(Introductory Note: I've included some basics to the Wraith mythology in
the story. They are based on the perspective of the character and may not
be what is 'true' according to White Wolf's Game line.)
The morning routine was always the same. Take the kids to school, and then get to work as fast as possible. That is the way it was in the Jergan household. Ms. Jergan cleaned up the half full bowls of cereal that the kids had left when they rushed out for school. The bus had come to pick the kids up a little late this particular morning, so the time slot to get to work was pushed tighter than usual. Frank Jergan fixed his tie as he readied himself to go out the door.
"How do I look?" He raised his neck and stood up straight. He was clean- shaven with thinning brown hair, though he still carried an air of pride about him as he pushed into the grounds of middle age.
Anne Jergan smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, fixing his tie. "You look great. I know you'll give them hell in the meeting today."
Frank nodded, "I spent a lot of time with this presentation for today. It should give them hell." He smiled to her.
Anne looked at her watch. The hands clicked. "Well, you had better get out of here now or else you won't have any time to show them."
Frank chuckled. "Alright, Alright." He gave her one last kiss on the cheek and picked up his briefcase and walked out of the door, his wife locking it behind him.
Frank walked hastily to his car, disengaging the alarm system with two soft beeps. He sighed a bit and checked to see if his cell was in his pocket. This time it was. He almost always forgot it, but not this morning luckily. He placed his briefcase onto the passenger seat and backed out of his driveway, onto the relatively quiet side street. As soon as he turned onto the main road, it was extremely busy. He had missed his opportunity to attempt to get ahead the morning rush.
He bit his lower lip and turned on the radio. Traffic was not moving swiftly, and there were accidents on two of the roads that Frank needed to take. He would miss the meeting. Maybe. He needed to punch it. That was the only way he would be able to make it. As soon as the light changed, he pressed his foot on the accelerator and switched lanes quickly, cutting a car off. He didn't bother to wave an apology, he had to concentrate. He continued to dart in and out of traffic wantonly.
He risked taking a glance at the clock. The soft green digital glow changed lines. He wouldn't make it. His cell phone rang. He cursed idly and looked down to fumble in his pocket for it. By the time he looked up, the car in front of him was approaching far too fast for him to slam on the breaks.
***
We all die. You are not born into this life to be immortal. When death comes, some get deposited in the land of shadows. It is a pale reflection of the living world. Everything is dimmer, everything duller. No joy. Little hope. There is no hell here, no heaven. Just shadows of people and things that once were. Is there something beyond this? Most say no. A few say yes. I am one of those few.
The souls here held strong emotional attachments in life. Which is why they did not pass on to what lies beyond, which is anyone's guess as to what it is. Beyond shadow, and beyond oblivion. Two more important aspects of this world are shadow and oblivion. The shadow is the darkest part of every human being birthed to life upon death, and given malicious intellect. The shadow seeks control over the dominant personality of the soul. If it achieves this, Souls become Specters. Dark beings, which are part of the unstoppable force called oblivion. Oblivion is the force that was opposite creation. Opposite life, opposite of love. It seeks to destroy everything. The more malice the world harbors, the stronger it grows.
The heart of oblivion lies beyond a raging sea of lost dreams. The tempest. It is always stormy, and rocks with pain. Beyond this is the heart of Oblivion. The Labyrinth. A dark maze that leads down to God knows what. Perhaps the force that spawned oblivion itself.
In a pocket of calm space in the tempest, there is a great city of the dead, Stygia. It is ruled by the heads of the legions. These legions are warriors against oblivion, to fight the specters and hold the destruction of souls back. Of course, politics always comes first, even though their rhetoric says otherwise. Little changes in the transition from life to death. Not surprising. One is assigned to these Legions in fashion of death. A neat little way of packaging us. And materials from the land of the dead, come from souls. The metaphysical substance of what one is can become material for a sword, a chair, a pen, anything. Most of the time it is usually specters and traitors that go to the forge, though this is most of the time.
These are the basics to my existence. My name is Adrian. I am part of the Grim Legion. They say that I died by violence. I don't remember much about my death. My last days are shrouded in mystery. Some of my life is even foreign to me. I think I was a police officer. I had a wife. She was pregnant in my last memory. I try not to think about it, it only hurts to think.
"You writing in that thing again, Adrian?" Keith looked over my shoulder. He was dressed in the clothes he died in, camouflage fatigues with military boots. The first thing I turned to look at were the multiple gunshot wounds in his chest. The cause of his death right in my face. I almost cringed.
"Yeah, helps ease off the shadow. Shuts the bastard up." I smile, like I always do. They can understand that answer.
"You can never shut me up. Never ever, ever, ever." It whispers in my ear. I ignore it.
He nods, looking me over. I don't bear the mark of my death. In fact, I look much like I did in life. Six foot three, long black hair. Neatly trimmed goatee. Lean frame. The only difference was glowing green eyes. The fires of emeralds borne into my head.
Keith shakes his head, a cocky smirk on his face. His dog tags move back and forth as he shakes his head. "Jeez, Adrian. Well, anyway." He looks towards the book as he says this. I wonder if his cockiness got him killed. "We have to go for maneuvers, You coming?"
I nodded. Wouldn't do much good thinking more and arouse my better half. I pick up my sword, armor is already strapped on. There aren't many guns here. Only ones that are have some have had strong attachments to cross over. Bullets are as scarce as guns. Most combat is medieval style, with soul forged blades. 'Yeah, I need to practice. I'm not getting lost to the Specters for being out of practice."
Keith cocked his head towards the door. "Lets go soldier boy! Time to prove your worth!"
