Information
Agate has a minion!
Alcatraz the Skeletal Dog
Alcatraz the Skeletal Dog
Agate
Legacy Name: Agate
The
Nightmare AntlephoreOwner:
DaebrannonAge: 14 years, 7 months, 1 week
Born: October 1st, 2009
Adopted: 14 years, 5 days ago
Adopted: May 5th, 2010
Statistics
- Level: 5
- Strength: 14
- Defense: 14
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 1
- Books Read: 1
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
10:01 am. Wake up.
Dallan tugged at the handcuffs binding his wrists, testing the strength of the chain that clinked and clattered against the table. The door behind him was locked and he knew that just outside it a guard was waiting for trouble. An escape certainly didn't seem likely right now, it "wasn't in the cards" as he liked to say these days. The phrase was a good reflection of his new outlook, a view shaped by the dawning realization that out there in the world was something... supernatural.
His other major obstacle was the cop sitting directly across from him.
"Mr. Ames," the sheriff's deputy finally ceased his pacing of the tiny room and took a seat opposite Dallan. "We can end this as soon as you tell us the truth about what happened that night. We have you in the city morgue at 8:43 pm, apparently dead, and yet when Ms. Garland was killed later that night, your DNA is all over the place. And to top it off, you - or your body - goes missing the next day and we arrest you, alive and breathing, at a motel across town." His bushy eyebrows tugged down into a stern V. "Was it drugs?"
Dallan shrugged as well as he could considering his restraints. "A wizard did it." He said by way of explanation. "Well, a witch actually."
His interrogator smashed the smoldering nub of a cigarette into the ashtray between them and glared even harder. "You can't expect me to believe that."
Dallan had tried to explain, he really had. He'd even gone all the way back to the beginning hoping to garner some sympathy. He had talked about growing up in Jamaica, coming to the states for school, failing said school, losing job at selfsame location, and then having to resort to thievery. But the best part had been when he was explaining his run-in with the witch in Louisiana, the one who had shackled him in back of her rundown cabin in the middle of nowhere and starved him to death. Then, because what he had tried to steal was so very valuable, she pulled him coughing and gasping away from death in order to do it all over again. And now, no matter how dead or how far gone he was, he always revived at 10:01 am the next morning. It was like clockwork.
"Even if that were true, you haven't explained how you escaped this..." His mouth curled like he was tasting something awful, "... this witch."
"I had help." Dallan wasn't at liberty to say who, OATH members were big on secrets.
"Right." The deputy sighed; pulling another cigarette from the pack he had tucked in his breast pocket. He regarded his prisoner, watching the other man pick idly at the edge of the wooden table. This man really didn't look the part of a murderer and the deputy'd seen a lot of that sad sort in all his years on the force. But the mountain of evidence against him was remarkable. "Well, I'll give you some time. Maybe when I come back you'll be willing to confess."
He rose and left, caught up in the details of the case. The idea that this Dallan guy was being framed was preposterous. But at the same time, as much as the evidence pointed to him, it also pointed away. At the time of Lisa's murder he had been dead, most certainly. The mortician swore to it. But to believe that meant he had to believe the suspect's wild-eyed story about witches and resurrection, and he just couldn't do that.
Less than an hour later, the sheriff's deputy was getting a cup of jo when his phone rang out. "Sir," the voice on the other end of the line shook in a way that made him feel uneasy. "He's gone."
Music
Rusted from the Rain - Billy Talent
Dallan tugged at the handcuffs binding his wrists, testing the strength of the chain that clinked and clattered against the table. The door behind him was locked and he knew that just outside it a guard was waiting for trouble. An escape certainly didn't seem likely right now, it "wasn't in the cards" as he liked to say these days. The phrase was a good reflection of his new outlook, a view shaped by the dawning realization that out there in the world was something... supernatural.
His other major obstacle was the cop sitting directly across from him.
"Mr. Ames," the sheriff's deputy finally ceased his pacing of the tiny room and took a seat opposite Dallan. "We can end this as soon as you tell us the truth about what happened that night. We have you in the city morgue at 8:43 pm, apparently dead, and yet when Ms. Garland was killed later that night, your DNA is all over the place. And to top it off, you - or your body - goes missing the next day and we arrest you, alive and breathing, at a motel across town." His bushy eyebrows tugged down into a stern V. "Was it drugs?"
Dallan shrugged as well as he could considering his restraints. "A wizard did it." He said by way of explanation. "Well, a witch actually."
His interrogator smashed the smoldering nub of a cigarette into the ashtray between them and glared even harder. "You can't expect me to believe that."
Dallan had tried to explain, he really had. He'd even gone all the way back to the beginning hoping to garner some sympathy. He had talked about growing up in Jamaica, coming to the states for school, failing said school, losing job at selfsame location, and then having to resort to thievery. But the best part had been when he was explaining his run-in with the witch in Louisiana, the one who had shackled him in back of her rundown cabin in the middle of nowhere and starved him to death. Then, because what he had tried to steal was so very valuable, she pulled him coughing and gasping away from death in order to do it all over again. And now, no matter how dead or how far gone he was, he always revived at 10:01 am the next morning. It was like clockwork.
"Even if that were true, you haven't explained how you escaped this..." His mouth curled like he was tasting something awful, "... this witch."
"I had help." Dallan wasn't at liberty to say who, OATH members were big on secrets.
"Right." The deputy sighed; pulling another cigarette from the pack he had tucked in his breast pocket. He regarded his prisoner, watching the other man pick idly at the edge of the wooden table. This man really didn't look the part of a murderer and the deputy'd seen a lot of that sad sort in all his years on the force. But the mountain of evidence against him was remarkable. "Well, I'll give you some time. Maybe when I come back you'll be willing to confess."
He rose and left, caught up in the details of the case. The idea that this Dallan guy was being framed was preposterous. But at the same time, as much as the evidence pointed to him, it also pointed away. At the time of Lisa's murder he had been dead, most certainly. The mortician swore to it. But to believe that meant he had to believe the suspect's wild-eyed story about witches and resurrection, and he just couldn't do that.
Less than an hour later, the sheriff's deputy was getting a cup of jo when his phone rang out. "Sir," the voice on the other end of the line shook in a way that made him feel uneasy. "He's gone."
Music
Rusted from the Rain - Billy Talent
Pet Treasure
Skeletal Dog
Cross Tombstone
Obelisk Tombstone
Shallow Grave
Gravedigger Shovel
Black Flashlight
Tattered Old Book
Pet Friends
Balkan
I owe you my life. If you ever need anything, just call.
Kneel
Don't rush in ahead, you'll get yourself hurt.
Wichita
Thank you again, without you we would have been in jail a long time ago.
Shyr
Keep out of trouble now, there's a lot of people that worry about you.
Culver_588
What'd you find? A lead?