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All neighborhoods have that house on the end of the block, the place that seems off, that no one goes to except on bets. Sometimes it's haunted, sometimes destitute, sometimes damaged and condemned. Sometimes it's all three. Houses like that have a personality all their own, usually with some sort of legend ascribed to them, or tale of death and tragedy. Sometimes they're true. Sometimes the truth is worst than the story.

...Jacob burst out of the water, gasping for breath, coughing furiously, expeling cold water and brine from his lungs. He flopped into the mud like a dead fish, the night air chilling his skin. The stars above twinkled indifferently as the world spun around him. The night sky above was wonderful and terrifying in its implications.

He wasn't in Hell.

Anymore.

Memories swam to the surface. His death, his blood flowing freely, his tortured existance is a bound blood spirit, feeding on the essence of others merely to survive, death and destruction again, then his soul being ripped from purgatory, existance in a horrid unlife, bound to Old Bones, a slave. Those memories were more vivid, more recent. He remembered feeling the power, the duel. Old Bones had been destroyed. He'd been set free, only to be cast down into Hell. And his savior ...

Hello Jacob.

That voice. His voice.

You look a wreck, as usual

The devil himself. Nathaniel Majere.
He could only laugh, a horrible, broken, sardonic laugh. Only men that were already dead could laugh like that. His voice was low and rough, raspy like a life time smoker.
Sorry. Probably look like I've BEEN THROUGH HELL!!.
He attacked, or tried to. He ended up falling back into the mud again, his fingers clawing at the ground, wishing it was the elf's passive face. He hated that face. It was beautiful. Too beautiful, like an angel. Like Lucifer himself.
I'll kill you Nathaniel. he growled, meaning the words with every ounce of hate he could muster.

The elf stood impasive still, again wearing that damned white, even in the mud. And of course, he was spotless.
Not tonight Jacob. You're still weak. In a few years perhaps, if you had the time. You don't.
And it's Natan now. Nathaniel, like you, is dead.

Again Sinn laughed the horrible laugh of the damned.
Tell me a new one Natan. It's the same old story. You can't do anything else to me. "What ever doesn't kill me", right? Well guess what; I did die! And I'm getting stronger every second. He bit the words off, hate and bile coming up his throat. He could feel his strength returning. He was slowly rising out of the muck. He would ring the damn man's throat, kill the devil himself!

Of course you are. I brought you back. I dragged your sorry ass out of Hell
Sinn wanted to spit. He did.
You don't have the juice! His strength was returning fast.

The things you do not know about me would fill libraries for ages Sinner. We don't have much time. You'll be able to stand soon, which means you'll try to kill me. I just had this suit cleaned and I don't plan on spending the time on it again.

Sinn growled.You're a bastard.

The elf shrugged. Even if it's true, you don't see me insulting your parentage, do you? Try and remain civil for the next 30 seconds and listen.

Sinn did, but only to let the hate burn up inside, giving him strength. Giving him power. Majere would know wrath.
Better. Listen; you are on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain . I would have pulled you back from somewhere else but your case was ... special. It had to be done. There is a car waiting for you, ignition already set to your biometrics. Your old home is not so far away, and the directions are already programmed in, in case you've forgotten after your extended stay in Hell.

Your family ... they are waiting for you. Dante is dead. He was killed ... five years ago, while Old Bones still held you. The Baron has them all now. You are all that is left. He is holding them, waiting for you. It's you he wants, God knows why. Go home, and you may be able to free them, or at least trade your soul for theirs. Sorry for the bad news on your birthday.

You're about ready to throttle me, so I'll leave you now. Go tonight. You won't have another chance.

At that, the elf in white turned and walked away frmo the shore line. His shoes never sank into the muck.

WHY!? Why are you doing this? Why now?!

The man in white paused. When had his hair gone black. He never turned around.
You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

Sinn laughed his harsh laugh, still trying to rise out of the muck.
Try me. I've been to Hell and back. I've heard it all.
Majere paused, quiet for a moment.
Because I'm sorry. What was done to you was monstrous. I was a part of that. I was wrong. Perhaps we can both make amends for the things we've done. It seems ... a good night for that.
Then he was gone. Not left, just gone. Sinn laughed again at the ridiculousness of it all.
....

