“Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love Raiders of the Lost Ark; that bit where those Nazis get their faces melted is totally insane, but for me, it has to be Temple of Doom. You know, the second one, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom?”
The drunken night-clubber, probably aged about twenty-two, give or take a couple of years, smiled broadly as he announced his adventure movie preferences. He wagged his index finger as if he were chastising an invisible child, adding to his cinematic overview.
“I actually really love the next one too: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I always have to give these movies their full titles, you know, out of respect. The blonde chick in that one is so hot!”
The young man paused, rubbing his scrunched up eyes with the palms of his hands, locks of dyed black hair trickling across his face like tiny steams of liquid onyx.
“But that last one, the one about the crystal skulls and the aliens, that just wasn’t for me. It was too far fetched. I just didn’t buy into the whole plot. They should have left the franchise after the third movie. What about you?”
The wannabe film critic froze, an eager expression etched across his face as he awaited an answer from his new “best friend”.
Aaron Hunter had only popped out of the back of the club to have a quick cigarette, but had somehow become embroiled in a conversation about the Indiana Jones saga. Perhaps “conversation” was a bad choice of word, as it implies a two-way flow of dialogue, an exchange of thoughts and opinions. Effectively, Aaron was standing in the dimly lit back alley, leaning against the wall of the music venue absorbing sentences that were hurled at him, like a sponge. Other than an occasional polite nod of his head, and a brief “uh-huh”, the affable punk rocker had remained relatively motionless and silent.
In fairness, Aaron was impressed by the drunken guy’s knowledge of the action films. The tipsy raconteur certainly wasn’t even born when the first three had been released on the big screen, which afforded him at least a modicum of Aaron’s attention. The direct question posed by the intoxicated partygoer, his slender frame dressed in an Avenged Sevenfold T-shirt, suddenly put Aaron on the spot. It would be rude not to offer some form of reply.
“Oh yeah,” said Aaron, “all those aliens are way more far fetched than some kind magical box left by God, or a goblet that offers eternal life.”
The dark-haired vampire smiled cheekily as he delivered his response. Maybe eternal life was closer than this poor drunk realised. A bite and a spicy cocktail of beer and blood could transform the hapless clubber into an immortal. Aaron could play God for the evening, turn his own wrist into a sacred chalice, and let the scruffy rock fan take a sip… but not tonight. Aaron had only ventured to the nightclub in the first place to check out a new band. He had zero intention of siring a childe, especially one who he’d only just met in a grubby backstreet.
“I hear what you’re saying about the Temple of Doom,” added Aaron. “It’s a cool movie. That underground chase with those mining carts is pretty awesome. It’s like a rusty old rollercoaster. I bet there are Thuggee guards beneath the streets of Harper Rock!”
Once again, there was a certain thread of truth buried within Aaron’s words. There were indeed violent gangs lurking in the shadows, ready to rip out the beating hearts of their next victim. There was also one place in particular that sprung into Aaron’s mind when he thought about underground mines: the Algonquin Caverns.
The labyrinth of damp tunnels and mineshafts that could be found to the east of Harper Rock, in the wilderness passed the Bullwood district of the city, was home to various weird and wonderful creatures, most of which would happily rip off your head given half a chance. Demifae: powerful and dangerous, monstrous and magical. Although he had been trying to read up on the area, Aaron didn’t really know too much about the history of the Algonquin Caverns. Maybe it was some kind of old workplace, long since abandoned, frequented by the ghosts of deceased miners. If so, what exactly were the hardworking labours looking for down there? Aaron already thought that he knew the answer: gems!
Shining precious gems that glistened like pocket stars, hidden treasures buried deep within the echoing caverns, could be found by any intrepid explorer willing to take their chance again the beasts that trawled the dank, stone dungeon. It was a gamble well worth taking. Sapphires and emeralds could fetch a pretty penny in the more secretive shops that were dotted around the city. There was always a shady-looking merchant willing to offer a tidy sum of cash for those dazzling beauties.
Although he was not a particularly materialistic kind of guy, Aaron would never turn his nose up at a few extra dollars. Guns and ammo didn’t come cheap nowadays, and a collection of vintage punk LPs was definitely not free of charge. A little expedition to the Caverns to gather “supplies” would never go amiss.
Recently, Aaron had bumped into an old acquaintance: a young woman with purple steaks in her hair called Nerissa. The subject of the Caverns, and the loot that lay within its cavernous corridors, had been discussed. The possibility of a trip to the old caves had been mentioned, with the purpose of filling their proverbial boots with booty firmly at the top of the agenda. Tonight’s chance encounter with the random drunk had jogged Aaron’s memory. Perhaps it was time to give Miss Purple a call, or should that be “Miss Amethyst”, given the nature of the potential escapade.
Would anyone else be interested in a little adventure into the wilderness? Did anyone else require a new nickname, for that matter? Aaron’s partner, Eureka, would obviously be “Ruby”, the odd looking guy with brilliant white hair called Myk could easily be labelled “Diamond”. Whatever happened to him? Were there suitable candidates ready to claim “Emerald” and “Sapphire”? Undoubtedly, yes, but nickname distribution could wait. It was time to get calling, time to assemble a posse. If things turned out the way that they usually did, the likelihood of picking up a few waifs and stays on the way was fairly high. There was always somebody around just aching to slash a few demifae!
“Excuse me, friend,” said Aaron politely to his newest acquaintance, “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to get out of here. I appear to have left my hat and bullwhip at home!”
