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Fantasy - Modern Diaries. Draknor!

Started by Poison, Apr 29, 2020, 08:33 pm

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This is my first time writing something in 'public', so be gentle please! 



It should have been a normal day. 

Of course, normal in my world is probably not your normal.  Or, well, normal.

You see, ah, well, let's not get ahead of ourselves shall we? 

I woke up as usual.  Most people don't think my kind can sleep, but that's a load of crap.  I mean, it's just stereotyping right?  Anyhoo, I woke, made the bed, I'm a bit fastidious like that, and then did my, for want of a better world, toilet routine.

It was a Monday, that I know, so I chose what I like to think of as my 'good' suit.  It's a natty dark grey number with a long jacket, like the westerns.  I always feel like I should be wearing some kind of Stetson with it. 

So, dressed and ready, I had headed out for the office. 

I live in a fairly major city.  It's unusual in one respect thought, because there's an unusually high concentration of... 'us' living here.  I guess there's the old adage of safety in numbers right?  So, I'll not tell you the real name of the place.  Let's just call it... I don't know, Big City.  That should be generic enough.

I took the stairs down to the underground garage, one advantage in living in a slightly posher apartment block, and climbed into my hybrid.  I'm likely to be around longer than the usual person, so I like to try and take care of the planet.

Mind you, my friend, Mike, when I 'came out', was surprised I drove.

"Why not?" I asked him.

"Well, it's not what you would think," he said.

"There you go," I replied.


"The stereotypes are starting already.  I knew I shouldn't have told you."

Anyway, I was cool really.  Everyone has a different way of reacting, although I've not come clean to many outside of the community.  Mike was pretty understanding really.

So I drove through he rush-hour traffic to my office.  Yes, I know, what?  Me working at an office?  What's that about?  Well, everyone has to eat, and my diet is no cheaper than anyone else's, probably more so actually.  We have to make our way in the world somehow, and anyway, I'm not exactly poor.  I probably do it for something to do as much as anything else.

Well, I parked the car in the overly-large company car park, and that's when things went a bit sidewards. 

I picked up my laptop bag, slung it over my shoulder, locked the car, turned around, and that's when someone shot me in the chest.

I know.  My best suit!


So, just the introduction.  I promise there's more to come, and there will be a suggestion phase next time! 

Any comments welcome until then!

 Popular topic  Link


Thanks for the suggestion anyway Ren.  Sorry for the delay in putting up new stuff, been a bit busy lately.

I'll try and throw something together tomorrow.  :o
New writer.  Be gentle!


Oh, I know the feeling, trust me.  I've written nothing all week.


Right, I'm almost certainly going to start to begin to sit down and write another chapter of this today.  Probably.
New writer.  Be gentle!


The drive back took a fair bit longer, mainly because I stopped off at an old mechanic friend to get my car seen to.  Usually I'd have dropped it off and come back another time, but I didn't fancy waiting, and I was probably going to need it if I was to complete Shem's task.

She hadn't given me a deadline, which was something, but then I had decided I'd better get on the job as soon as, especially as I had time off work just now.  Plus it's best not to try the patience of Deities, or so I've heard.  Mercurial they are.  As well as down right twisted in their view of what is funny, which usually involves a lot of blood and pain.   

"There you go," Arthur said, wiping his hands on a rag that was so oily that he probably made his hands dirtier.   

"Thanks you," I said.  "How much do I owe you?" 

He told me, and I winced. 

"Hey, times are hard," he said, seeing my expression.  "Anyway, I know you can afford it, living it up, pardon the expression, over in the swanky side of town."

"Sure, sure," I replied, handing over my card. 

One disadvantage of The Community is that many of us know each other.  That's not an issue as a rule, but as most of the 'Otherwise challenged', as I've heard some call us, live on the seedier side of town.  Just because I choose to live in a nice neighbourhood people think I'm loaded. 

Okay, well, I am well off, but still...

