thepackratchronicles-blog

[thepackratchronicles-blog]

Ch3

I don’t traffic in anything have to do with dark magic. Black stuff, the sort that requires blood rituals and deals with demons. Beyond my own, staunch morality, I’m rather allergic to it.White magic, fae charms, and everything between doesn’t even make me itch, but dark magic? My eyes water, my sinuses fill, and my throat feels like sandpaper.This is exactly what happened to me not five minutes after calling Iris. I sneezed in rapid succession and scrambled for a hanky. This would be a long day, I could already tell. Turning the dial of my radio, I picked up a police scanner and listened to all the words fit to broadcast. There had been an attack at Enoch’s store. A struggle, and a man dead matching Enoch’s description from two bullet holes in the back of the head. Very nice. Very professional. I felt my blood boil. I am not, by practice, a man prone to rages. But when someone not only kills a valuable sort of magical goods. Someone I’ve known for a very long time, well I can’t say it doesn’t get my dander up.Blowing my nose, I struggled to pull on my parka, beanie hat, and gloves. I had to do some thinking, and doing it holed up in my pack was not the most productive. I needed fresh air. Salt air.About two hours later I was at the docks. It’s my favorite place to mull things over. Also, like most ‘rough places’ in any city or town, it’s where you’re more likely to find some magical inhabitants.Glamours are expensive you see. Oh sure it’s easy for a thousand year old vampire to pay to keep themselves looking and seeming human. But when you’re a down on your luck Troll trying to feed a brood of kids, a halfhearted masque is the best you can manage.One being in particular, a Hill Giant named Larry, was the one I was after. He ran a seedy little bar at the docks, which catered to the lost and found of magical beings. Especially those who could afford no manner of glamour. And thus had  to keep out of the eyes of ‘normies’ lest the MPD (Mystical Police Department) swoop down and lock them up.Larry was massive, and likely eight feet tall when he stood upright, which he never did. He hunched like most of his kind, and was cleaning massive iron mugs when I entered. He snorted his greeting, and I slipped onto a barstool.“You ain’t wanted here, bub,” “Now now Larry. You know quite well I paid my tab last we-” “Ain’t about the tab. You got yerself a price on yer head.” I blinked once. Twice even. A price? How was that even possible? What could I have done to warrant such an over-exaggeration of a reaction.“Come again?” Another snort. “-y’heard me short-stack. Some.. high end lawyer wit’ a bit of dark power behind him put it our on th’magic radar a half ‘n hour ago. Says anyone who brings y’in gets a hefty price. Gotta be alive tho’, so there’s a comfort,” A half an hour? I had been safe and snug in my little abode a half hour ago. This was ridiculous. But I felt the proverbial weight of a target being draw on my back. I scratched my beard and pondered.“Any chance you won’t tell anyone I’ve been here, Larry?” There was a long pause. He of course was waiting for the reason to not be telling anyone. Digging into one of the many pockets of my parka, I slid him two gold coins, which he took. “-Course not, we’re friends ain’t we?” I didn’t stay much longer at Larry’s place. When you’re prey, you move. As I stepped onto the docks once more, I was spotted. Men in suits... same as the sort that had shouldered me outside of Enoch’s shop appeared on either ends of the long shore. “Ah... feck,” I muttered to myself. I myself, am not one for fighting. In a one-on-one brawl, I can handle myself alright. I’ve watched countless hours of professional wrestling. I know that a good thumb in the eye, or kick in the jewels halts most any fights. But four buff men in suits? No thank you.I weighed my options. I doubt I could run. I didn’t have time to dig into my pack for anything proper. I only kept simple things in my accessible pockets, anything heavy got cataloged away. That’s when I thought of it.A month ago, a mermaid had needed some help getting her children out of debt with a rather disgusting goblin. He was using their songs to get people into his establishment of ill-repute. Abused them rather severely. Normally I’d have taken such