Rowan Gallagher(1897-1917) is the butler of the Mortis house, and a native of County Donegal,Ireland, who emigrated to America as a child with ten siblings( six of which were sent back to the isles),taking up residence in Howell with established family, yet he perished of the Spanish flu in 1917 and was drawn to the House as a ghost. Here, he found Petunia,Peter,Hortense,and Jonathan,and together, they began to lure in other supernatural beings to make the House a beacon for preternatural activity. Suave, smooth,and charming,he's a deeply magnetic and polite, yet with a hint of mystery about him.
Despite being a lowly servant from a grubby,working class family, Rowan carries himself with the elegance of a wealthy man, with good taste, excellent manners, and a sharp wit that results in him being in popular demand from the other ghosts; he's the one guy you hate and love at the same time, and can only dream of talking to. Normally very calm and reasonable, he nonetheless has a sarcastic side that can lead him to fights he really didn't need to start, and he's a bit arrogant about his perceived intellect,which isn't as high as he'd like to think. He's also rather self absorbed and proud, and can be quite condescending to others,riling them up into tantrums while he remains rude and stoic.
He has no magickal abilities whatsoever, but that doesn't mean he still can't fight. Instead, he uses a set of enchanted playing cards that he can throw, with different results based on suite and number.
His biggest weakness is British comedy;he especially likes Mr. Bean and Blackadder.
Peter Moss(Born??Age-approximately 26) is from the bogs of Gwynedd,Wales, serving as the main groundskeeper of the Mortis House and assisting Edgar in renovating it, but he isn't exactly human; he's one of the fair folk who accompanied a group of Cornish immigrants to Michigan and settled in Brighton. He took up residence at the Mortis House to supply the family with gifts, and has been in the service of the long dead clan out of guilt, as it was by his hands that they fell. A gentle, kind hearted,wise fae,(or Tylwyth Teg),he's incredibly hardworking and patient enough to get along with anyone,whether it be a hotheaded Scotswoman, mischievous,unruly German(and French) poltergeists, or a moody Prussian nobleman.
Another believer in putting forth your best effort and eager to please, Peter is a steadfast, loyal worker who will take on tasks nobody else will, working himself like an ox until it's done to his satisfaction. His levelheaded,diplomatic nature coupled with preternatural intelligence means he's usually the one to solve disputes between the various ghosts, usually in the form of a compromise, and he absolutely hates having to rely on his own brute strength for a solution. He's also good at listening and offering sensible advice to those in need,and is one of the most trustworthy people(?) for secrets, yet he refuses to divulge most of his, clamming up and becoming uncomfortable when people ask about his past.
His supernatural blood means that he has a good deal of nature based magick for combat, including healing abilities and the strength of ten men, yet he's too calm to go picking fights most of the time,instead, he gets dragged into them against his will.He also carries a shovel that he can channel certain attacks through, and is one of the worst people to pick a fight with; you can guarantee he'll come out on top in most fights.
He's also very in tune with nature, and loves plants and animals of all sorts.
Hortense MacDougall(1879-1906)was the only daughter out of eleven children of shipbuilders in the port of Mallaig, in the Scottish Highlands, fleeing to meet family in America at age sixteen after accidentally killing a man in a bar brawl,but tragically, the ship she was on got caught in a storm and sank.It wasn't just her criminal nature that lead her to seek a better life in a new land; she found out she could throw any blade, no matter how heavy, with perfect accuracy, and subsequently, was accused of being a witch and a devil's child. Uncouth,fiery, and proud, she's a stubborn woman who enjoys exerting her dominance over others, which makes her the perfect choice for the lead cook for the ghosts of the Mortis house, and one of it's most powerful guardians.
She’s a very strict, harsh leader who tends to push her underlings to their limits, often alienating them in the process, just to make them stronger and better than they could have been. Bossy,argumentative and prone to violence, she tends to use brute force to solve problems,usually accompanied by a good deal of cursing, and never backs down from a challenge. Notably one of the more manlier females, she enjoys anything with a competitive edge, partaking in gambling, drinking( mostly whiskey and scotch), brawling/roughhousing,sports and just getting rowdy alongside the other guys.
In combat, she's a brave, strong fighter wielding a kitchen knife,and she won't give up until she's the last one standing,though she suffers from bloodlust;it's almost an addiction for her.
She's also a heavy smoker who more often than not has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
She’s a good worker who always puts in effort and seldom asks for anyone to help her with her labour unless they ask her if they can help, and she takes pride in a job well done. Logical to a fault, she’ll always think her way through issues, which helps her keep the coolest head among the ghosts alongside Peter Moss in chaotic situations. Unable to stand troubling others with her problems, she tends to withdraw on herself and try and find a solution, and she also hates it when there’s unnecessary disorder.
Her peaceful nature and lack of physical strength means she’s hesitant to battle, unlike the blood knight Hazel or the fiery Hortense, but her rational way of thinking means she can create a decent strategy. She usually prefers to stand on the sidelines, offering advice and cheering others on silently. If pushed however, she’s deadly with her broom, which she uses to channel magick attacks through.
“W-What's happening? What is that thing?" Curtis moaned, with a grim accusation that, when the ghoul had devoured him, his body would be marred so greatly, that even the most acute eyes could not perceive him. And he had been so careful....
"Hey,you! Hold your hands above your head and yell' Haunted Spiced Slicer and see what happens!'' a tall, portly, black girl yelled and with all his rage rage, he pushed the horrendous being away long enough to throw his arms up and utter 'Shining Blaze Blitz!"