The car had been there, just as he said. The devil did always deliver on his promises, even if it wasn't in the way you expected. The car wasn't much, a simple black sedan with blacked out windows. The tan leather interior was nice though.
He turned on the radio for shits and grins.

Oh you have got to be shitting me.
An AR message popped up on the windshield display, a text message from Nathaniel ... Natan.


Clothes are in the trunk. I took the liberty. Everything should be in your size. Remember , good guys wear black. - N

Again Sinn shook his head.
Smart ass
Opening the trunk, a black suit was on a hanger attached to the bottom of the turnk lid. Black on black, with a black tie, and black silk shirt. Everythign was designer, custom, of the best material. No doubt tailored to fit. Majere would make sure that he'd look his best at his own funeral.
Well ... Hell with it. Even if I die ... at least I'll [i]look[i] good. Same old dance, different tune.
He put on the clothes.
Time to put on ma' dancin' shoes.

Sinn got dressed at an easy pace. He had to stay calm. Calculated.

Whatever tonight brings, they WILL be freed.

Sinn gets behind the wheel of the car. Both hands on the steering wheel he allows old memories to flood into his mind. Sirene, Dante, Gaberiel, The Ace, Lucky, Snake Skin and the gang, Rock and Gumbo, Bourban.

Gone. All of them. Sinn let the anger build inside him, then the hate, then the remourse, before quickly tucking it away.
Not now Sinner, gotta get home. The misses is waitin. Just hold on guys. Dad's comin..

Sinn put the car in drive and sped to his old home, ready to do whatever he had to. He had been ready for this, for years he had prepared himself for what he would do, should he come face to face with the Baron. If Sinn should get brought down, by god, he was taking the Baron with him. Straight back to Hell.

The old house was everything he remembered, and worst. On a corner down a half forgotten street, the old ruin remained still, forgotten and abandoned for the last twenty years. By some strange quirl of luck, the frame work of the front door still stood, although all that was left of the front of the house were the ribs of the wall frame, blackened from fire and age. The house looked dead, the blackened and corrupted skeleton of something that once was. Looking at it with the memories of happier times, Sinn couldn't help but feel the pain of the loss fresh and sharp all over again.

He lets out a low breath as he steps out of the vehicle.

Lets do this then. I didnt climb out of Hell for nothin.

Sinn aproaches the door of the house. Feeling it the only apropriate entrance to the dead house that once was.

Like Death, he enters through the front, feeling a sense of dread enter with him. Or perhaps it was always there. The burned floor hasn't changed over the years except to show more rotted holes. The air feels cooler here, as if death is replacing life. The unmistakeable feel of angry spirits lurks in the air and the ether, especially to one so familiar with the kind. With no way to be sure if the spirits of his children linger, or something else, there's no way to know what to expect.

Sinn walks into what was his living room.

BARON! I know you're here! he growls his words with malice and as much hatred he could possibly have. He turns around, trying to see from all angles.

Get out here! Ive waited 20 years and crawled out of Hell to find you...

Silence is his only answer. The place is desolate, with no sign of infestation. The rats and other vermin will not make this place a home. The feeling of lurking dread persists however, as if there's always something just out of sight, just to the left, or moving behind a burned out wall.

Sinn looks around, what lurks around the corners of this place does not scare him. If anything, its provoking him.

With his senses coming back to him now, he assences the area. Looking for anything that doesnt belong there. Though its an evil place, something as evil as the Baron would still stand out to his eyes.

Assensing roll for Sin


http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2609501/

The background count here is terminally high, with feelings of hate, disgust, agression, and despair permeating everything. There is definitely a presence lurking somewhere in the ruins as well, although the taint it leaves appears to be some sort of shadow spirit, a roaming haunt that has found a lair that resonates with sympathetic energies.
Perception Test - Visual

Sinn takes notice of the shadow. Putting himself on guard for whatever it may be.

Dont attack just yet, that could be any one of them. Or perhaps something new. Something different. Lets get a closer look at the beasty


Perception Roll for Sinn



http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2609693/

Sirene? Gaberielle? Dante? Are any of you here?

