First Fic! Woop Woop. Hopefully this won't crash and burn. Basically, Ghastly wants to get Tanith back, and this is his journey. That's it really. R&R if you want more, but if your not really keen... Review anyway! And tell me how crap it is. Cheers- TheBadgerOfAwesome.
(A/N I don't own anything. Everything belongs to Derek Landy. Just thought I'd let you know)
The beginning
The London Street is dark, dank, and filled with the stench of broken dreams. The light that shines from the dim streetlamps is swallowed by the smothering, humid night. Down this street walks a figure, a tall stocky man, and the coat and hat he wears is expertly tailored. The coat is knee length, and made of a dark shimmering material that seems to bend the light as it refracts. The collar is pulled high, and the man's face cannot be seen. Nor do any of the passers-by want to see his face, for all the people that walk down this street are dangerous. They belong to a world of arcane tradition, sorcery and darkness, and frankly, are a little bit weird. The figure stops at an old building, the mortals on this street are specially weary of this building, an old magic shop that boasts it can tell your future, heal a loved one, or exorcise the dead. For many seem to go through its doors, but very few ever come out. The man has no-such qualms, and as he raps on the heavy door that barres the entrance, a slit opens, and two milky white eyes stare back at him. These eyes are blind, and have no pupil, but this does not disgust or horrify the man, as he has seen many worse things.
"What do you want?" Comes a thin raspy voice from behind that door.
"I am here to see your employer." The man answers in a bleak, calm voice.
"You want to see Darkvein?"
"Indeed."
"What's the pass word?"
"Red Right-Hand" The door rattles, as locks are undone, and the door creaks open. Behind it stands an old woman, with those terrible, sightless eyes.
"Your name?" The woman asks as the man took of his coat and hat, and tapped the twin scars on his collarbones. They glow yellow for a moment through his pale blue shirt, and then the pale smooth flesh of his head dissolves to show the ragged, scarred tissue beneath.
"My name is Ghastly Bespoke, and I am here to request an audience with Grand-Mage Darkvein." The woman nods respectfully, for Bespoke is an old war hero among the sorcerer community.
"The Grand-Mage will be right with you." The administrator turns, and walks away. Ghastly finds himself in dim chamber, with corridors sprawling out from all directions. Bespoke allows himself a quick smile, this is one of his favourite places, the English sanctuary.
(A/N Hope you liked it! Just think, next chapter you can actually find out what's going on! (this chapter has gone through much updating, to fix grammatical, spelling and tense errors.))