What happened next was a most unfamiliar, unthinkable event, that could not be trapped by a human tongue. When he was to recount it later, he found himself apologizing fervently for describing it in such a mundane manner. Immediately, he felt each one of his pores flutter open, a maelstrom of flaming bright power clustering around him, not even the deftest movements able to flee his watch. His fist was sheathed in a rough, red shell of energy, and he pointed two fingers at the vile, undesirable phantom that agitated him immensely,a glowing scarlet lightning climbing up his limb and tucking under the hazy jaw of the specter as it was destroyed in a roaring wave of mist. Blood was spilled from behind his bangs, the color of sweet wine, lingering behind him on the floor and in the furniture, as an unspoken feeling that was not known to him engulfed his body, and he then gasped as he saw it rise, the only break in a swallowing silence
"I-I thought I killed it! Wh-ARGHHA!" he howled as an unbearable sensation very much like a thousand iron chains wrapping around each limb, each bone, each individual piece of flesh, taking hold of him and never letting go as they forced his slim form apart. He looked past, to a ruined mirror crusted with grime, to see blood, his blood and sinew, ,dangling like a frayed, withered rope from the being's claws. "D-Damn it! Why won't you just die already!" he cried, as a formerly unspoken command, sunk so incredibly in the cloaks of his subconscious mind."Urggh...Lightning Flash... SABER!!"he screamed, his hands laden with a grand red broadwsord whose blade was long as a javelin, smeared in a lovely black, horrendously fatal sludge. Curtis aimed for its head, slabs of luminous, vermillion blood torn from where they rested .
"Oh, it's still alive and kicking! They're like honey badgers!"
”Shining Blaze Blitz!" Curtis screamed, slamming his forearm into its neck, beheading the terrible thing. He felt his unperturbed bone sweep through the flesh, which had a rather peculiar texture, crisp and dry as a fresh growth of voracious rot on a finely tended vegetable,, and he watched as the tantalizingly crimson was pushed in quite a hurry to the ground. It's head was perched in its hand, mouth contorted into a gorgonized, hideous smile before the piece was tossed into the corner, melting away in the dark as a thin, torn memory shall in the night.
"It's still going? Unbelievable!" he thought as the headless corpse rose, blood squealing out from its bared neck. Curtis marvelled at the creature’s determination, yet ( this was something he would be forever vexed by in retrospect), he missed seeing the monster until it netted its arms around his waist and shot him at the wall. Blood buttoned in his body was now freed when some of the seams were undone, but he stood nonetheless to destroy the ghoul.
“That didn't hurt at all. Lightning Flash Saber!" Curtis yelled, and slashed with a blind fury that grew with each yank at the flesh, blood heaping on the ground, only pausing to grind a flying organ beneath his foot heel stabbing the leaking membrane with satisfaction. When he finished, he saw that bloody chains of dripping flesh were draped onto its skeleton, as the head hopped towards its body but before they met,finally dissipating and collapsing dead, the spirit walking in the air above i..
"Haunters, a common ghost that can be used for training. Not bad, Curtis. In fact, outstanding,you're definitely in with us."
"In what? Who are you, anyhow?"
"Octavia Adanech , part black widow. I'm into web boyfriends, though, and this is Edgar Breivik," the portly, tall girl explained, her voice rich and cultured with a slight European accent that may have been adopted over decades of residence in such a place.
"Drit og dra," an anemic, skinny boy a few years older than Curtis and half a foot taller growled in a stern, heavily accented bass, brushing choppy raven bangs away from his face with a pale hand.
Brevik,be nice, Okay, You're going to have to put aside all rational arguments on why it isn't real,but magic does exist, and the balance between it and the human world is called the Meridium. Acts of good magic helps strengthen it,resulting in it's stability and keep the world in check, but dark magic weakens it . Too much dark magic and the Apocalypse comes early,so Scouts are used to protect it.A prominent dark magic group, the Vivo Columnaris has returned as well, and new Meridium scouts were needed. You're one of them," Octavia added...."
“But wait a minute, how did you know that I was planning on looking around the Mortis house? I just came because it seemed like the perfect way to start high school, and because I wanted to prove that there was nothing here but dust? Was I chosen at random? And why are you in this place anyway?” Curtis wondered , failing to keep his questions inaudible.
“Breivik , care to weave the tale?”
“I guess I should've known to expect that. Ignore him, he gets infuriatingly moody. Anyhow,Meridium scouts are born with powers that manifest when dark magic gets out of hand, when evil seems to be winning, and that the powers remain until the Scout passes away,and immortal scouts can sense the presence of new scouts, kind of like new stars being signs of new kings in older times. Now, up until the nineteenth century, scouts, if they died, could become immortal, but after this rule was abused far too much, it ceased to exist. I was born the daughter of a high ranking official in Axum, and died of an illness in the year three hundred and thirty seven, at age eighteen. I have spider based powers; I shoot silk from my fingers, I can poison people with a bite, and I can even turn into one. Edgar is from Viking age Norway,and was murdered at age seventeen, but,well, he's different,he's undead.. Anyhow, what you just beat is a Haunter. They’re ghosts that can take on a body and move around, like zombies but not as cool. Usually all they do is sleep and eat, and they’re used for fighting practice because of their number and strength. Meridian scouts, some of the strongest, are being picked off by the dozen, and you fit the guidelines for the possible scouts supposedly living in this area. Interesting tattoos, by the way...” the spider said.
“Actually, they're a really weird birth mark that looks that way. Apparently, it's from a complicated pregnancy or something, and they actually told my mom when she was in her fifth month,' get ready to say goodbye, there's a 99.9% chance you're going to have a stillborn'. One jerkass doctor even told her to get an abortion and get it over with, but she refused because of our family's faith.I frankly see them as an emblem of victory, representing one who was ensnared by the brambles of death, yet escaped.”
“Oh wow, nice description.”
“ Thanks, I want to be an author, so I try to put detail into even the most mundane things.”