a task without charge, but she insisted I take something. So she had given me a pearl. One time-use. Apparently it would allow me to ‘Swim like fish. Fast and true. Much fast’ (she was in fact, a Russian mermaid.)I had never had a chance to test it, do to it’s single use, so I couldn’t organize it in my collection. But now seemed as good a time as any. In a flash, I sunk my hand into one of the pockets of my pack, and heard the splintering of wood. Those bastards were throwing hexes at me!I made a mad dash towards the edge of the dock. Popping the pearl into my mouth, I swallowed and jumped into the icy waves below.My muscles screamed in agony. My chest pounded at the shock. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay under for long. Not a chance. That’s when it happened.I felt my clothes loosen. My arms shrank... my legs seemed to.. melt together. For fuck’s sake. Swim like fish. Swim as a fish. I’m a fucking fish!A marlin to be precise. Thankfully a large enough animal to where I could still carry my jacket and pack. The only two items that mattered and swam as rapidly as I could towards salvation. My pack hanging off a fin, and coat perched on my spear-like snout.I had no idea how to get where I needed to go, I was never a boating sort of person. But the further I got away from those goons, the better I’d be. I kept to the coastline, until I was able to pop up to recognize the lower half of the city. That’d work. I didn’t know how long it’d take to revert back to myself. So I huddled under a dock near the city, and tossed my pack and jacket onto shore. Both hidden by shadow and planks. Then swam aimlessly until I felt the change take place.Once I had the appropriate amount of appendages I scrambled out of the water. I shook the beaded water off my parka and pulled it on . Both my pack and coat had been jinxed to be VERY weatherproof. I thanked that leprechaun, wherever he was.I popped into my bag long enough to dry off. Change into warm dry clothes, a sturdy pair of boots, and a few more layers to keep the hypothermia out. I also grabbed a flask of Orcish Spirits, and after a gulp I felt the feeling rush back to my fingers and toes.Once I was back into the real world, I slung my pack onto my back, and started on foot. I had no idea where I was going. I was very sure that I couldn’t go to any of my usual haunts. They’d likely be watched. And I refused to put anyone in danger recklessly. I did text Iris. Not because I was concerned. She is definitely a woman who could take care of herself. But because I told her I’d be off the grid for a while, and gave her some vague details about why.I received a reply of “Right”. Which was clearly a disguised statement of love, concern, and admiration. I decided then and there that I would in fact be safest among the normies.Magic is a very well kept secret. And the people who enforce that secret are some of the strongest and scariest people you’d never hope to meet. No matter how much power this strange, Warlock... Lawyer.. Lawyerlock had, he wouldn’t dare risk exposure en mass. I went to a mall, for I love the mall as it’s filled to the brim with people determined not to pay attention to you. There I spent a useful hour doing research on my now third cellphone of the day. Devouring a side of “Left Side Moon’s” lovely orange chicken. Iris had installed an app that let me read the “Magical RSS Feed”. Which apparently announced all the goings-on in our world. And true to his word, Larry was right.“Bounty - Packrat Moe - Vast Gold Reward - Alive - Any Information Paid - Contact 555-8392″ “Well Well... this is interesting,” I whispered to myself, the only council worth a flick in times of crisis. I forwarded it to Iris, and asked her politely, if a little vaguely to see if she could find out who had posted it. Her answer came not twenty minutes later.-Someone trying to keep hidden. Lots of magic loopholes. Burnt out computer tracking it down. Bought new one, sending you invoice.- I rolled my eyes, but continued reading.-Law Firm, Ghul & Associates. Nothing on the man who runs it. Doesn’t exist.-I thanked her. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I had had before. I at least had a starting point. I stocked up on supplies, food, odds and ends, and once more set out. I had an appointment with a lawyer to keep.

