I come from a dark line, a very dark line indeed. My family was once prominent members in a magical order known by the name "Thanatos", practitioners of the darkest arts. Death is their power. Okay sure, sometimes a little necromancy and black magic can be kinda cool. I've done a fair bit myself, but some of these people are serious bad news. That's why I ran away. I grabbed a bag, filled it with some books that would give me enough power to stand by myself, and then fled my family.
Sad thing is they never came looking for me. No big surprise, I've never really been liked by people. Probably missed the books more than they did me. Anyway that's not the point. I'm well on my way to becoming a powerful warlock myself. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I work the black arts; it's in my blood. So far I've avoided doing anything toO rash though. No pacts with demons or human sacrifices... Sometimes though, I can feel the power calling to me…
I can't give it up though. The world is a dangerous place. There are monsters out there, things worse than anything I ever saw in the family dungeons, Vampires and Demons. Makes me wish sometimes I had stayed home. I've made it to the big city now though and I'm sure there's someplace I can find where my expertise in the occult will be useful. At least I hope so.
But now is not the time for my expertise. Now is the time to party. I come to the Jade Dragon every weekend. Do a little dancing, get a little tipsy, do what one can to have fun. That's my philosophy.
At the moment, I was dancing with a particularly good-looking little Philly. Five foot, three, not more than 110 pounds, athletic, golden brown hair, light blue eyes, and a southern accent that's just to die for. She's not a bad dancer either, if you ask me. But, sadly, I was thirsty, so I waved my goodbye and went over to the bar.
"Beer, bottle please," I said, waving my fake ID. It's so inconvenient to be 19 in this town. The barkeep slid a Bud my way and I took a big draw and made my way out to the dance floor. But my girl wasn't out there. I sadly took another drink and looked around, spotting her on the far end, walking out with another guy, but this wasn't any ordinary guy. Working with the occult as long as I have, you start to get good at spotting vampires ready for the kill. I could practically smell it from here. So I did what any over confident teenage psudo-hero would do, I took another swig of my beer and made my way towards the side door.
This isn't for me.
That's what I kept telling Mr. Johnson. That was his name, my Watcher. Or at least that's what they used to be called. I don't know much about this world, the one with vampires, and other things that go bump in the night. All I know is that some powerful being felt it necessary to choose me to be the one to fight against the evil in the world.
Yet, here I am, acting like I'm interested in this loser, just because every time I'm close to him I get that feeling. How the hell does PMS qualify as a vampire sensor anyway?
I carted him outside, like a sex-crazed little girl just looking for a piece of action. Into the alleyway we went, hand in hand.
Well, do I have a surprise for him.
When we got outside, I took him around the corner; I knew if I couldn't handle it Sid would be right behind.
Right behind, that was the plan. Somewhere along the way the plan must have gone haywire. Because as soon as she left, another boy followed close behind, dressed in all black, with a trench coat. If that doesn't fit the description of a vampire I don't know what does.
It must be a real irony, a gothic hero, protecting a little girl against vampires. But, what can I say; it's just in my nature. I walked out into the alleyway and noticed shadows moving to the left, going around the corner. I closed the door, looked around, and followed suit.
I could tell something was wrong as soon as I saw light coming from beside the dance floor. I glanced over and saw a pretty young girl, older than me, but not by much, followed by a guy, which I can only describe as a loser. That wasn't the strange part, girls have bad taste in men every day. It was the shady character that followed that caught my attention. Before he exited the door, he looked around to make sure no one else was following.
So I did what I do best, I finished my Coke, and made for the door. But, as with all great plans, it wasn't quite full proof.
"Something isn't right, this looks like a…"
That's about as much as I got out before two gothic looking punks stepped in my way.
"Where do you think you're going grandpa?"
"I'm making my way to the dance floor, if that's any of your business, mate." Why do youths always have to hit the age? I'm only 29 for Christ sake; I'm not even 30.
"I don't think so Watcher, you're not going anywhere near that girl. She's being taken care of."
Not being a very good gambler, I don't have a very good "poker face". I could see in these boys' eyes the surprise they were reading on my face. I took a quick glance toward the door and saw another form exit, all I saw was a flowing trench coat, blowing in the wind. And I knew at this point that I had made yet another terrible mistake.
I instantly went to action, flinging out my feet towards the leader's groin, which sent him toppling over a table behind him. But I wasn't fast enough to defend against the blur of speed that his friend had waiting for me. He caught me right in the side of the head with a beer bottle, which sent me spinning to the ground, and everything started to go black.