"Drat, drat, drat, I'm late!"
Atticus Luren was running down the street in the pouring rain. He was wearing a hat and duster over his clothing, with a satchel strapped to his back. The meeting was supposed to have started by now and he was just now about to get to Antiquities. It was a bookstore, but not the everyday kind--no, this bookstore held many more secrets. For instance, it was the home of what most people would refer to as a wizard. This wizard, along with others, were keepers of tales--of fables, fairytales, and otherwise. They kept these tales for a very specific reason.
The stories held evil.
No, not as in "if read it will turn the reader evil", but more like "evil was trapped in the pages to serve as a lesson of what was." For a while now, these evil entities had been escaping, somehow. Atticus was contacted because it involed his kind of work.
See, Atticus was a wizard as well. A "Book-keeper" as they're called. They are able to carry magical tomes which can entrap anything the Book-keeper desires, assuming they're strong enough, or the target is weak enough. Atticus was brought up learning the ancient art from his uncle, a very well known writer and Book-keeper. His parents died when he was young, so it was only his uncle left to bring him up. He was adept at the art, but not that strong, just yet. He was a young man at the age of 21. He had short dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He stood at an average 5'10, and was lean in build--not so much muscular as scholarly. He was an Academician after all.
Atticus turned the corner, almost slipping in a puddle but catching himself by a lamp post. He bounced back upon the sidewalk and ran several more feet before stopping in front of the bookstore. The upstairs light was on, he could see, but the downstairs was closed.
Well, it was closed to anyone who wasn't invited.
Atticus smiled and walked through the door. No, he never opened it, simply walked through it. As he entered, he took off his hat and duster, hanging them on a post, and grabbed what appeared to be a large, black, leather-bound book with handcrafted pages out of his satchel, before making his way upstairs.
"Atticus. Late as usual!"
Atticus came to the large landing at the top of the stairs. At the far wall was a fireplace, and standing by the fireplace, was none other than a man who went by the name of Hans Christian Anderson. He was an elderly man, but still handsome in a smart way. He smiled slightly at Atticus and shook his head.
"Oh, if only your Uncle could see you now..."
"I know sir, I know. I'm sorry."
"Very well, we've no time to lose. I'd like to introduce you to your companions..."
Atticus Luren was running down the street in the pouring rain. He was wearing a hat and duster over his clothing, with a satchel strapped to his back. The meeting was supposed to have started by now and he was just now about to get to Antiquities. It was a bookstore, but not the everyday kind--no, this bookstore held many more secrets. For instance, it was the home of what most people would refer to as a wizard. This wizard, along with others, were keepers of tales--of fables, fairytales, and otherwise. They kept these tales for a very specific reason.
The stories held evil.
No, not as in "if read it will turn the reader evil", but more like "evil was trapped in the pages to serve as a lesson of what was." For a while now, these evil entities had been escaping, somehow. Atticus was contacted because it involed his kind of work.
See, Atticus was a wizard as well. A "Book-keeper" as they're called. They are able to carry magical tomes which can entrap anything the Book-keeper desires, assuming they're strong enough, or the target is weak enough. Atticus was brought up learning the ancient art from his uncle, a very well known writer and Book-keeper. His parents died when he was young, so it was only his uncle left to bring him up. He was adept at the art, but not that strong, just yet. He was a young man at the age of 21. He had short dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He stood at an average 5'10, and was lean in build--not so much muscular as scholarly. He was an Academician after all.
Atticus turned the corner, almost slipping in a puddle but catching himself by a lamp post. He bounced back upon the sidewalk and ran several more feet before stopping in front of the bookstore. The upstairs light was on, he could see, but the downstairs was closed.
Well, it was closed to anyone who wasn't invited.
Atticus smiled and walked through the door. No, he never opened it, simply walked through it. As he entered, he took off his hat and duster, hanging them on a post, and grabbed what appeared to be a large, black, leather-bound book with handcrafted pages out of his satchel, before making his way upstairs.
"Atticus. Late as usual!"
Atticus came to the large landing at the top of the stairs. At the far wall was a fireplace, and standing by the fireplace, was none other than a man who went by the name of Hans Christian Anderson. He was an elderly man, but still handsome in a smart way. He smiled slightly at Atticus and shook his head.
"Oh, if only your Uncle could see you now..."
"I know sir, I know. I'm sorry."
"Very well, we've no time to lose. I'd like to introduce you to your companions..."