[thepackratchronicles-blog]

Ch2

I returned home rather weary from my day. I’ve never been the most social of people. Home, in fact, was a locker in a bus station. It had been warded, runed and all manner of protected, and I paid a year in advance to keep it as mine. I placed my pack into it.  Then making sure I was alone, I stepped half inside, locked the door from the inside, and zipped up the bag behind me.Picture the biggest warehouse you’ve ever seen. Now forget it. Because mine, is better. Shelves and shelves, as tall as the eye can see, cluttered with every manner of item. I had a corner for living, but the rest was all storage. I pulled off the heavy coat, and stretched tall. Finding one of my more gaudy Hawaiian shirts and pulling it on, before sinking into my favorite chair.I turned on an old console television I had fixed up, and fell asleep to the dull tones of news reporters.What must have been an hour or two later, awoken by the shrill hissing of my cellphone. Unlike many people who know about magic, I don’t shy away from technology. Craigslist is a Pack-Rat’s best friend. It was Enoch. I smirked smugly and flipped open the phone. “It’s too late now Enoch, I’ve already... Enoch?” There was heavy breathing on the other end. “E..Enoch?” All at once I felt it. The surge of magic. Someone had ACTUALLY managed to cast a spell through a cellphone! Not only was it talented. It was scary as hell. Had I not been inside the warded safety of my bag. Had I not had a string of Dwarf blood that made me particularly harder to kill with magic. I likely would have had my skull cave in to the size of a marble. Instead I got a blinding migraine and threw the phone as far as I could.Stumbling up from my chair, my vision taken from me, and I could hardly breath. I stumbled over to a shelf (thank the heavens I knew this entire place by memory) and grabbed an old dried branch. It was in fact a cleansing wand, a branch of Palo Santo blessed by a cleric in a moment of absolute brilliance. It could suck and dispel the magic out of anything given enough focus. I pressed my forehead hard against the branch and concentrated the best I could. After a moment or two of time, the branch got warm, drinking the dark curse from my skull.I regained my breath, my vision and my indignation at someone trying to kill me. Enoch trying to kill me! I rushed over to my phone to find it completely fried. I wasn’t surprised. When you want to use an item as a conduit for magic, it has to be plenty hearty or else it would shatter and be useless. And cheap plastic tech, a magic crystal was not.I poured myself a massive glass of cider from a keg I kept in the corner, sat again and drank deeply. Cider always helped everything. Everything except alcoholism I assume.Once I had felt my nerve and calm return (three pints later) I realized I had a much bigger problem on my hands. Not who had tried to jinx me into next week, but what happened to Enoch? I stood, and snatched up one of my many pre-paid cell phones and called my assistant, Iris.“Iris. Send some police over to Enoch’s shop.... I’m thinking he’s dead.”

[thepackratchronicles-blog]