I exit my room. This is my death, or my second chance. It is all I've got, and all I want to keep.
The morning routine was always the same. Take the kids to school, and then get to work as fast as possible. That is the way it was in the Jergan household. Ms. Jergan cleaned up the half full bowls of cereal that the kids had left when they rushed out for school. The bus had come to pick the kids up a little late this particular morning, so the time slot to get to work was pushed tighter than usual. Frank Jergan fixed his tie as he readied himself to go out the door.
"How do I look?" He raised his neck and stood up straight. He was clean- shaven with thinning brown hair, though he still carried an air of pride about him as he pushed into the grounds of middle age.
Anne Jergan smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, fixing his tie. "You look great. I know you'll give them hell in the meeting today."
Frank nodded, "I spent a lot of time with this presentation for today. It should give them hell." He smiled to her.
Anne looked at her watch. The hands clicked. "Well, you had better get out of here now or else you won't have any time to show them."
Frank chuckled. "Alright, Alright." He gave her one last kiss on the cheek and picked up his briefcase and walked out of the door, his wife locking it behind him.
Frank walked hastily to his car, disengaging the alarm system with two soft beeps. He sighed a bit and checked to see if his cell was in his pocket. This time it was. He almost always forgot it, but not this morning luckily. He placed his briefcase onto the passenger seat and backed out of his driveway, onto the relatively quiet side street. As soon as he turned onto the main road, it was extremely busy. He had missed his opportunity to attempt to get ahead the morning rush.
He bit his lower lip and turned on the radio. Traffic was not moving swiftly, and there were accidents on two of the roads that Frank needed to take. He would miss the meeting. Maybe. He needed to punch it. That was the only way he would be able to make it. As soon as the light changed, he pressed his foot on the accelerator and switched lanes quickly, cutting a car off. He didn't bother to wave an apology, he had to concentrate. He continued to dart in and out of traffic wantonly.
He risked taking a glance at the clock. The soft green digital glow changed lines. He wouldn't make it. His cell phone rang. He cursed idly and looked down to fumble in his pocket for it. By the time he looked up, the car in front of him was approaching far too fast for him to slam on the breaks.
***
We all die. You are not born into this life to be immortal. When death comes, some get deposited in the land of shadows. It is a pale reflection of the living world. Everything is dimmer, everything duller. No joy. Little hope. There is no hell here, no heaven. Just shadows of people and things that once were. Is there something beyond this? Most say no. A few say yes. I am one of those few.
The souls here held strong emotional attachments in life. Which is why they did not pass on to what lies beyond, which is anyone's guess as to what it is. Beyond shadow, and beyond oblivion. Two more important aspects of this world are shadow and oblivion. The shadow is the darkest part of every human being birthed to life upon death, and given malicious intellect. The shadow seeks control over the dominant personality of the soul. If it achieves this, Souls become Specters. Dark beings, which are part of the unstoppable force called oblivion. Oblivion is the force that was opposite creation. Opposite life, opposite of love. It seeks to destroy everything. The more malice the world harbors, the stronger it grows.
The heart of oblivion lies beyond a raging sea of lost dreams. The tempest. It is always stormy, and rocks with pain. Beyond this is the heart of Oblivion. The Labyrinth. A dark maze that leads down to God knows what. Perhaps the force that spawned oblivion itself.
In a pocket of calm space in the tempest, there is a great city of the dead, Stygia. It is ruled by the heads of the legions. These legions are warriors against oblivion, to fight the specters and hold the destruction of souls back. Of course, politics always comes first, even though their rhetoric says otherwise. Little changes in the transition from life to death. Not surprising. One is assigned to these Legions in fashion of death. A neat little way of packaging us. And materials from the land of the dead, come from souls. The metaphysical substance of what one is can become material for a sword, a chair, a pen, anything. Most of the time it is usually specters and traitors that go to the forge, though this is most of the time.
These are the basics to my existence. My name is Adrian. I am part of the Grim Legion. They say that I died by violence. I don't remember much about my death. My last days are shrouded in mystery. Some of my life is even foreign to me. I think I was a police officer. I had a wife. She was pregnant in my last memory. I try not to think about it, it only hurts to think.
"You writing in that thing again, Adrian?" Keith looked over my shoulder. He was dressed in the clothes he died in, camouflage fatigues with military boots. The first thing I turned to look at were the multiple gunshot wounds in his chest. The cause of his death right in my face. I almost cringed.
"Yeah, helps ease off the shadow. Shuts the bastard up." I smile, like I always do. They can understand that answer.
"You can never shut me up. Never ever, ever, ever." It whispers in my ear. I ignore it.
He nods, looking me over. I don't bear the mark of my death. In fact, I look much like I did in life. Six foot three, long black hair. Neatly trimmed goatee. Lean frame. The only difference was glowing green eyes. The fires of emeralds borne into my head.
Keith shakes his head, a cocky smirk on his face. His dog tags move back and forth as he shakes his head. "Jeez, Adrian. Well, anyway." He looks towards the book as he says this. I wonder if his cockiness got him killed. "We have to go for maneuvers, You coming?"
I nodded. Wouldn't do much good thinking more and arouse my better half. I pick up my sword, armor is already strapped on. There aren't many guns here. Only ones that are have some have had strong attachments to cross over. Bullets are as scarce as guns. Most combat is medieval style, with soul forged blades. 'Yeah, I need to practice. I'm not getting lost to the Specters for being out of practice."
Keith cocked his head towards the door. "Lets go soldier boy! Time to prove your worth!"
I exit my room. This is my death, or my second chance. It is all I've got, and all I want to keep.