“Then you'll have a lot of new writing material,because being a scout results in some pretty
weird situations. You're going to have to observe everything carefully, and don't let anything slip by you. I hate to say it, but you're pretty obtuse right now if you didn't see the spider that was crawling around on the pavement when you were walking to school.” questioned Octavia.” That was me, and I couldn’t help but overhear the plans you were spinning, and I decided to check out the house for myself, where I found Edgar.”
“Nots as if I vants to be lefts alone for five centuries,” Breivik growled, pushing up the button of his flashlight and thrusting it into her path of vision.
"Well, in any case, you're one of us now, and I have a feeling you're going to be great."
“Curtis Sebastian Van der Graaf, you’re incredibly late! Where on Earth were you? Believe me, when your father gets home from the brewery...”stormed his mother as Curtis stood to suffer the verbal chastisement, pondering his new powers in a mind miles away from his home, pretending to be enraged at what unfurled in front of him.
“And no electronics for a month, young man! Do you hear me? And put your clothes in the laundry, they’re covered in mud!”
“Fine,” he muttered, not at all disturbed at this, voice painted with a thin shade of false pain as he left for his room. He let his shirt and pants float ungracefully into a small wicker basket at his door sill, grabbed his robe, and locked the bathroom door behind him, cursing as chipped flecks of blood, dried from the gliding of time through four hours, drifted off his skin, A shrieking pain in his back enticed him to turn and look to only see a thick, wet piece of blood fall down his spine, not noticing at first the gangly scar on his chest from which plentiful rivers of brilliant vermillion spilled onto the linoleum. Curtis ground his fingers together, cupping the blood and emptying it into the sink along with a morsel of his sister’s rich smelling soap, praying the aroma would be potent enough to mask it. He found a brush used for flushing dirt from one’s pores, spilled a pool of cleanser onto the splotches of blood, and began to scrub until the offending color was gone, finally flipping on a fan to dissolve the horribly powerful perfume of his own blood before showering. After twenty minutes of slathering his welts in chubby suds and watching the steaming water and strips of blood chase each other around the drainpipe, he shut the faucet off and ran a furry towel over his frame. His sores no longer had blood trickling out, now a mottled grey with hints of clotted white and brown. The cuts on his brow were not visible to any eyes but his own, which he was grateful for, and-
“Curtis! I have to shower! Please hurry up!” cried his younger sister, Angie from beyond the door.
“Just a second!” he replied, spreading the contents of the bathroom’s second cabinet out, pushing toothpaste and floss apart until he found a tub of creamy petroleum jelly. In a rushed series of hand movement, he soon held a clear, clean colorless dollop of the balm, and painted it onto his injured before wrapping the robe around himself.
“Curtis! It’s almost nine!” his sister bawled, and he opened it as she hurried in. Angela 'Angie' Van der Graf was just a year younger than her brother, an intelligent, statuesque,feminine beauty with long blonde hair and brown eyes. Curtis slung his body into bed, forced the covers over his head, and slept, wondering what tomorrow would be like.
“Hey, I do not mean to be a pest or anything, but you do look bad. What happened? If you need to talk to someone, I am here to listen,” Eirikur said upon seeing his friend .” Is it something that coffee will not fix?”
The other boy had a heavily powdered face, black streaks under his eyes, and the ghostly outline of a bruise on his temple.
“It’s nothing, I fell down the stairs and landed on Angie’s makeup kit, can’t get it off.”
“I would ask Lenore if she has something that can do the trick, ok?
“ You’re going to be borrowing cosmetics from that ditzy Canadian chick you call cute, Van der Graaf? I always knew you had lousy taste in girls,” taunted a voice from behind.
“Godverdomme,” Curtis moaned as a small,slender boy with golden hair, suave blue eyes and pale skin, dressed in the fashion of a coxcomb sauntered over.
“Angel Berkeley,” Curtis spat. ”What do you want?”
The blond boy was the commander of the students fixated on humiliating, mortifying and scorning the less than popular Eirikur among a myriad of other unfortunate classmates. He was a foppish youth from California with a shrill voice, and a competent student with excellent grades. He wasn’t heavily muscled like his incredibly dim witted stooges, but rather frail and easily injured.
“Oh nothing, but do spill, why do you need makeup?” Angel asked, continuing his inquiry.
“Look who's talking” Curtis mimicked, coming up from behind Lenore,” Why are you so prying? Krijg de kanker,flikker .”
“Each day you get less and less believable,” Angel sneered, and to Eirikur,” And why are you wearing eyeliner, Gudmand ? Coming out of the closet like your dumpy friend finally?”
“ It is 'Godafrid',the Greenlandic form of Godfrey, Gudman is a different surname altogether. And no, I am not weari -”
“Houd je bek!Simon is more of a man than you are!”Curtis stammered. A friend of theirs, a little Québécois named Simon Lemieux, had endured years of harassment from Angel that was dismissed as playing by his superiors, and during the eighth grade, resorted to painting his eyelids and nails, growing his brown hair long and wearing women’s clothing to try and convince his parents that his cross dressing was evidence of an overwhelming madness so that he would be confined to an asylum. However, for high school, he had sheared his hair short, and dressed like a proper young man in defiance of Angel's taunting.
“ Try all you want,you don’t scare me, considering what happened to all of your siblings who tried to be famous?Really,you should just stick to whale hunting.”
