Portland In Black 25

Noir Badarte is a necromancer with a heart of gold- and he finds himself in Portland Oregon, to find a new serial killer called the Wolf- but Portland's own insane undead have plans of their own for him. 

< Previous Part | Start of the Story | Next Part > | More Noir Badarte Stories

There were footsteps. "Fancy trick." Black Anna complained. "Darkness. Cute." The darkness then was pierced by a pair of glowing red eyes. The eyes moved closer to them, each footstep deliberate as it moved. A guttural voice then broke the silence. Noir almost felt like he could hear a depth of age to its tone. Like a old man and a angry young man rolled into one. Darkness faded away from a figure standing along, illuminated by his own aura of light. The man wore an old tattered dark trench coat, over a kevlar vest that looked like it been used before. Both his hands were covered in black driver's gloves, bloodstained. He held a sword in a mahogany scabbard. The scabbard was covered in faintly sky blue-glowing runes, most of which Noir didn't immediately recognize. The man was of a average height, his hair brown and what skin he could see was white and pale. But Noir couldn't see his face. It was covered with a mask. The mask looked totemic to Noir. It had the outline of a wolf's head, with two points extending from the top and bottom of it. A crescent moon had been carved into the forehead of the mask. Lines were carved into the mask, but rather than reinforce the image of a wolf, it instead the lines were expressive. Symbols like the one on the scabbard covered it as well. It reminded Noir of a hybrid of totemic mask and surrealistic modern art. The mask felt like it was trying to project some sort of emotional response. Some sort of blend of fear and awe, which Noir felt grip him a bit. "When I first heard about you, I have expected a scene out of Sixteen Candles or something. But you've outdone yourself, Anna. Of course didn't anyone tell you vampires aren't real, no matter how much Ann Rice you get around to reading? I mean, gothic writing can be okay..." He gestured with his left hand unsurely, in Black Anna's direction. "Kind of Emo, if you get my meaning. What, did you first show him your bedroom and diary first? Cut your wrists and all that?" "Well, she kinda..." Noir automatically filled in. He stopped when Black Anna kicked him. That sent a burst of new pain into the myriad storms of hurts and injuries he'd been dealing with. The necromancer grunted and rolled into a ball to try and protect himself. "I do what I want." Black Anna flicked her wrists. An huge undead man in a tuxedo approached the man in the Wolf Mask. "I am Black Anna and you've made a poor choice coming here." The huge undead roared and leaped at the man in the wolf mask. "No, I didn't." The man in the wolf mask retorted. "Unbind Thy Chains." His words thrummed with power. They shattered the spells keeping the huge undead in the tuxedo from being a corpse. Noir watched as all the tiny binding spells Black Anna had on the huge undead just fell apart, melting in reaction to the man's tone. Black Anna had noticed as well. Her nose had flared. This wasn't going as she had expected, Noir guessed.