K. Solomon's Bookstore & Cafe - Under New Management - Open

Weather Report: Cool autumn winds blow multi-colored leaves and the smell of apples and pumpkin spice down the streets of Durem.

.	100.0%	[ 22 ]
Total Votes:			[ 22 ]

[lucy wolf puppy]

Lucy looked down at the box he held. She kind of wondered what the other rings were from but then it clicked on her. Most likely from past wives. She watched as he put the gold one on himself. He had taken his ring off a while ago.

Then he walked away from her. It seemed like he hadn't cared about her. "I will take care of things downstairs. Rest up my love." Lucy pushed the dresser drew closed for him. "You only have a month left." She turned to look at him. "We are not ready for this." Lucy turned away from him. Heading out of the loft.

[Mohan Ross]

"Wait..."

He called out to her as he saw her reach the door. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. It was longer than it had been in a while. When the angel had control, the hair never really grew. The body was locked, as if frozen in time. Unchanged and unaging. This was not the case when the human dominated.

"You should rest too. Why not come lie down? The customers can mind themselves for a while."

It was a simple invitation. A request to stay.

[lucy wolf puppy]

Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. Looking back at Ross. "I really should keep busy. We won't be getting rest once the twins start kicking. " she looked over at Reaper who had moved out of her way. "Maybe Reaper wants to cuddle with you." She giggled. It felt like the first time in forever.

[Mohan Ross]

"Bahh..."

He waved his hand to her and flopped back.

"I think he and I have had enough alone time."

He wouldn't stay down long. Despite his grace being damaged, he had too much on his mind. There was still much to do. He alsoneeded to check on Natalie. He realized he had lost a good amount of time and couldn't recall when he had last seen many of his patrons. He felt the tug of those he needed to help, but was sure it was likely in his head. As well angel radio was a buzz. Durem was still under angelic protection, now more than ever. He closed his eyes and muted the sounds of their chatter from ringing in his head.

[Mohan Ross]

After a few hours of thinking, he grew restless and stood. He buttones up his shirt and fixed his tie. He made his way to the boor but stopped a foot or so away. Gripping his chest, he knelt down, bracing himself. Hs chest heaved, his breathing quickened. Unable to focus or even see straight, he stayed down until he could function. It took several minutes, but he was finally able to stagger to his feet

The blade had almost killed him. It had wounded him down into his soul, destroying the majority of his angelic "light". Even with it removed, the damage wss done. He had survived, not been burned out... but he was pretty bad off. He used the banister to make his way down to the shop. It was empty tonight... almost too quiet for this place.

[Wizard Barith]

Noragnir Lighthammer
Dwarven Cleric

Noragnir made his way down the bustling roads that was such a major part of Barton. The old dwarf rarely came into the city his constant appearance of one waiting for war usually putting the town guards on alert. He shifted the pipe in his mouth the smoke curling from it lazily. He exhaled some smoke as he stopped at the doors of Solomon's Mind.

"Ah this place will have the books I am looking for." Noragnir said softly pushing the door open, and making his way inside. He was surprised the store was actually open so late, but simply shrugged it off as he made his way inside. The cleric sensed another being among the shelves, but ignored it for the time putting out his pipe as he began to move among the shelves singing a dwarvish song in deep baritone.

[Mohan Ross]

Ross heard the bell chime as a customer entered. He wandered over to the cafe and grabbed a mug of coffee. He took it black, hoping to would keep himself alert and thus able to focus on other tasks.

He sipped the murky liquid as he made his way through the shop. He wandered around the various tomes and glass cases. Once free of the obstruction of one of the wooden shelves, he saw the customer. It was a dwarf or more politically correct, a dwarven individual... but nothing about the race was politically correct.

If the angel had been one to jump to conclusions, he would have said the man belonged in a tavern... not a bookstore. But dwarves had a great level of knowldge in selected areas. As well, one could have said the same about an angel working down in the mortal world as a "librarian".