”Ok, that was a low blow,” Lenore said as she saw Eirikur’s tan face fill with blood, and she softly touched his hand consolingly. The boy was one of nine children of the Godafrid family, and the last one out of his siblings, most of whom had disappeared or perished, a handful surviving and in his school. Hulda was an exceptionally bright twenty five year old, an archaeology student on an excavation of a tomb that had surfaced after an elusive thousand years, and while exploring an unseen chamber, disappeared and never emerged again. Hugo, a young herpetologist of only twenty four years, had been mating two cobras, yet they rose from their cage to entangle themselves up his body to sink their evil fangs into his thin neck until venom filled his arteries, his heart beating no more. Annika was a private detective, earning her badge at age twenty four, and while following a man who sold contraband poisons and pills, trapped him in an alleyway only to be shot in the head, brains and spinal cord smeared all over the brick, a single bullet taking her spirit from the living. Mikaela was eighteen when she lost her life, a culinary arts apprentice who could make the most delectable meals, who had been working at a grand blazing temperature when a wild flame leaped to the hair and reducing her to a heaping stack of ashes on the floor. Aleksander was also eighteen when he set off to go around the world, letting his cultural knowledge bloom to a height that was not seen before, but he had gone missing in the jungles of the Congo, to be never heard from again.
"Ja?!Loop naar de hel,kakker!"Curtis shrieked.” How would you feel if that had happened to you?!”
“No difference. I don’t have any brothers or sisters to miss!That's what Planned Parenthood is for!
"How'd ya like that pretty face of yours rearranged, you bastard?! Leave Eirikur alone!!!"the brunet yelled, aiming a fist at him
“It is fine, Curtis.. Besides, there are four Godafrid kids who are still alive,Magnus,Tove, Peter, Kirsten,and me.”
“Then if you don’t want there to only be four, you’ll be a good freak and shut up!” Angel replied haughtily. Curtis was about to shoot back with a sardonic comment before he was interrupted by a pair of squealing girls.
“Look at him! Is he really transferring in?” Rose Szydlowski asked. She was one of Lenore’s best friends,a homely, rotund,bespectacled girl from Hammtramck with blue eyes and long,wavy hair the color of mud.
I hope so! He looks like a corpse, but a hot corpse! I bet he's gonna be hard to get, but that isn't stopping me!”PatFitzgerald commented. The closest friend of Rose, she was a tall,masculine girl from the Upper Peninsula who was covered with freckles,her short hair was a bright red, and eternally mischievous green eyes.
“You look cute,” Lenore said.
Eirikur, Curtis and Angel ceded in their argument to faintly observe the delirium upon the girls. A tall, thin young man with long black hair in a ponytail and cold,grey eyes, books gathered in a plain satchel across his shoulders stood at a locker, working on the combination while a horde of girls clustered around him.
Next to them, a boy with neatly groomed, well-trimmed ginger hair, polished glasses absent of any grime, and aggravated grey eyes began to splutter fiercely before finishing with: ”I should keep an eye on him...”
“Hey, what’s he doing here?” Curtis thought to himself,then whispered to the bespectacled student, “it’s alright, Tommy, I know him...kind of.”
“Curtis Van der Graaf! You, Samuel Boudreaux,Patricia Fitzgerald,and Roger Jörgensson can get just as bad as he is! Can’t you see the look of anarchy in his eyes, the desire to destroy even the most insignificant means of government and law? "Tommy Goldstein, the ginger haired boy snapped furiously. He, like Angel was in a position of power, as president of the student council, a stern, studious young man enamored with regulations, with actions of a capricious nature to all. While Eirikur enjoyed his company, Curtis discovered him to be polite with the most acute manners and etiquette, yet the infatuation he sported for magnificent behavior alone and his berating of his wardrobe and eccentric conversation shattered any thought he had of befriending him.
“....and as head of the student council, I suppose it is my duty to dispel the air of affection that all of you wrongly feel towards this punk kid. Get to class, only five minutes remain until second hour!” Tommy yelled.
“Boy, what a stick in the mud,” commented a spider dangling from a poster, a gentle creature with a fur covered form.
“Hey Octavia!” Curtis smiled to her.” But isn’t he? Yeah, he's nice , I’ll admit, too pedestrian for my tastes.”
“Did you just...talk to that spider? Lenore asked, looking immensely bewildered, the illogical explanation baffling her straightforward, well washed, clean knowledge unsullied by anything out of the ordinary. ”That’s...so weird...it doesn’t make any sense...eww,I hate spiders...”
“Lenore, we have a long walk to get to Culinary , we should go now!” Eirikur finished, squeezing her hand and mildly gesticulating to a clock.
“Okay then, we’ll see you at lunch!” Lenore called, bidding him farewell as they went down the hall together.
“Good potential in both of them. That Angel boy though, is only good in name only...”Octavia commented, changing into a girl with a shot of red energy. ”
Through all this, Breivik was silent,leaning into his locker and forcing a perplexed, ape like senior boy who was a bit shorter than him, yet three times his weight, in a fedora and trench coat with simple lines,away .
“What was that for, you jerk?!” the other senior, a dim, quite slow young man hollered.
“Go to class,” Octavia urged as he scuttled away to only see Breivik hold the other against a wall heaped with new blood from only one of them. His second subject involved a French class, which he had found easier than perceived, his mere, single complaint being that Angel was next to him, yet Pat and Rose were in his class as well, which helped him live through the dreadful barbs thrown at him by the blond.
“..and oh,his accent is like,really weird,but sooo hot!He's from Troms,Tommy told me,and he sounds Scandinavian; I only heard him speak maybe a sentence, but his voice is so nice and deep and sexy,like he's some sort of northern winter god~!”Rose squealed over her textbook."Wait,where's Troms?"
“Well he’s not very friendly, if I can say one thing about him. I heard that he lost his virginity at twelve, worships the devil,carries a ton of weapons under his jacket, and tried to kill someone who made fun of him.But he’s so hot though, and,- hey Curtis!” Pat called
“I don’t want to go to gym after this,” Rose whined heavily, voice lathered in annoyance.