Gesturing with a simple wave to signal his exit, Aaron spun on his heels, disappearing down the dark alleyway in order to get the ball rolling.
The drunken night-clubber, probably aged about twenty-two, give or take a couple of years, smiled broadly as he announced his adventure movie preferences. He wagged his index finger as if he were chastising an invisible child, adding to his cinematic overview.
“I actually really love the next one too: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I always have to give these movies their full titles, you know, out of respect. The blonde chick in that one is so hot!”
The young man paused, rubbing his scrunched up eyes with the palms of his hands, locks of dyed black hair trickling across his face like tiny steams of liquid onyx.
“But that last one, the one about the crystal skulls and the aliens, that just wasn’t for me. It was too far fetched. I just didn’t buy into the whole plot. They should have left the franchise after the third movie. What about you?”
The wannabe film critic froze, an eager expression etched across his face as he awaited an answer from his new “best friend”.
Aaron Hunter had only popped out of the back of the club to have a quick cigarette, but had somehow become embroiled in a conversation about the Indiana Jones saga. Perhaps “conversation” was a bad choice of word, as it implies a two-way flow of dialogue, an exchange of thoughts and opinions. Effectively, Aaron was standing in the dimly lit back alley, leaning against the wall of the music venue absorbing sentences that were hurled at him, like a sponge. Other than an occasional polite nod of his head, and a brief “uh-huh”, the affable punk rocker had remained relatively motionless and silent.
In fairness, Aaron was impressed by the drunken guy’s knowledge of the action films. The tipsy raconteur certainly wasn’t even born when the first three had been released on the big screen, which afforded him at least a modicum of Aaron’s attention. The direct question posed by the intoxicated partygoer, his slender frame dressed in an Avenged Sevenfold T-shirt, suddenly put Aaron on the spot. It would be rude not to offer some form of reply.
“Oh yeah,” said Aaron, “all those aliens are way more far fetched than some kind magical box left by God, or a goblet that offers eternal life.”
The dark-haired vampire smiled cheekily as he delivered his response. Maybe eternal life was closer than this poor drunk realised. A bite and a spicy cocktail of beer and blood could transform the hapless clubber into an immortal. Aaron could play God for the evening, turn his own wrist into a sacred chalice, and let the scruffy rock fan take a sip… but not tonight. Aaron had only ventured to the nightclub in the first place to check out a new band. He had zero intention of siring a childe, especially one who he’d only just met in a grubby backstreet.
“I hear what you’re saying about the Temple of Doom,” added Aaron. “It’s a cool movie. That underground chase with those mining carts is pretty awesome. It’s like a rusty old rollercoaster. I bet there are Thuggee guards beneath the streets of Harper Rock!”
Once again, there was a certain thread of truth buried within Aaron’s words. There were indeed violent gangs lurking in the shadows, ready to rip out the beating hearts of their next victim. There was also one place in particular that sprung into Aaron’s mind when he thought about underground mines: the Algonquin Caverns.
The labyrinth of damp tunnels and mineshafts that could be found to the east of Harper Rock, in the wilderness passed the Bullwood district of the city, was home to various weird and wonderful creatures, most of which would happily rip off your head given half a chance. Demifae: powerful and dangerous, monstrous and magical. Although he had been trying to read up on the area, Aaron didn’t really know too much about the history of the Algonquin Caverns. Maybe it was some kind of old workplace, long since abandoned, frequented by the ghosts of deceased miners. If so, what exactly were the hardworking labours looking for down there? Aaron already thought that he knew the answer: gems!
Shining precious gems that glistened like pocket stars, hidden treasures buried deep within the echoing caverns, could be found by any intrepid explorer willing to take their chance again the beasts that trawled the dank, stone dungeon. It was a gamble well worth taking. Sapphires and emeralds could fetch a pretty penny in the more secretive shops that were dotted around the city. There was always a shady-looking merchant willing to offer a tidy sum of cash for those dazzling beauties.
Although he was not a particularly materialistic kind of guy, Aaron would never turn his nose up at a few extra dollars. Guns and ammo didn’t come cheap nowadays, and a collection of vintage punk LPs was definitely not free of charge. A little expedition to the Caverns to gather “supplies” would never go amiss.
Recently, Aaron had bumped into an old acquaintance: a young woman with purple steaks in her hair called Nerissa. The subject of the Caverns, and the loot that lay within its cavernous corridors, had been discussed. The possibility of a trip to the old caves had been mentioned, with the purpose of filling their proverbial boots with booty firmly at the top of the agenda. Tonight’s chance encounter with the random drunk had jogged Aaron’s memory. Perhaps it was time to give Miss Purple a call, or should that be “Miss Amethyst”, given the nature of the potential escapade.
Would anyone else be interested in a little adventure into the wilderness? Did anyone else require a new nickname, for that matter? Aaron’s partner, Eureka, would obviously be “Ruby”, the odd looking guy with brilliant white hair called Myk could easily be labelled “Diamond”. Whatever happened to him? Were there suitable candidates ready to claim “Emerald” and “Sapphire”? Undoubtedly, yes, but nickname distribution could wait. It was time to get calling, time to assemble a posse. If things turned out the way that they usually did, the likelihood of picking up a few waifs and stays on the way was fairly high. There was always somebody around just aching to slash a few demifae!
“Excuse me, friend,” said Aaron politely to his newest acquaintance, “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to get out of here. I appear to have left my hat and bullwhip at home!”
Gesturing with a simple wave to signal his exit, Aaron spun on his heels, disappearing down the dark alleyway in order to get the ball rolling.