The angel sipped at his coffee as she heard the man mutter a tune. He could not hear the words clearly, but was no doubt a dwarven tale of battle and honor. He would be ready for the man if he needed any assistance.

Wizard Barith

.oO( Welome Barith! )

[Mohan Ross]

The kitchen was a buzz with the sounds of cooking. It wasn't food... lord knows the smell coming from the room would atest to that. It was Ross busy brewing something in a large cast iron cauldron. He collected a few glass jars and bottles, each filled with odd ingredients. He placed them next to the fire. Grabbing a pinch of hemlock, and a few pedals of nightshade. The liquid inside bubbled as smoke poured forth from below the pot.

He scooped up a wooden spoon and stirred the blend. The steam wafted forth, now smelling of the most unholy things one could imagine. The angel still stirring the brew dug around the bottles until he found what was the nastiest sounding item. The label read "Sandworm-" but the rest was covered by the man's fingers. The bottle was filled with dark colored dust. He poured the majority of the bottle's contents in. The liquid now changed to a deep blue, murky sludge.

Ross pulled forth the spoon and licked the end. He grimmiced at the taste. He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to swish the taste over his full pallet. His face contorted, trying to think of the mixture.

"Cinnamon!"

He ran to the pantry and rummaged through until he found it. He pulled forth the stick of shaved cinnamon. Staying far from the cauldron, he tossed the bark into it. A flash of smoke burst forth, filling the room. The angel coughed and stepped out of the room. He'd leave the potion to simmer until it was ready. Pulling off his glasses, he aimed them towards the light. The were covered in a film of ash and smoke. Wiping them on his sleeve, he returned them to his nose.

[garbage golem]

Wilton was drawn from his browsing through the bookshelves in the shop by a rather horrible smell. The small man emerged into the seating area while waving a hand in front of his face, trying to prevent a look of disgust from forming on his face. At that moment, there was a bright flash, startling the anxious chemist. When smoke began billowing out of the kitchen, he assumed someone must have been making a potion. Wilton had taken a few steps towards the kitchen when Ross emerged from the smoke.

"Oh, h-hello, Mister Ross," he said, waving his bony hand in front of his face again, still trying to dissipate the smell. "What are you m-making, if you don't mind me asking? I assume it is supposed to smell like this," he asked, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room in front of him. Wilton studied Ross carefully, recalling his odd behavior as of late and wondering if the shop's owner had returned to normal.

Appearance

Wilton Albrecht wasn't a very imposing man. He stood about five and a half feet tall, apparently in his early thirties and remarkably thin. His hair was short and dark, combed over to the left and not a single hair out of place. The man's pale brown eyes always seemed to have dark circles under them and he always appeared a bit uneasy. Wilton's rather plain face was clean shaven, never showing any stubble. His skin had a jaundiced pallor, which in combination with his gaunt frame lead many to suspect he suffered from some kind of illness. Wilton always always wore some combination of long sleeved shirt, vest, slacks and tie in somber colors, irrespective of the weather. The clothing fit him well, at least as well as any clothes fit on the man's frame.

Really good sense of smell?

Wilton smells faintly of musty books, old leather and organic solvents

Some kinda magic sense?

Wilton appears to be lightly contaminated with magic.

[Mohan Ross]

The angel sees the potion brewer enter. He saw him attempt to avoid the smell of the bubbling potion. As the hand extended, he returned the shake and smiled.

"I'm preparing for Halloween. As we all should be."

Halloweens on Gaia were a disaster. They never went by smoothly. Ross had learned to keep himself ready for any holiday.

"How is your lab comng along? Soon enough I'll be turning these matters over to you."

[garbage golem]

Wilton smiled weakly when Ross mentioned that he was preparing for Halloween, but it was tempered when he mentioned that the holiday did not tent to go smoothly. Wilton stopped himself from going on some mental tangent about what sorts of horrible things might happen when that day came. Fortunately, Ross seemed more or less normal. At least he didn't appear to be armed and wasn't ordering strange people around.

