Sang Sacré
The fictional Buffista City. With a variety of neighborhoods, climates, and an Evil Genius or two, Sang Sacre is where we'd all live if it were real. Jump in -- find a neighborhood, start a parade, become a superhero. It's what you make it.
History. Map.
A very large turkey comes screeching my way, with a very frustrated woman behind it. I reach into my bag and pull out my 100% guaranteed turkey snare and grab it by the feet as it runs past me.
Holding him close to me, in case he's a pet, I approach the woman and ask, "Is this yours?"
Uh, thanks. I was actually hunting it. I suppose we should let it go, although it breaks my heart to do so.
Unless. . . do you like turkey? We could split it.
"Oh shit. I'm sorry."
I put the turkey back on the pavement and give him a slight boot to get him running.
Man. I'm making a great impression upon the people in my new town.
I ask her. "Ummm...do you happen to know this guy? Miracleman?"
Penny's off talking to some woman I've never met. Looks like she did catch something while I was checking my snares. I've now got a brace of rabbit, and a bit of a hunger coming on.
Don't you hate it when that happens? You've put your bag down for a moment to take a sip of mead, when suddenly six turkeys come storming into the bar and one of the buggers swoops down on your bag and
steals
it. Only in Sang Sacre. They're off out the door with their loot before you can say Jack Robinson, and I drop my tankard and leg it after the wretched bird.
.....some minutes later, with my sheathed sword clattering against my thigh and my precious bag still clutched in the blasted thing's beak, I see it heading towards a strange woman who is busy reading a paper plane. I thank all that I hold dear when she has the presence of mind to grab the damn bird by the feet.
I look around and it seems that several of the other turkeys have already run into the Turkey-grabbing lady. Bloody Bird Gangs, with their heist-pulling. Honestly, I really should have a word with Theresa. Hmph.
"Sorry, could I just - I think that's my bag that it dropped. Yes. Great. That was very quick reacting there."
I've now got a brace of rabbit, and a bit of a hunger coming on
You realize that Clovis is going to watch you very closely from now on ...
Nice to meet you, Aimee. As a matter of fact, I have an appointment to see Miracleman tomorrow - a business proposition - although judging from the way he aims a paper airplane, he'll be a tough sell.
Oh, and this is ita. We met in another . . . world
If you'll excuse me I'm going to chase that turkey until one of us drops of exhaustion. ita, do you want to meet in that hobbit bar in a bit?
I tear around the paths as quickly as my legs will carry me. I may be on the stumpy side, but surely I can outrun a turkey.
I round a corner and . . . well, I'll be dipped. There's a whole, what, coven? of turkeys and they seem to be gloating over a bag of loot. Crooked turkeys! I have absolutely no compunction about diving into the group like Iggy Pop. Like Iggy's fickle fans, the turkeys make no attempt to catch me, but I manage to get one by the throat. As his buddies scatter, I grab my hunting knife and dispatch the bird as quickly as possible.
Thief or not, every quarry is worthy of the proper rituals, and I am careful not to leave out any of the correct thanks or sacrifices. As soon as the entrails are buried, I bag the bird and start hauling it back to town. The turkey is on one shoulder, and on the other I carry what seems to be a very nice designer satchel. I hope the bar has a lost and found and, cripes, no dress code.
"What can Miracleman do for you today?"
What an odd thing to be appearing on my wall, but that name seems so fami.... Ah, the memories are coming back. Bastard can give me back 500 years of my life, that's what he can do for me today. Maybe it's time to return to the living and have some vengence. That and some good food, the underworld has never been known for it's cuisine.
I conjure an elevator door and step it as it opens with a bell toll. With a press of the single button I'm traveling back to the living, tracing the message back to somewhere in the vincinity to its origin, and listening to annoying music. The elevator comes to a stop and the doors fly open. A few wraiths that hitched a ride come drifting out, seeking the shadows.
A person here appears to be angry about my elevator smashing up through the ground in the middle of his dwelling. I draw my sword and put an end to the annoyance. I've forgotten what a mess an annhilating blade makes.
Time to find a place to eat, returing the living world always makes me a bit peckish.