“It’s the day that Austin Tucker drowned. It’s said that every year when the anniversary of his death rolls around that someone gets hurt within an inch of losing their life.”
“Sounds like urban legend. My dad said that he knew Austin Tucker, and he just got his swim trunks ripped off, but was happy to let his manhood free,” scoffed Pat.
“Well, whoever has his locker, number six fifty one, always gets injured. An asthmatic got sealed in it and almost suffocated, another boy fell from the top of the climbing rope and broke all his ribs and his neck, another slammed his head into only the heaviest barbell and then had a heap of them spilled onto his unconscious body...”
Curtis had only the most delicate focus that soon fluctuated into him skimming their words until he heard about the dreadful number and all the horrid fates that awaited the recipient.
“Can you see him anytime soon, like in bio?”
“Yeah, that's next hour! I’ll tell him then or if I pass him in the halls!”
“Page one forty, Curtis,Rosalynn, if you’re done now.”
“Hey, Eirikur!” Curtis hailed as he entered their biology classroom.
“You know what today is, right? It’s the day that Austin Tucker drowned in the pool! You’ve heard the legend, that whenever the anniversary rolls around, that all hell breaks loose in gym, even more so than it already does, and whoever has boy’s locker six fifty one will have something bad happen to them!”
“The drowning of Austin Tucker? I've heard that urban legend before,and frankly, there likely isn't a scrap of truth in it. Any injury would be pure coincidence” Lenore explained. ”I think it’s just a story the seniors made up to scare all the underclassmen.”
“I have heard a lot of rumors about it, and I think it is just myth and coincidence.” Eirikur decided as Pat tapped him. ”Hey, any of you got an extra book cover?My brown bag tore.”
“Moi, Eirikur,” Lenore greeted as Eirikur, all possessions in the bag draped over his left arm, sweating rather profusely, cheeks ruddied by swimming and running.”Mitä kuuluu?”
“Nothingmuch, really, some kids came out late, but other than that, it was rather tranquil, and I remember why I despise all sports but curling. Now Curtis, I think he is a bit under the weather, he is acting quite stranger than usual.”
“Yeah, he was talking to this really gross looking spider on the wall before first hour,” she said as Curtis joined them, a stubby beige espresso between his fingers, stuffed with strong coffee and topped with a heaping mound of whipped, sweetened cream and chocolate in a thin stream streaking down it. Lenore then saw Pat and Rose, and scuttled off to join them
“I needed coffee, it runs in my veins practically, and the cafeteria was open,” he said, before catching sight of another friend and dashing off."
“Hey, Godafrid, you have a good family,” Breivik said, coming up from behind and placing a hand on Eirikur’s head before pulling his black hair into a braid” Morten is a great man,Ajåna, lovely woman, wonderful parents, helped me out, treated me like I'm actually human.”
“Yes, I thought it was weird, my parents referring to you as family when you looked so different from the rest of us. I always assumed you were a vagabond until I grew older,” Eirikur stuttered, in a secluded rarity of a moment when he was truly flustered.” I suppose it is because our names are both European, Teutonic I think, that I just ignored it. And then I learned that we were moving to America, like my dead siblings who also were called by titles familiar to say, someone in Michigan or California, and I would assimilate easier.
“Truly one of us,” A girl with deeply colored skin reminiscent of the nights of a land far away and forgotten over a millennia, when her ancestors prowled the lands of Africa.
“Octavia, you too? Wait, I thought you were in Tomsk and Egypt.!”
“It’s quite a tale,” the spider admitted sheepishly as Angel walked by, throwing a tasseled scarf end over his shoulder, cackling with an incredibly obnoxious volume that did not melt once it reached them, but instead grated against Breivik ’s senses, and he began to grumble furiously in Norwegian to himself.
“Excuse, me, are you Eirikur Qarasaq Godafrid?” the thick senior wearing the fedora and undefined trench coat murmured as he walked by Breivik and Curtis to the other boy. He held an uncivilized air about him, built as solid and unwavering as the most stubbornly powerful trees, his skin brown, yet in no shade carried by a human. Breivik muttered, ”I see you were so happy with your first three chins that you decided to add ten more, Fatty McLardass. Damn Cyclops...”
“Breivik , no...you know what a temper he has...oh!”
The fedora clad figure, ears not deaf to any noise made by any mere mortal or great unearthly being stopped and returned to glower at Breivik , stripping off the hat and cloak with an ominous swipe of a colossal fist. He had been curled up before to tuck his whole body the fabric, but his head now grated on the edge of the ceiling.An evil, lone eye shook in an otherwise empty socket pursuing the Brit with the utmost detailed attention, it’s body was buried in untamed muscle explicitly defined under its hide, and it yanked at Breivik who blocked it with his forearm.
“Oi, Chinatown called, they want their Chins back. Hey, saturated fats, whales belong in the ocean!” he spat as the Cyclops swung a limb, mighty as a great rock.Once more he shielded himself with a kick,catching it in its rib cage.
“When you step on a scale, it reads ‘to be continued, old lardy fuckass’ !You’re so fat, satellites orbit around your fat ass! You're so fat that you were stopped at the airport for having a thousand pounds of crack! You could sit on Meijer’s and lower the prices!” he taunted, and then brushed a strand of raven hair out of his face, and bombarded it with a plethora of kicks and punches before it was hurled into a trophy case.
“You’re so fat that when you go rock climbing in the Marianas Trench you get stuck! If you suddenly choke on your Big Whopper, we should only flush your throat with cherry vanilla cola!”
“Oi, tubby! You can go on a world vacation just by rolling over! I’d tell you to come after me, but whenever you step on the concrete, you strike oil!”