"Ah, yes, actually things are all set up, I've been able to make a few potions already without any trouble" he said enthusiastically. "I can c-certainly take over any duties you wish. I-I can show you the lab if you would like, but it's quite small," Wilton admitted.

"But, I wanted to ask you something. Quite a few of the patrons have disappeared, and I heard it was due to that barricade that went up a while ago. Do-do you know if it's still enforced?" the chemist asked nervously. He had been too frightened to leave the shop after hearing about the barricade, but wanted to know if it was safe now.

Appearance

Wilton Albrecht wasn't a very imposing man. He stood about five and a half feet tall, apparently in his early thirties and remarkably thin. His hair was short and dark, combed over to the left and not a single hair out of place. The man's pale brown eyes always seemed to have dark circles under them and he always appeared a bit uneasy. Wilton's rather plain face was clean shaven, never showing any stubble. His skin had a jaundiced pallor, which in combination with his gaunt frame lead many to suspect he suffered from some kind of illness. Wilton always always wore some combination of long sleeved shirt, vest, slacks and tie in somber colors, irrespective of the weather. The clothing fit him well, at least as well as any clothes fit on the man's frame.

Really good sense of smell?

Wilton smells faintly of musty books, old leather and organic solvents

Some kinda magic sense?

Wilton appears to be lightly contaminated with magic.

[Mohan Ross]

"Good. The sooner we can get you started, the better..."

The angel pressed his hand to his chest. He faked an itch to through off the action, but inside it was like he was having a heart attack. He fixed his tie when the pain passed. It never truly went away, but it subsided to a reasonable level. He felt better as he avoided using any power, which caused him to "shut off" his empathy and telepathy.

"I'm sorry... I no longer control the angel army. I don't know what they're going to do."

This caused the angel to turn away.

[garbage golem]

When Ross adjusted his tie in a strange manner Wilton just assumed it was one of the man's idiosyncrasies and didn't suspect anything was amiss. As his employer admitted that he could not control the angels any longer, the worried look on Wilton's face intensified. In fact, the chemist hadn't been aware that Ross was the responsible party, since so much of his information was second hand.

As Ross turned away, Wilton felt a pang of guilt, worried that he had hurt Ross. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't me-mean to upset you," he stuttered. "If I could... I mean... well, never mind," Wilton said. He had considered offering his expertise in potions to help with the situation before he realized how ridiculous that would be. What could any potion do against an army of angels? He decided to change the subject. "W-well, please let me know if there are any duties you need me to perform," he said, trying to sound upbeat.

Appearance

Wilton Albrecht wasn't a very imposing man. He stood about five and a half feet tall, apparently in his early thirties and remarkably thin. His hair was short and dark, combed over to the left and not a single hair out of place. The man's pale brown eyes always seemed to have dark circles under them and he always appeared a bit uneasy. Wilton's rather plain face was clean shaven, never showing any stubble. His skin had a jaundiced pallor, which in combination with his gaunt frame lead many to suspect he suffered from some kind of illness. Wilton always always wore some combination of long sleeved shirt, vest, slacks and tie in somber colors, irrespective of the weather. The clothing fit him well, at least as well as any clothes fit on the man's frame.

Really good sense of smell?

Wilton smells faintly of musty books, old leather and organic solvents

Some kinda magic sense?

Wilton appears to be lightly contaminated with magic.

[Ruido Blanco]

And there in the darkness of the basement laid the dormant beast. The creature resembled some sort of a canine-like beast, with some bearish traits. There it lied in a state of slight petrophy. Its eyes normally a glowing-bright orange, were glassed over, as dull as the empty silence that surrounded it. How did it get this way? It would have possibly been the absorption of the potions, but the more likely event was, it couldn't find a fresh food source. The problem with Hollows is that they need a constant food source to continue to grow and evolve, otherwise, game over, de-evolution begins. In the beasts case here (and the other consciousness that resided in the body) being a newly made arrancar requires food. They had fed, yet still they weren't able to perfect the form yet. That, however, was about to change.