"There you goooooo... ahem, sorry, nearly a full moon." Arthur looked slightly embarrassed and handed my card back.  Being a werewolf must be annoying at times.  I thought he looked a bit hairier than usual.

"Don't worry about it," I said, "We all have our crosses to bear.  Thanks mate."

The mechanic nodded and watched as I climbed back into my newly repaired vehicle.  I was just about to start it when a thought struck me.

"Hey," I said, winding down the window.  "You don't know where the followers of Draknor do their rituals do you?"

The old wolf frowned.  "What are you getting involved in that lot for?" he asked.  "They're trouble."

"Don't I just know it, but," I did a good imitation of a sigh. "However, I owe old Shem a favour and, well..."

"Say no more," he replied, holding a long-fingernailed hand up.  "I think they're based in the Fireware Corporation headquarters these days.  Last I heard anyway."

"Fireware?  What the hell are they doing there?"

Arthur shrugged.  "Heard they found a wealthy sponsor or something.  They've moved up in the world."

"Great," I said.  "Just what I need.  Thanks bud." 

He nodded and stood there as I drove out of the garage, pondering how the hell I was going to get a follower of Draknor to Shem's place without getting disembowelled.


I drove back to mine first, the day was coming to a close, and, despite what you may have heard, I want to rest at night.  Yes, I can still sleep, well, sort of.  I go into a kind of trance.  I guess the brain's still working somehow, so it still goes through the same kind of processes that it did when it was alive.  I don't know how this stuff works, there are wizards and scientists who've studied this it, but there's still a lot of research to do, not helped by the fact that us zombies aren't keen on contributing our brains to help.

Oh, did I not mention before?  Yes, I'm a zombie.  'How the heck did that happen?' I hear you ask.  Well, not that it's any of your fucking business, but in the usual way I guess.  Raised by a necromancer.   It's more common than you think, although 'independent' zombies less so.  Anyway, suffice it to say you may be surprised who's undead.

So I parked my car in the usual spot and took the lift back to my apartment, where I stripped off, showered, hygiene is even more important when you're dead in some respects, and then collapsed into bed.

I guess that's Mondays for you.

Chapter 2 - Fireware

The next day I drove over to my friend Mike's house.  It was a weekday I know, but I was fairly certain he'd be home, as he works remotely most of the time, when he works at all.

And let's face it, if you were as loaded as Mike, you'd work wherever the fuck you wanted too.   He'd made it early in life, some IT thing that I didn't fully understand, but was bought by Microsoft or some such for a stupid amount of money, on the basis that it might be useful or popular someday. 

In any case, Mike then went and started a dozen more companies, most of which went on to be successful in their own right, so he was made, as they say. 

I pulled up to the gates of his large house, he refuses to call it a mansion despite having about twenty bedrooms, and pushed the bell.

A short conversation with his security guy later, and I was pulling up outside his not-mansion's main doors.  His manservant, James, was waiting for me.

"S'up Jim?" I asked, as I climbed out of my car, knowing very well he hated being called that.

"I see you're still mostly alive then," James replied with a sniff.  I happened to know he was some kind of faerie, not sure what kind exactly, but one that didn't like the undead apparently, as he was always snooty with me.

"The master will see you in the receiving room," James said. 

"Cheers mate," I said, jovially, and strode up the steps.

I made my own way, having been to the house many times, and was greeted by His Lordship poking away at some phone-like device.  A techie, was Mike, to the core.

"There he is," he exclaimed, as I entered.  "What's going on man?  I've not seen you for ages.  Is everything okay?"

"Just been busy," I replied, slapping him on the arm and smiling.  It really had been too long since I saw my old friend, old for a human friend anyway.  You tend to go through people a bit when you're essentially immortal.

"Fancy a drink?"  he asked, gesturing at a well stocked cabinet, just as James strolled in. 

"It's a bit early isn't it?" I asked. 

"Five o'clock somewhere.  Besides, I've been up since about one, still on Asia time.  Just come back from a trip there."

