John Phage's Story

John looked at the dragon man with a slightly pissed off gaze. This great dragon is really that retarded? Oh well...
John sighed, and looked forward, ignoring the chaos. "Why don't you cover that face? It seems pretty easy to do that, or you could just continue searching while I go to the law guys..." John looked around as he spoke, mostly out of boredom, annoyance and trying to hold back his excitement over the large amount of dead bodies surrounding the two.

"Why did you do this anyway?"

Draco sensed the hidden emotions within John's voice, and held back the urge to try to kill him where he stood. "Oh, believe me. It is easy to do, I've done it more times than I can count. But I must have my physical body to do it." he growled. After a few seconds, Draco nodded. "I will search while you talk to the law enforcement...And I will let you know if I find anything matching the description of the one you seek."" he said, his body starting to sink and turn into a pool of sludge.

"Why? I need my body back. If you can break the seal, then you are useful until I no longer require your services." the Dragon said bluntly as the sludge started to disperse to go search throughout the city for the one John was seeking.

John watched as the dragon man slowly sank down, he then spoke out in reply; "Well, that makes sense. Anyway, you do that and I'll get some answers." John turned and faced the direction of the local police station, ready to head off. Before he does, he looked back at the pool of sludge, before it dispersed into the search. "I will gladly help you, as long as we get teamwork or an alliance."
John quickly called out to the dragon sludge, as he began walking, his scythe blade glowed in the sunlight.

John entered the Police Department, glancing around as he walked. The police officers were surprisingly alert and well equipped, much better than other planets. There must be something happening. As he walked, he became confused, how does the system work? Who does he need to talk to? Oh there is a reception over there.

As John noticed the reception, he wondered towards it, still looking around the strange area until he finally reached the desk. John stared forward at the receptionist, his eyes clouded, dark and piercing, the hint of death radiated around his eyes. His gas mask broke the short silence with it's long, loud breathing sounds. Finally, John spoke out towards the receptionist; "Hi there, I'm kind of new to this planet and I'm looking for the grave of an old friend so I can pay my respects. Can you help?" His voice was croaky, deep and amazingly dark. Certain words were dragged out as he attempted to speak over his gas mask.

John had grown bored with his waiting, there was no answer. Was he not heard from behind his gas mask? Nah, probably busy. And so, to wait, John sat on the floor cross legged and leaning against the reception desk. As he did so, he glanced around the area. The place seemed to be under very high security. That's strange, isn't Wing City a place of anarchy? That's what John had heard. Everyone was so busy here, did something happen? It's so confusing.

John gave out a large groan of boredom, loud enough to grab some glances from the people around him. It was easy to be noticed anyway, the place may be busy but seeing a man wearing a gas mask and dressed in full black and looking dead, of course one would question. "Is anyone going to help me with my question?" John called out to himself, hoping to get attention from someone who would gladly help him out. It was only pointing out where a corpse would be, that's it.

John entered the room, his scythe placed back in it's place on his back where the handle is clipped into place where the whole scythe is upside down. The only sounds originating from his body was the heavy thumps of footsteps, the periodic heavy breathing of the gas mask and the clanging of the chains attached to his ankles, restricting his movement.
As he walked the straight pathway towards the counter, John's dead eyes surveyed the room. This place was amazingly chilled, it's completely different than any other place he's been to.

Once John had reached the counter, he took at seat at the barstool, keeping his scythe clipped to the back as the blade clanged on the floor due to it's size and the change in height of the carrier. "Hm, I wonder if anyone's around to serve me." He spoke, louder than usual. His croaked voice just managed to find a way to overcome the excessive sounds of the gas mask.

Mischief was being loud today. Annoyingly so.
She’d been snickering along to his every musing since he woke up.
To this thought, she tutted. If I’m so loud and annoying, why don’t you turn me down? I am you, after all. A cheeky chuckle.
Tim tried his best to ignore her, but Mischief got to him sometimes. She could be quite amusing, especially when she’d make fun of people he was speaking to by being so blunt (usually on comments about their appearance) that he could be brought to tears at their own private jokes. Well… his own private jokes.