"Food.." Within the darkness echoed a voice, on the telekinetic scale. It was like a whisper.Its front shoulders extremely muscular and bulging, no doubt for more wide-range of movements. Then, the body of the monster began to show small signs of life. Ears began a slow, rotation as the air within the basement began to fill with a heavy, cold residual energy. It slowly wrapped around the body of the canine monster as it seemed to seep into it. It was then that the pupils of the creature began to show small signs of life. The gray glassy overtone of the beasts eyes slowly began to drift away in the basement's new, cold breeze as the eyes immediately rang and blazed into their former, phoenix like orange vibrancy. Claws began to slightly impale the ground they were making contact with as the beasts tail hit the floor with a large "THUMP". The long black mane of hair that ran down its back to its tail seemed shaggy, yet still flowed with each movement the beast took, and like any canine, It would shake. It opened its jaws full of serrated teeth and gave a grunt, before letting out another one; this time louder, echoing within the room. Its dry nose began to sniff the air before letting out a roar. One that would make a blast of energy upon all sides of the beast. Well, he couldn't do that before. New move acquired to say the least.

In the darkness of the abyss that was its mind, lied dormant the lycan king; still trapped within the confounds of the constructed mind of the beast, which seemed to have awoken from its petrophy. It was wrapped within chains and held in a large metal box upon a vast square-like altar. There he resided in darkness. He too had risen, but it was part of his energy that awoke the beast. The used the same energy, which would only explain how the beast could resurrect itself. The chain's rattled as the lycan king spoke. "We need to move." His voice echoed yet again. void of emotion, yet headstrong, and wise. Luckily, He had stored enough energy for at least one more of their traits.

The ever useful sonido. Teleportation, through a plane of existence going from one place to another. Luckily for both beast and king, their high consciousness level meant the ability to have above average reiastu (spiritual energy). So, the beast simply vanished in thin air. Its image flickered once as it's jaws snapped together, drool dropping down to the floor it once laid on. Twice, as its claws dug deeper into the ground, and then, gone. The smallest sound and vibrations of energy being re-located whizzed through the walls of the room, before the beast was gone.

[garbage golem]

Wilton thought he would enjoy the quiet of the shop with the patrons gone, but after some point even he started to get a bit stir crazy. He had tinkered with his lab until there was no tinkering left to do. He read over many of the books on potions, at least until his eyes glazed over and the words started swimming in front of him. Wilton might be loathe to admit it, but the emptiness was starting to get to him. Despite the fact that he knew the shop was safe, the chemist wanted to get out of Durem until the angel situation was under control.

The sickly man had just concocted a few potions that might help him slip past the blockade, but he was now pacing nervously around the empty shop. Wilton fought to keep his paranoid mind from indulging in fantasies about exactly how wrong his attempt to pass the blockade could go. Presently, he was checking his briefcase to ensure that both the potions he had just made and those he had brewed for customers some time ago were safely packed. Even if he never saw the customers again, he might still be able to turn a profit from the potions. The small man fidgeted with the bottles of colored liquid, trying to work up the courage to leave.

Appearance

Wilton Albrecht wasn't a very imposing man. He stood about five and a half feet tall, apparently in his early thirties and remarkably thin. His hair was short and dark, combed over to the left and not a single hair out of place. The man's pale brown eyes always seemed to have dark circles under them and he always appeared a bit uneasy. Wilton's rather plain face was clean shaven, never showing any stubble. His skin had a jaundiced pallor, which in combination with his gaunt frame lead many to suspect he suffered from some kind of illness. Wilton always always wore some combination of long sleeved shirt, vest, slacks and tie in somber colors, irrespective of the weather. The clothing fit him well, at least as well as any clothes fit on the man's frame.

Really good sense of smell?

Wilton smells faintly of musty books, old leather and organic solvents

Some kinda magic sense?

Wilton appears to be lightly contaminated with magic.