“Breivik , you might be strong,but you're-”
“Do I look like I care?!” he growled, and, with an immense level of resilience, hopped up and shouted ‘Chaos Nightmare!” as murky grey power as turbulent and enigmatic as the most violent waters of a feral, leaping ocean was strung around his fingers, and with his bare hands grabbed at a lump of muscle. With his hand trenched inside the skin, he touched a tendon, hearing the appealing sound of sinew being torn from the bone it clung to as he ripped it off. The Cyclops gave a shattering bellow of agony, trembling so much, a roar rumbling in its cavernous throat before Breivik kicked it to the ground. This time, blood, succulent, rich red blood exploded from his arms as if it had been filling a rubber sack that had finally been broken,and it's rage was otherworldly.
“Oh crap!” Octavia murmured, readying herself to fight as Breivik stepped back proudly to admire his handiwork.. Curtis had returned to watch the fight, and now the Cyclops was about to eat the Norwegian boy alive. However, he was unable to comprehend just why his power was absent, failing to show itself, and just before it crushed him, he heard,a voice chittering in another language as a harpoon as long as he was tall was aimed at its skull.
“If you do not depart, I will be forced to attack,” Eirikur snarled, lifting his harpoon above his head.” Your type should know me, or at least the attempts on my life , all in order to follow in the footsteps of all my dead brothers and sisters. I am Eirikur Qarasaq Godafrid, a Meridian Scout, master of the earth and the forces that shape it...”
“What? You’re a Scout, Eirikur? I would have never...”
“A member of the Godafrid family of Greenland, an elite clan of Scouts,It is the family practice, you could say, my father has the ability of super speed, while my mother is telepathic, and I have a harpoon to fight with. Humans are such delicate rays of sun,that I cannot and will not touch them, but monsters beware...” He lifted his hand and jumped, a shimmering harpoon whirling through the air. The Cyclops anticipated this, receiving the shot rather openly, a mellow look in its single eye.
He moved elegantly behind the Cyclops, and as it shifted, feet breaking a heaping stack of desks into pebbles, he called,” Saturn Strike” In his attack, he was moving across the floor, actions blending together with an unearthly control on all speed as he hurled his harpoon into it’s eye. The blood, a dull, broken bronze that had been budding behind the terrible eye now grew into a flowering full bloom, no longer stuffed into its owner's body,and flowed freely.
“He fights just like his parents and siblings.You make your family and our cause proud” Octavia remarked, the Cyclops striking the ground and vanishing into a bitter smelling brown stuff that was fatal to man, but not to Scouts. Breivik looked impressed and clasped a hand to Eirikur. ”Your mum and dad raised you well, same with the rest of them, Annika,Hulda,Hugo, Mikaela, and Aleksander.”
“Ah, thanks, but you are much stronger than I am.”
“Wait, you’re a Scout? I just became one, and...”
“I figured it out, no need to explain. It was why I did not go to the Mortis house, I was told to let you figure it out. I have seen what you thought was a birthmark on your arms, I have them too, on my chest. And when you came to school looking like you were beaten within an inch of your life, I put two and two together, and well, found a conclusion.”
“His parents were the best marksmen at their peak, and while his kin have fallen out of respect with some, they are rich in spirit and compassion.Not to mention,they make up perhaps ten percent of Greenlandic Catholics.”
“ Hulda was looking for a remedy for an ancient curse plaguing a certain nation and somebody purposely shut her into a sarcophagus and she died of asphyxiation. Hugo was working with snake venom antidotes when the ones he had were tricked into killing him. Annika knew that the drugs the dealer was selling were contraband in both the monster and real world, but was shot just as she raked it out, she was murdered. Mikaela was working to cure starvation and famine, with hardy plants and food that would keep somebody going for a week, yet her stove purposely spat flames at her. Aleksander was out to collect treasure and artifacts, yet somebody disguised as an indigenous man lead him down the wrong trail,” Eirikur said. ”The rest of us are now trying to find our own way to contribute.My youngest brother, Peter, is eleven, and is an archer with impeccable accuracy. Magnus you know, he is an eighth grader who plays the baritone and has light and sound based abilities. Tove is the very definition of an athlete, playing soccer,softball,basketball,running track and cross country,and swimming; she has practically paid for college from a million scholarships, even if she is only twelve,and can throw an explosive that acts like a boomerang, and Kirsten is twenty four, a meteorologist living in Qaanaaq who well, she has a stormy rage when provoked. I would rather use my harpoon than my normal power,though...”/p>
“I would rather not say,but it is immensely destructive and impossible to predict just what occurs as a result," Erik said meekly, staring down at his shoes. "It all depends on the terrain of the area and the earth;I could potentially cause a blizzard,set off a massive volcanic eruption,set a lake of tar on fire, or trigger an earthquake... again.”
Curtis just stared rapt at the young man he had been friends with for an innumerable amount of years, trying to fathom just how much hid behind his dark eyes, stuffed with mysteries and enigmas, and raised a brow before Lenore caught up to them.
“Perkele!Did you see that explosion?!The construction crew hit a tank of hydrogen and punctured it!” she screamed, out of breath.
“Uh yeah...We weren’t anywhere near it though, watching from a ways away,”Octavia remarked.
“Just got lost a bit in the smoke,”Eirikur finished as a dreadful realization struck Curtis.
” It’s not alright! There was perfectly good coffee in there!” he yelped, and snuck a surreptitious glance at Eirikur, who only smiled.
The House of the Mortis Family was a building out on Brauer Road to the west,with nobody to claim it but the name of the clan that once walked through it’s halls. It was a vine encrusted building with dusty red bricks painted brown by snow, with a menagerie of plants in the streak of fertile earth running through the dry dirt, copper windowpanes and a hazy chimney that had held no smoke for a century.Sallow grey tree trunks stood gnarled and ominous , the flowerbeds a host to weeds and thorn bushes indigenous to decay and rotted life, the corner of the grand, waxy white mausoleum poking from around the edge.