Ch1

The Packrat ChroniclesThe Cursed Ring of GoldCh 1.I freaking love Pawn shops. Why? It’s pretty simple. Everyone is on the same playing field in pawn shops. Nobody is better than anyone else. Whether you’re selling great-grandma’s pearls to supplement your heroin addiction. Or looking to pick up a cheap ring to propose to your lady love that’s dripping in the bad mojo of past relationships. The pawn shop is the place you want to be.I myself have a very specific set of pawn shops i frequent for my line of work. I always recommend the North-East of America for this sort of stuff. But I find I’m getting ahead of myself.My name is Moe, and I’m a Pack-Rat. And I don’t mean I cling to emotionally charged odds and ends, pieces bits and bobs. Nor do I mean my house should be on one of those reality shows.  You know where my family members gather around and sob about how I have ten feet of garbage filling my house. “I need help before my life takes a turn it ain’t never gonna turn from!”Pack-Rat is the official term for my line of work. I traffic in magical items. Wands, rings, books, and everything else you could think of. Some are old and discarded as worthless personal effects. Some are new objects created by magic users who either died or don’t keep a very good eye on their things.I collect all these things, and then sell them to people interested in owning such items. I keep some for myself if they’re particularly fun or novel, though I have no magic of my own to speak of. The closest thing I have to spell slinging, is that my Grandfather was a Norse Dwarven Rune Skald. The guys who use to (and to my knowledge, still might) forge and craft armor and weapons for the Norse Pantheon. Inscribing them with magic runes known only to our kind. Grandaddy fell for a mortal wife, and was cast out, yet his blood still gives me a bit of an edge over the average human. Along with a rather impressive ability to grow facial hair, I don’t mind saying, and a bit of an extended life span. I recently celebrated my one-hundred and fifteenth birthday. Don’t look a day over forty, (even thirty, if I shaved).But enough about me. We were talking about pawn shops. It was a cold New England morning as I trudged my way to one of my favorite ones. Hawk and Pawn, owned by a rather close associate of mine. A rather shaggy druid who always gave me tips on when something good came through his doors. Usually because he knew that if I had the item in question, nobody would get hurt. Also because I was able to pay the prices he liked asking for them.The item in question this time was what Enoch claimed to be a real honest to goodness golden hoop earring. Plucked from the ear of an ancient Djinn (or genie for us americans). This I HAD to see. I had trouble believing that anything plucked from a Djinn wouldn’t burst into smoke as soon as the Djinn did. But something like that could hold some very potent magical properties.The bell chimes signaled my entrance which caused Enoch to look up from his herbs and spices to give me a lazy wave.“Moe, how’s it go?” “Fine Enoch, fine. How does your garden grow?” This was the standard back and forth we had. When you know someone for decades, you find some things are muscle memory.“Now,” I continued “-let’s see about this piece of fashion jewelry you called me about,” Enoch nodded , before under the counter to bring up something wrapped in thick red fabric. With careful fingers he unwrapped the item looking to be exactly what he described. It was large and thick solid gold with various Arabian designs. Littered with rubies and other gems. On it’s own it would have been worth a fortune.I let out a slow low whistle of appreciate and grinned at him “-well.. regardless, it’s a fine piece. May I?” He nodded and stepped back to allow me to inspect. I hefted my large rugged backpack onto his counter. It was my pride and joy. I never went anywhere without it. On the surface it looked silly.  Like the sort of pack that someone who knew nothing about hiking or climbing would spend far too much money on. In fact it was much much more. Early in my career i realized that having a brick and mortar store didn’t work for me. So I sold a rather old book to a rather lonely wizard, in exchange for an expanding spell. Long story short, this backpack had something like 60,000 square feet of space inside. This let me keep almost anything inside of it. The reason I had picked this style of backpack was simple, it made me look foolish.Always have everyone underestimate you. It comes in handy.Digging into one of the smaller pockets, I plucked forth what looked to be a jeweler’s “loupe” or eyepiece. The sort they used in old cartoons to inspect a massive diamond. What this actually let me do, was see magic. Auras, bindings, curses, hexes or runes be unseen to the average eye. Sure enough, this thing was BUSTING.There were layers and layers of ancient magic bindings. Old ones, very old, from the old Arabia. “-holy moses” I whispered under my breath. I shouldn’t have. This tipped my hand. Enoch grinned.“See? Toldja dude. Real deal.” “Mmm.. perhaps. What are you looking for for this?” “Twenty doubloons,” I huffed. And I puffed. I spat and chortled and shook my head. “Not a chance my friend. Nice try though. Five, at the most. As rare as this is, you’d have to actually BE a Djinn to use this!” which was NOT true. But Enoch didn’t know that. After ten minutes of haggling, wheeling and dealing I left the shop. Having paid eight doubloons. Which we both knew all along I had planned on paying. I placed the item in a small wooden box that I had in my pack. The box was good at keeping the more volatile sort of items safe, and hidden. Then returned the wooden box to my bag and giving Enoch a firm handshake.As I left I saw that a rather large and expensive looking car had pulled out. Three aggressive looking men in navy suits headed towards the entrance. “Afternoon g-” But they cut me off when they shoved me out of the way with their broad stone-like shoulders. I grunted and before I could even say anymore they had vanished into Hawk and Pawn. I couldn’t find it in my heart to blame them. Compared to them I looked like some homeless person about to beg them for change. That’s how I liked it. I met a student in Los Angeles who  had said that my battered old waterproof jacket and flat cap were ‘Hobo-Chic”. whatever the hell that means. Still, something seemed off about those men. I couldn’t place my finger on it. I gave my bushy dark beard a thorough scratch which I usually did while I was thinking. I then pushed it to the back of my mind to ponder later.