A Teaser

I realized I have been rather negligent with updating this blog. I’m sorry! Here’s a smidge of a teaser in apology:

 

Night fell quickly in St Giles, London though the inhabitants never seemed to notice; day or night mattered little to the prostitutes and criminals calling this home. Deep within the filth, the Rook King held court, using his arcane knowledge of sorcery to enforce his every whim. At the heart of his stronghold, a hidden room contained what he assumed was the largest scrying pool in the modern world: a topographical map of the British Isles encased in glass, filled with the amber liquid he had formulated from a stolen ancient Chinese Grimoire. Were he honest about it, the whole scrying system he was using came from that Grimoire; honesty was just not a familiar tactic for the crime lord, however. It was here, in this hidden room, where he spent an ever increasing amount of time searching for the Jewel of the Gods.

Though the scrying pool was the focal point of the room, the rest was designed purely for his comfort. A large desk occupied one end of the room; here he created new spells or improved upon the ones he had stolen from others. One wall held a large wardrobe, where he kept ceremonials robes. Next to it, a daybed covered in luxurious silk sheets and furs. He had worked hard to be king, and expected all of his surroundings to reflect that status. The only surviving person to know about the existence of this room, or its contents, was his most trusted servant, North. They had grown up together, saved each other through the years. When he had become so successful, it was only right that his best friend be by his side, though the man refused anything beyond the title ‘manager’. North would occasionally slip into the room to ensure his savior was still breathing.

As the second night threatened to slip into a third day, time was only a change of reflection upon the ensorcelled scrying waters. It could have been twenty minutes; it could have been three weeks.  Though his eyes were red with lack of sleep, the Rook King held strong; years of training in the East as a younger man had given him the ability to master his body. None of his training, however, prepared him for the elation he was unable to corral when, in Wales, a psychic connection flared to life so briefly he was not entirely sure it was not just a hallucination.

Focusing his entire will toward that one spot, the man known as the Rook King opened a scrying channel and let the events unfold before him. A curse tore involuntarily from his throat as recognition dawned. One of those before him was very familiar.

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