of obsidian lengths spiraled as the killer tumbled to avoid the return charge of the beast that traded the defense for an offense approach. Heavily it charged narrowly missing him. The scent of warm woods enriched blood clung to the air around him. Swiftly he managed to rise with a fluidity that had him one with the flow of what called for him. She was searching and he was shifting the course of his hunt.

A sprint centered on finding her had him clearing the nearest line of trees and breaching into the open field. If only he could fly with the spirit of his claimed eagle guide. He felt it within reach but the choice was uncertain. Instead he accepted the ease that celerity delivered. Out of thin air and into the shadows outside the northern station of Cherrydale the long legged Cree picked up his stride. Adopting the sounds of worn, snug fitting boots clapping at the hard city surface beneath. The sounds nearly blend together as he picked up speed and sank into the darkness where few truly care to go. Not unless they were looking to run into something like him.

As soon as he was back on solid ground in the grounds of the dead he caught the scent of her left behind. He followed it with the pull it provided to him as if leading him just where she wanted him to be. She was on the move but it was getting strong. Then again, so was he. The rush of power he held within rose like a storm contained in his steeled eyes. Each step taken had the want for her presence rising. The one wearing her name and beckoning him to close in. It was then that he found himself a witness to a curious site. His black magic Iskwêw was crouching and she was not alone. Solid as the woods ancient trees he stood unmoving. Watching expressionless and waiting.