"Alright for some," I said. "Still, why not?"  I nodded at James, who made his way to the drinks cabinet.

I wasn't sure if Mike knew James wasn't a normal human, not many of us reveal ourselves, but I knew he knew what to make me.  He would probably slip some kind of fay thing it too, for added kick.

Now, I'm not usually a drinker, not because I don't like a bit of a tipple, but it takes a lot for a zombie to get drunk, and frankly people tend to stare when you knock back a dozen bottles of whisky in quick succession without, well, dying, so I didn't partake much.

Mike though, knowing my secret, and being stupidly rich, could afford certain special brews, when I'd told him about them.  He'd offered a supply to me, but I didn't feel comfortable taking charity, so to speak, so I just imbibed every now and then.

So we relaxed in priceless armchairs as James served us.  I took an innocuously named drink, called Buttercup, which would have probably killed a normal human if they'd drunk it.  Me, it made a bit 'toppy' after a few.  I relished the feeling of feeling.

"So what's new?" Miked asked, after we were settled and the obligatory small talk. 

I sighed.  I didn't like to ponce off my friends, but the situation was serious, and I knew Mike loved this kind of stuff.  Every since he'd found out about the living challenged, and the rest (although I'd not told him that much), he'd been hounding me for more interactions with The Community. 

Of course, he'd also asked if he could become undead.  I'd, accurately, told him I didn't have a clue how to do that, he'd need a necromancer and I didn't know any.  This wasn't true, but he wasn't to know.  I had said they were very rare indeed, which was accurate.

Anyway, this time I fessed up and told him my story. 

"So," I concluded.  "I need access to this Drakor company.  Any ideas?"

Mike just smiled.  "As it happens, my pasty faced friend, I do.  I just happen to be a major shareholder in that particular business."

"You are?"  I raised my eyebrows, and also my glass for James to refill.  "I didn't know this."

"Well."  Mike shifted then, in his seat, and looked a little uncomfortable.  "Perhaps it's something I should have come to you about before."  He looked down.

Suspicious arose.  "What did you do Mike?" I asked.

Finally did some writing!   ;D 

So, SusPhase here is: What secret does Mike have?  I know there's an obvious answer, but any ideas are welcome!
New writer.  Be gentle!


Nice one Poi. 

Well, the obvious thing is that he's the one who's sponsoring the group's rise in status. 

Oooh, maybe, just maybe, he's actually the god himself!  Or maybe a high priest of it, in which case he may or may not wish to help.  Maybe even hinder him, possibly even work against him!   :o


Good ideas there Ren.  Didn't consider the possibility he'd work against him. Could open up a whole new plotline.

New writer.  Be gentle!


My pleasure.  That's what I like about these suggestions, they give you more ideas and inspiration.  8)


Mike took another pull on his (normal) drink and smacked his lips before looking at me again.

"You know how I've been... curious about the Others, ever since you came out to me," he said. The Others is a generic term for non-humans some people use.

"Sure,"  I replied, narrowing my eyes.

"Well, some time ago, a representative, let's call them, came to me.  Said they could introduce me to certain, ah, aspects of the Others."

"I see," I said, wondering how this person had known that Mike had known.  Something to ask once the main event had been revealed.  "And what did you have to do in return?"

"Nothing much," Mike said.  "Just sponsor a group, supply them with... supplies and a place to meet."   He shrugged.


"Well, I had to have a certain level of involvement."

"You're the High Priest are you?" I asked.


"Bugger.  Mike!  This is dangerous stuff!" 

"I know what I'm doing," he said. 

"Well, could you do me a favour do you think?  It's a big one, I'll owe you."

"Go on," he said, sipping more whisky.

"I need to convert one of your followers." 

He was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded.  "Very well, then.  I can arrange something I think.  For you."  He smiled.  "Now, enough business.  Another drink?" 

I spent the rest of the day, into the evening, drinking and chewing the fat with Mike.  It was a pleasant change after the last few days, and I was reluctant to leave in some ways, but I had work the next day.