Today, she was being aggravating by blowing raspberries every time he touched something. A doorknob, his spectacles, buttons. It was like a four year old was observing his thoughts and taking actions which they apparently thought were oh so appropriate. They were oh so not. And now, she’d let out a particularly vigorous one as he pushed open the door to Gambit’s Bar. So far today, Mischief had only had Tim to torment and mock. But now it was probably set to get a lot worse now that new faces were to be introduced to his little day trip. ‘You can’t let them rule you, Tim’ his therapist, a fat woman with an awfully distracting mole on the side of her nose had told him time and time again. ‘They’re just voices. And they belong to you. You control them, you just need to learn how to do it consciously.’

Tim screwed up his nose at the memory and stalked a bit too grumpily towards the counter.
Fee-fi-fo-fat! Miscief accompanied as he did so.
He glanced sideways at another patron who was waiting to order; an ominous looking fellow with a gas mask. Tim shifted, a little uncomfortable.
Ask him if he inhaled too many of his own farts. Go on. Do it. Mischief cackled as Tim forced himself to smile at the stranger. Do it. Do it.
You a chicken? Suddenly, the noises of various clucks and gobbles and squawks of birds erupted in his head.

“STOP IT!” He squealed over the top of an argument which had broken out nearby. He noticed it only vaguely as he clamped his hands over his ears (raspberries now joined the bird calls) trying to be rid of the cacophony which he knew was all in his mind.

Harris looked up from his place in the back of the bar as the screaming reached a crescendo. He would survey the scene for a second or two. It appeared to be the usual ruckus of fighting but his eyes scanned over Tim. The man looked to be in distress as if his ears were plagued by sirens.

Standing up and abandoning his pack and violin case he would cross the room swiftly and approach the young man. "Are you alright?" He would ask in a somewhat soothing tone.

Face perking at the bartender's joke, the rat pulls in the bill, leaning in close to read the writing.
"Aye, that's quite a load," it mumbles, reaching into the canopy of its umbrella hat.
"At least you're here now.
Gotta look to the future with bright eyes, as they say, else you'll turn into a blind lemming."
It gives a cursory glance to the other man as he's mentioned, before pulling out a closed fist and dropping a few copper coins, alongside a couple of birch eye beads.
"I...hope this will cover it," it says, now with the thinly laid smile more akin to the lip-stretching of a human.
It tosses a sapphire nazar amulet on the countertop, nodding to it as a tip for him.
"Thanks fer being my server."
Slowly, it is standing back up, a little bit wobbly on its feet, but none the worse for the wear -- not much yet anyhow...it is likely to be later rather than sooner that it will crash into a dead sleep or a drunken stupor.
The rat sighs, passing a hand over its face.

"Better get back to the ship before the rest of the crew does.
Can't let the blasted thing tip over just 'cause th--"
the loud entrance of several strangers sends the rat's fur on end, jumping high into the air, landing on all fours, and then scurrying off in a not-very-civilized (not to mention brave) manner.
A single kicked-down barstool is all that's left in the wake of its flight.

Nyks glanced around at the sudden commotion. He usually reserved himself to fairly quiet places, and the area had suddenly become louder than he was comfortable with. Still, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He noted everyone in the bar and decided to stand back until his help was necessary. No need to jump into a situation before it becomes a problem. Carefully watching the room, he took another sip of his drink, eyes and mind still moving.

As John waited for a bartender to appear, another being had appeared, choosing a place at the counter next to him. This guy seemed a bit... Nervous? No.. What's the word again? Ah, it doesn't matter. This person was obviously a bit scared, don't blame him. He's located near a dead guy with a massive scythe and chains around his feet, John must look like a convict or something.

"Where is this bartender?" John mumbled to himself under the heavy breathing of his gasmask.
Suddenly, the strange person somehow broke down or something... Shouting "STOP IT!" as he covered his ears. Why? Was it John? Does this guy have sensitive ears and John's breathing is like an air horn being blown into his ears? Hm, that reminds me of a certain person... John thought to himself.

"Wha-" Before John could even ask, another person appeared, comforting the strange being. Ah well, might as well turn back and wait for the bartender, the problem is already being dealt with.
The falling of a barstool did grab some attention, but it was seen that it was caused by some scared thing, nothing important... Just wait... Think...
"Vladamir Rostovii..." John spoke to himself, loud enough for other's to hear over his breathing. Of course this would be the first thing to pop up, John's goal is to find the body of this being. He knew this person personally as a legendary super soldier of the Payemyndii Clan. All he could find is that this being died on Terra not long ago, the body would be perfect to add to the army or even to replace this current body which was obviously far out of date.

Maybe someone here knows of this guy, bars are the best place to find information from simple gossip and rumours, a location would be perfect.

