Devils and Details.

The Occultist was in trouble.

He'd gotten wind of a sacrificial ritual in Iraq, through one of his contacts in the astral plane. Travel time was no problem, because his destination sat directly on a Ley Line, so he'd arrived within an hour of the ritual's start. 

What he hadn't been prepared for was that there weren't victims for him to save. No, the ritual's sacrificial component was him.


The Occultist has many enemies. Where the unassailable mystical power of the Sorcerer Supreme stands watch over the Earthrealm in the sun, he protects it from the darkness. Through whatever means available to him, he keeps the horrors of the night at bay. In return, they try their damnedest to kill him.

Ley travel wasn't always reliable, but it got him to where he needed to be. He'd supplemented his standard kit with a few extra trinkets, but he hadn't even had a chance to use them. It wasn't mysticism, even, that laid him low, but a simple blow to the head from behind. When he awoke, he was suspended from his wrists, gear taken from him. His captors weren't present, but he was sure they'd be here to kill him eventually.

Well, this... could be better.

@Spider Goddess

Interesting. They're not going to sacrifice me, they want to... recruit me.


"Frankly, I don't think you know who you're dealing with. I'm not some charlatan, I'm not a hedge wizard or a stage performer."


As he spoke, the Occultist began to open his mind. Not fully, that would be suicidal, but a mere sliver. And as he allowed the Far Realm's power to edge its way into his mind, just a little, a word came to his lips. Not a word he'd known, and once he'd said it, he would forget it once again. This was the Occultist's curse. The infection in his mind and his aura, which granted him temporary power for permanent cost. At this small a scale the cost would be negligible, but when he called on more of the power, more of his mind slipped away.

"I'm the motherfuckng Occultist. Aiat!"


As he spoke the Word of Power, his chains shattered, and the Occultist was freed.

With a simple gesture, a flick of the wrist and a twist of his fingers, he summoned a weapon to his hand. Not a mystical artifact, but a simple pistol. The only thing that distinguished it from a normal weapon was a red rune inscribed on the barrel of the gun. When it was fired, the bullets would do permanent damage. Every drop of blood lost to this gun would be permanent.


"Now. Who do you work for?"

@Spider Goddess

The room began to chill. Before the Occultist even had time to speak, it was bitingly cold, enough to cause him to double over, shuddering. Through chattering teeth, he recited the first verse of the Pyromancer's Invocation. The spell in its entirety could summon flames that burn through reality itself, but the first verse is merely a simple spell of warming. Heat spreads through his body, and the Occultist stands- to find the Bodkin gone.

"Damn," he spat. With a quick Word of Recall, he summoned his equipment back to him, and fastened his goggles to his face. From inside his coat came a phone, and he speed-dialed one of his usual 'fixers.'

"Anu? I need you to dig up some information on a cult I found. No, Anu, you owe me this time. And... find me a boat."

The man wasn't loyal, but he was usually reliable, and the Occultist had saved him from some unsavory characters once upon a time. If anyone could find this cult for him, it would be Anu.

As the Occultist began to find an exit, he gestured loosely. His casebook pulled itself from his coat, along with a fountain pen, and began to notate this little adventure. He still held his un in one hand, and occasionally made the odd arcane symbol with the other, checking for traps and hidden doors.