A
Azathoth
Guest
Original poster
Simon Volkos, Pyre
Third Hand Books, NYC
7:45 AM, February 6th
The winters in New York were far colder than those where Simon grew up, and they even seemed to last longer. He often found himself missing Florida's consistent heat, a February in Miami was like the peak of summer in NYC. Now, however, he was dressed for the cold, with a modest suit under his warm, knee-length coat. He walked down the mostly empty side walk in front of weathered brick front buildings, and the occasional litter-strewn alley, until he reached the modest storefront of Third Hand Books. His grandfather had opened the shop, but after he passed away Simon had taken over for him and was making a modest income. The store had several stories of apartments stacked above it, and a faded red awning cast shadows over the large, square glass windows which displayed a variety of newer books to attract the interest of any pedestrians who wandered by.
Simon ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, he really doubted he could afford to keep the place open if he had to rely on its usual business. It was the unusual business which had kept him afloat, the buying and purchasing of rare, arcane tomes. The sort of customers interested in them were few and far between, but always paid well. The money he made as Pyre was usually split between savings and charity, unless he needed to make an urgent purchase or payment. He turned the key in the lock and swung the door open, hearing the jingling of the bells attached to it and smelling the aroma of dust and aged paper which hung heavily, but not unpleasantly, in the air. He flicked the light switch on, revealing rows and rows of book shelves placed in a haphazard manner and a cluster of leather chairs surrounding an aged coffee table, but before flipping the closed sign to open there was a particular order of business that needed attending to every morning.
Behind several book shelves, under floor mats and chairs, and nestled in dark nooks and crannies across the store were red cards which he had inscribed with runes. Checking to make sure each was still in its appropriate position, he began the incantation.
"By rite of the cleansing flame, one of the five great elements from which the world is constructed, I make this place as a sanctuary unto the innocent and a punishment unto the wicked, let my judgment be as thine!" There was no dramatic flare of lights or sudden wind, but he sensed the success of his magic and the…completeness…of the sanctuary he had created. Now to set up shop.
Third Hand Books, NYC
7:45 AM, February 6th
The winters in New York were far colder than those where Simon grew up, and they even seemed to last longer. He often found himself missing Florida's consistent heat, a February in Miami was like the peak of summer in NYC. Now, however, he was dressed for the cold, with a modest suit under his warm, knee-length coat. He walked down the mostly empty side walk in front of weathered brick front buildings, and the occasional litter-strewn alley, until he reached the modest storefront of Third Hand Books. His grandfather had opened the shop, but after he passed away Simon had taken over for him and was making a modest income. The store had several stories of apartments stacked above it, and a faded red awning cast shadows over the large, square glass windows which displayed a variety of newer books to attract the interest of any pedestrians who wandered by.
Simon ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, he really doubted he could afford to keep the place open if he had to rely on its usual business. It was the unusual business which had kept him afloat, the buying and purchasing of rare, arcane tomes. The sort of customers interested in them were few and far between, but always paid well. The money he made as Pyre was usually split between savings and charity, unless he needed to make an urgent purchase or payment. He turned the key in the lock and swung the door open, hearing the jingling of the bells attached to it and smelling the aroma of dust and aged paper which hung heavily, but not unpleasantly, in the air. He flicked the light switch on, revealing rows and rows of book shelves placed in a haphazard manner and a cluster of leather chairs surrounding an aged coffee table, but before flipping the closed sign to open there was a particular order of business that needed attending to every morning.
Behind several book shelves, under floor mats and chairs, and nestled in dark nooks and crannies across the store were red cards which he had inscribed with runes. Checking to make sure each was still in its appropriate position, he began the incantation.
"By rite of the cleansing flame, one of the five great elements from which the world is constructed, I make this place as a sanctuary unto the innocent and a punishment unto the wicked, let my judgment be as thine!" There was no dramatic flare of lights or sudden wind, but he sensed the success of his magic and the…completeness…of the sanctuary he had created. Now to set up shop.