The cawing, clucking, chirping and squawking began to fade, and within a few seconds after his yell, disappeared completely to be replaced by Mischief’s gleeful laughter.
“Are you alright?” someone had asked, but Tim was too distracted to hear. He shook his head from side to side as if trying to send away a fly which was buzzing around his face. Lowering his hands from his ears, he looked to the man, Harris. His eyes were wide, startled. Then he flushed.

Mischief had caught the direction from which the man had come and ‘ooohed’ when her attention settled on the violin case. As Tim looked up at the person, Mischief began crooning.
Violin. Geddit. Geddit. Make him play you a love song theeeeeeen, kiss him! It’ll be fun.
“Headache” Tim lied, assuming the man had approached due to his odd, embarrassing behaviour. A reasonable enough excuse. “Really drives me mad sometimes.”
Or hit him round the head with it.
“Really…” His voice had become dreamy, removed.
Pssh.

Gas mask guy is staring at your behind, his companion told him, she sounded like she was biting back laughter but Tim still yelped and positioned himself with a start so that his back was no longer to the ominous fellow he'd observed earlier.

Nyks watched the room silently, taking a sip of his drink and resting his hand, relaxed, on the hilt of his longsword strapped to his belt. He felt like he was missing something. He hated that feeling. It either meant he was paranoid or there was something right in front of his face that he should be seeing but didn't. Either way, it wasn't good for him.

Zekil waves good by to the rat as he hears someone asking for a server as he walks over to him, "May I help you?" he asks as he offers him a friendly smile however he seems...a bit on edge by something. He shakes it off quickly, if a fight broke out he could always teleport away. "If anyone needs a drink, shout em if I am not near ya, I have good ears." he says as he points to his pointed ears with a cheerful grin.

John turned away to ignore the strange child, it seemed like an effort to deal with. He has more important things to deal with of course, like finding that damned body.
And that's when a server had appeared, some strange being with pointed ears and wings. Ah, a demon, such a majestic being. But not really something a necromancer would look up to.
"Ah yes, any drink would do me. Thanks." John spoke to the demon, smiling back. Although that was pretty useless due to the damned gas mask.
"Ah yeah, there's some things I would like to know. Something which should be some rumours or something."

Zekil nods as he pours the gas masked man a glass of whiskey on the rock and hands it over, "Rumor? Well I hear a lot of those...not sure if I have heard the one you are looking for, but hey you never know. So ask away." he states as he picks up the glasses from a nearby table, some shadows helping him along in that endeavor as they move it to the back.

John took the glass with a nod, opening the top of his gas mask to allow his drink to be poured into his buccal cavity. He hummed as he drank, trying to make it seem as if he was enjoying the drink. In reality, John couldn't even taste the drink, nor did he even have a need to drink. Being dead can be such a draw back.

Listening to the server's words, he thought that he could give it a try. "Have you heard of a terrorist attack somewhere on Terra? Where the terrorist had been captured and executed?" He asked, trying to keep his need for this knowledge hidden.

Zekil frowns, "Geez more terrorist attacks? I thought we were done with those..." he mutters, "What was the attacker about? Ant-everything not human, anti-magic, or just Anti-everything and wanting to change things?" he asks with a frown as he takes out a glass and pours himself some cherry soda. "Executed and captured? No...can't say I have heard that...If you are looking for information on the dead there is a necromancer I know, he may help if he can find the spirit." he offers him.

John sighed as he placed his finished glass on the counter, "More like... 'Peace'". He paused, ready to explain a little. "I used to be the terrorist's comrade in the same organisation. Until I died."

On the mention of a fellow necromancer, John giggled. His croaked laughter didn't really sync with the increased breathing of the gas mask. "I'm a necromancer myself y'know. I'm looking for the terrorist's grave, so I can pay my respects."

"I think I heard that it happened in Shintenchi..."

Zekil shrugs, "Well sorry if I have offended ya, just way back when I was still green in this job we got attacked...a lot by many people for many silly reasons. Hell I still get attacked for my race, so I am a little..." he shrugs, "Well I think the worst when I hear terrorist organization, or priests or church." he offers. "Huh, well that makes two Necromancers I know..." he explains, "grave....well there is a Graveyard near the wastelands...and I think one in Verinotte Hollow I believe..." he offers as he closes his mismatched eyes to think. "Shintenchi huh? Hmmmm can't say I am familiar with that place... so I am not much help there if his grave is there..." he admits.