So I staggered out and drove home.  Yes, yes, drink driving, I know, but I don't do it often, and the roads to my place were fairly quiet, plus fuck it.  Sometimes you have to be evil.  It's not as if I'd blow positive if breathalysed.  Not sure what would happen there actually.

So I swerved into my parking space, staggered into the lift and my apartment, and fell into my bed.


Next morning I 'woke' as usual and took extra care with my masking routine.  I'd let it lapse a bit the previous day.  That done, I collected my usual things and drove back to work.

Parking in my usual place, I took an extra look around before climbing out of the car, just in case.  Nothing.

So I strolled into my office, nodding at various acquaintances along the way.  The company that I worked in was a branch of a larger organisation, and as such was the same as every major corporation everywhere.  Large offices full of cubicles, desks, meeting rooms and, for the likes of us management types, smaller offices around the walls.

"Morning Jenny," I said to my nextdoor neighbour.

"Nice of you to turn up," she replied, but in a mild enough way.  Jenny wasn't exactly friendly with me, but we got along well enough.  "I covered for you yesterday by the way," she added.  "In the the Parker meeting.  Sent you an email with the notes."

"Thanks," I replied, kicking myself.  I'd forgotten about that meeting.  Parker LTD was an important client,  No doubt Jenny had taken the opportunity to talk 'smack' about me, I believe the term is.  Ah well, office politics.  Better than murdering people and eating their brains.  Mostly.  That reminded me, I needed to eat tonight.

Anyway, I settled in and spent the next hour catching up with my emails.  Honestly, an hour wasn't enough, but I'd developed the art of binning the ones I knew weren't important without even opening them.  Then I went through the ones that may have something important quickly, before paying attention to the five percent that actually needed something doing.

I was considering a break when there was a knock on my door, which I kept open for the most part. 

It was Samantha.  I attempted a sigh and looked at her.

Samantha was, ostensibly, our IT person.  However, she was really more than that.

"Hello good looking.  Took a sick day I heard," she said, sauntering in and sitting down on the opposite side of my desk.  "Not very likely I think, so what really happened?"

"Come on Sam, can't a man have a day off to rest?"

"A man yes," she replied, and suddenly leaned over my desk, coming face to face with me.  "An undead, no!"

As you probably guessed, Samantha knows about me.  And the reason she knows is, she can tell what I am, instinctively.

That's because she's a necromancer.

Now I know what you're going to say, and no, she's not the one that raised me.  That one is long dead, or so I sincerely hope any way.  Necromancers have a habit of being hard to kill, or staying dead for that matter.

However, no, Samantha was just your average, everyday death mage.  And she wanted me. 

She wanted, and this is hard to even say, she wanted to go out with me.  On a date.  I mean, how sick and twisted is that?  She has the power over death, over the dead - which always puts the willies up me - and wants a date?  There has to be something more, so I'd always kept my distance as much as possible.

"Fine," I said.  "I was attacked.  I need to get some work done."

"Really?" she sat back down.  "Why didn't you come to me then?  I'd have helped, you know that."

That actually gave me pause.  I could have gone to her.  I mean, for a death mage, Sam wasn't a bad person. And I'd not have had to pay such a high price.

"Sam," I said.  "I truly am sorry.  I didn't think..."

"Fine," she retorted, "but now you owe me one.  So you're going to take me out tonight.  And I know exactly the place too."

"It's not a necromancer place is it?" I asked.  "I don't think I'd be comfortable..."

"Don't be silly," she said, standing up and skipping out.  "Pick me up at eight."

I sighed as she skipped off.  What had I let myself in for?

Odd place to stop I know, but I'd like to know details of where Samantha wants to take him later.  Any ideas at all welcome.  Oh, and not just a nightclub please!
New writer.  Be gentle!


Mmmm.  Well, if it's going to be a date, then it has to be dinner yesno?  So a diner for these Others.  With specific foods.   :o

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