It was a hexagonal building,with eternally white walls like those of a chapel, whose color was not dulled by the centuries, coffins of bronze stacked neatly inside,lit by an ugly glass hole in the ceiling that was slathered in wet ropes of vine, corpulent caterpillars hanging off of them.The Mortis house held the only private fish pond as well in their county,rumored to be stocked with wonderfully large bass, panfish, perch muskellunge with gaunt snouts,and the fattest catfish, large as a man and ten times as heavy. Eirikur had once ventured into the yard and was frightened by one,a hellish,deformed behemoth of an unworldly size, slick and covered in ooze,with wide,broad whiskers that leaped onto the grass and knocked him over. Curtis and Lenore knew that when he had came back shuddering and convulsing like a madman, covered in goo,face masked with red fear,that the fish were no legend. When they were naive little middle schoolers, the accusations of black magic and ghosts evoked spectacular, fearsome tales whenever they took extensive walks past, and though the stories were dispelled by wise adults, the three took a sufficient satisfaction in continuing the weird lore.
Vincent Mortis was the final member of his bloodline, and the last person to hold the title of the estate,a man, who, by the dates etched into the parchment in the town hall, lived to only be nineteen. He had lead a life that others didn’t know about, with a madness deep as a trench that was eating away at his brain, never leaving the dull, dark four walls around him until the day he died.It was said on the day he joined the dead,that he charged forwards out of the door very much alive before sprawling out flat on the front porch, his life burning quickly as he descended into insanity, leaving only a corpse. He was buried in the mausoleum by an anonymous worker, an oval portrait hanging in the library in memorial. Though he was a handsome youth, Lenore was frightened of him, with his fair skin,dignified Huguenot face, thick brown hair, and blue eyes with a glossy shimmer, said to be painted the moment after his death. It was those eyes, which were unusually bright for a man who was expired that terrified her,and she always tried to simply not look at them, yet she was drawn to the sapphire orbs.
“NO!Are you out of your mind?!”
“Aw,come on, Tuulikki, you have to come!You can stand by the gate if you're scared.”
“Curtis!I’m still scared,and more than you!And I'm not very brave,either!It gives me the creeps! Not to mention,”
“I want to go, but I may have homework to do,” Eirikur commented, with a look of sincere honesty in his brown eyes.
“Sukkel...Alright,fine.You guys don’t know what you're missing.”
A tallow candle sent the small shadows into a rapid retreat,which Karlsen held over his head,shivering at the heavy,wet odor of it, as he looked around the foyer. The sweepingly grand room was laden with plump blankets of dust, with a staircase torn in two leading to another floor,and under that, a metal door with pure copper handles,and a feast of bludgeoned insects whose backs gleamed green all over the room He could sense the ghosts pressing up against his skin, yet no fear came to mind as he inhaled the musky scent of myrrh and spice in the bear pelt on the floor .
“Å helvete ... hvorfor?”he murmured, emptying batteries into his flashlight and turning it on to see a large spider with sleek black hair,curiously dull fangs. and eight purple, mischievous little eyes scuttle by his feet.
“Not yous...,”he groaned as the wretched creature crawled up the walls to a cobweb dusted with plump flies, and in a whimsical movement, turned into a gleeful looking Ethiopian girl. She was perhaps eighteen in physical appearance, wide in girth,and had skin black as sleek onyx and dark,curly hair tied away from her face
“Octavia Adanech …hvorfor?”
“At random, Karlsen, why does that bother you? Got the computer set up, maybe get on a dating site.I met my last boyfriend on the web,you know.“
“Well, feel free to spin me a yarn, why are you here?”
“Nones of your busy-ness,” he replied.”And if yous don’t vants to be splattered,yous be a good eights legs freak and shuts de Hells up!”
“So grouchy!Nothing has changed at all,Karlsen.I would be nicer if I were you, because you never know who you’ll need help from. What do you have to do anyway? Make this place livable?Anyhow,I got bored in Egypt,scaring tourists in the pyramids,so I’ve just been hanging around,and this little place caught my eye. Here, let me help you remodel this place,it hasn't gotten any better with the public tromping around looking for treasure.”
"Just gos away! I don't needs help; I just vants to be alone..."
“Please Karlsen,you’re driving me up the wall!”she cried,well amused by this,and went back to her arachnid form."I guess men can't keep house,so here,let me give you a hand... or eight.
“Do you even hear vhat I says?!I just vant to be alone in peace!Faen ta deg” I wait a thousands years to squish yous-and...!”he stopped as he saw them, hundreds of spiders with magically glossy raven fur clamoring about her,eyes glinting with an unearthly rubicund light stretch far and tall to the ceiling.
“I never said I was going to work alone...”
“Alright then,here goes..everything,”Curtis said to himself, plucking an errant strand of black hair from his head and pushing on the fear engraved doors. A rancid smelling darkness that led to nothing his human eyes could perceive drove his anxiety into retreat, yet a set of preternatural senses saw him. Man was not it’s preferred meal,rather, it was venison and rabbit, but the one before him was the nearest link to the deer it could attack savagely,eating the shreds of flesh one by one.
“Eh, nothing much them,just a lot of stupid dust. Honestly,why would Lenore and Eirikur be so scared of it that they make me go here?Ik vind er geen reet aan,”he pondered, not noticing the remarkably white fog that now hung around him.”Ah great,not I’m talking to mysel-Aargh!” he shrieked as an ethereal phantom of the night tied it’s fingers around him, knowing how it would carry out his ill fated demise. He looked back to see a being with a face bare of any features, the shell of a young man with red hair and a sickly white complexion.
“W-What the heck is this?” he cried out,feeling the evil,clammy skin press deep into his ribs,the smokey fingers leaving marks reminiscent of raven black beetle shells.
"Oh hey! A new scout!"
"He's a tresspasser!Quick, Adanech, get my rifle!"
""No he's not, you dumbass!He's a scout, and you have to train him!"
The coarse dissonance of the heavy wax door opening in the submarine prison slammed against the captive's ears,and he shouted a few chosen curses as he unwillingly parted from his sleep.
“Let’s go,Breivik,your trial is today,”the guard,a portly,dark man snarled heavily, and lifted up his helmet to glare at the captive who no longer ran rampant through the world, Edgar Breivik. A tall,skinny homely boy of maybe seventeen who had lived for centuries glowered at him as he tied his dyed black hair into a ponytail that snaked down his back and rolled two grey eyes at him. His expression was surly and beneath all the grime and mud,he was deathly white, with streaky shadows across his sharp Nordic features. The guard ignored him,and plunged a bowl of fly laden paste with an incredibly horrible stench at him,the smell so strong that it reeked through the halls.
“Full of vitamins,minerals,and nutrients.It’ll keep you on your feet.”
Breivik waited until the guard teleported away,maintaining his cocky,indifferent expression before cursing in Norwegian,and then forced himself to a dull,painless sleep.
“Cmng...” he moaned as he raked a fair hand through rich brown hair, opening his hazel eyes before squinting from the early September sun, and swinging his tall figure out of bed. He took some time to close the book he was reading earlier before his mother bellowed again.
“CURTIS!LENORE IS HERE!"
He cringed as he reached for his worn out knapsack, wrapping a blue and white scarf around his neck, and hurried down to see not only his mother, Louise Van der Graf, a tall, blue eyed woman with brown hair around a normally friendly face now full of gritty crimson rage, but one of his closest friends, Lenore Tähtinen. She was a very pale, petite Finnish girl who hailed from the far north with light blue eyes and long,creamy blonde hair.
"Mutta hei,Curt!Mitä kuuluu?”she smiled as his mother gave him toast and a disposable cup of coffee,and when they were out of earshot,”So what classes do you have?I'm taking Algebra 2, Honours English, Biology, History, Band, and Culinary arts this semester, then child care the next.”
“Nice! I know we have band together first hour, so we'll see each other then. For second hour, I have biology, then French 2, then Honors English, then Geometry, then American History. Is it just the two of us?
"Well, Roger has a long way to go, he lives out on Brauer Road in the country, Samuel,Rose, Jakob,and David live over by Spencer, Patricia lives by Hilton, and Simon lives by Costco,so I guess it's just us two?"Lenore asked.
Oh hey!" he replied before looking up to see another boy walking their way." Hey! Eirikur! Over here!"
Eirikur Godafrid was a petit Inuit boy of low esteem and a phlegmatic nature,and he scurried meekly towards them, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Oh, hello," he said softly.
“What classes do you have?” Curtis inquired. Eirikur was of high intellect, and as a result, always took a more difficult math class reserved for older students.
“I have Band, Gym, Honors English, Biology, American History, Culinary Arts,and I am taking Calculus as a seventh hour,” he answered, removing his schedule from his backpack, and they continued their walk.
"Sweet,"Curtis declared." Well, gentleman and lady, it's our first day of high school. We have four more years that'll determine where we end up in life. Time to have fun, push ourselves to do our very best, and overcome whatever challenges face us each day."
"You said that on the last day of eighth grade," Eirikur pointed out.
" But I have a feeling we can handle anything, as long as the three of us stay friends!"
“Cacaw!Nevermore!The criminal,Edgar Karlsen, age 1,191 physical age seventeen, country of origin, Norway,I present to you,”announced a young woman with lightly lit violet eyes, pretty,rippling black hair,and a posture that showed a superior education developed over a millennia. Raven Pallas was a dignified Avis,a human who through an undefined breeding,could turn into the bird she took her name from,and she sat back down to slap her napping client who woke with an agitated snarl.”Cacaw!”
Breivik opened his eyes to grimace at the judge,a blunt,large man who appeared so angered by the world,that by no reconciliation from it he would ever smile,and was pushed forward by the gremlin bailiffs,small creatures of the underbrush with pointed ears, small fangs,and impish grins.
“Oh, this is a crowning moment of glory for us, capturing perhaps the most wicked, the most unstable, and the most dangerous of our kind to ever be...urgh...born, so awful, it doesn't even deserve to be considered human, but, out of kindness, I shall do so in sentencing this freak. It has been almost a thousand years in the waiting, but we finally have it, and it can finally be brought to justice," the judge announced."Edgar Grunwald Breivik, a master of the darkness, your very existence was a mistake from the start, and is perhaps the most inexcusable crime in our history. It is bad enough you had seventeen years of life in this world, but when Death came to take your soul to Hell, you could not accept it, could you, and cheated not only death, but nature. If that is not enough, you were wrongly given excessive power, but also respect, raised to the same level as those weaker, but far more worthy.".
Breivik was not agitated not sorrowed by this, but rather, looked bored, staring at his watch. and then the door.
" Look, I really have somethings to attends to, so..."
“Silence! We have waited in terror for over a millennia, and troubled by how to kill you, as the undead cannot be executed through conventional methods. Now, I wanted to keep you in that cell, it's specialized to sap away your strength temporarily, making you a lot easier to handle".
"Dat's nice, but vell-".
"However,as,urgh,my warmer, yet softer peers have suggested, your dreadful existence can be allowed if you,at half the power you typically have,can discover and train some young Scouts to fight against the Vivo Columnaris,they have returned,you know..."
"Judge? I accepts de challenges..."