The response is more dead silence. Following the trail of the astral marks left by the spirit, Sinn can see where its gone to lurk. In the boys room. Or what's left of it.

Sinn follows the trail and steps to the entrance of the room. He decides to assence one more time before going in.

Assencing roll for Sinn


http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2609843/

The taint on the astral seems to coalesce here. The corruption is strongest in the boy's room, and something has moved in, wallowing in the hate that still lingers. Lurking in the far corner of the room, the shadowed figure of a wraith hovers off the ground, seething with hate and rage.

Strangely it doesn't move, barely even seems to register Sinn's presence.

Sinn takes a step into the room. And with a low, almost growl, he speaks.

Get out of my house.

He veiws the wraith as an intruder and doesn't take his eyes off it.

The astral bristles as the wraith becomes more aware of him, swelling, it's hate starting to take focus on him. It's clearly aspected to the place, tapping into it's power. It's very out of character for a wraith to not have already attacked, and if anything, its attitude seems more ... territorial than aggressive.

Sin takes another step.

You're not attacking me...

He stares at the wraith deciding its not worth the risk, his strength was still returning.

Pardon me.

He backs out of the room and turn to the room nearest on the other side of the hallway.

His and Sirenes bedroom. He stares for a second, then pushes what's left of the door open.

The presence of the wraith still swells. A creature like that is fast to anger, slow to cool, but it remains in the boy's room. Pushing his way into his bedroom, the room they shared ... is heart breaking.

The room is destroyed. The bed is torn to shreds and shattered against the four walls. Everything inside has been torn, shattered, or broken, scattered across the room and left to rot. There is nothing left.

He closes his eyes to bite back the pain as he slowly backs out of the room. He had been in the kitchen, the living room, his bedroom, the boys room, and the hallway. Only one place left, the ritual room. He stepped across the house and got to the room. Stepping through the doorway.

It's the only place left in tact, everything exactly as he left it. There are signs that the door has been opened plenty of times over the years, but apparently what was inside was enough to keep any of the curious out. Interestingly, the wall opposite the door seems to be a bit more worn than the rest. At about head level. Looks like a bunch of scared teen agers couldn't run fast enough.

The ritual circles are still maintained inside. Hoodoo bags, bones, jars of body parts, graveyard dust, and red brick powder are all still there. The circle has maintained over the years, sustaining a continuos astral barrier.

Sinn steps in. Knowing if he's going to find anything, it will be here. He steps to the alter and runs his hand across it.

Is there anyone here?

It feels different there. Although there is a dark power in strength, the taint consuming the rest of the house isn't present. This is an old power, from when he still had pacts with the Baron.

Sinn can barely stand the energy in the room. He notices the aged rum, and the formaldehyde. Then the hangmans noose.

Fine, you won't come out on your own, Ill smoke you out.

Sinn begins to pour the rum all over the alter and the ritual circles. Then soaking the rope with the formaldehyde and what's left around the room.

While he's making his preparations, Sinn hears the front door groan open, then steady foot prints moving through the house, towards the room where he's 'working'.

Sinns ears flicker at the sound. He slowly turns and steps as quietly as he can towards the foot steps. Ready to get a spell of if needs be.

The foot falls sound light but solid, probably boots. They come down the hall, then stop just short of the door.

Sinn waits a moment, then rolls his eyes.

Why is it, that whenever I'm in a situation of danger, I find myself without a gun?

Sinn steps around the corner to face his new intruder.

Sinn comes around the corner comign face to face ... wait no, face to hat, with a short woman. A very thin black woman with a black cowboy hat festooned with fetishes and bones and a skull painted in white paint on the front. A woman who's about to tear him apart with the spell she's gathering energy for.

Half a second short of imminent violence, the woman known as Midnight halts midspell, a spark of recognition lighting her eyes. She holds back the spell, but remains wary, or perhaps is more so. Her first instinct looked to be quick, deadly violence. Now she looks more cautious, calculating ... wary.

... Sinn...
...
How?

Midnight's voice is thick with the cajun accent as ever, although some things have changed. Magically powerful in his memory of her, the small woman has grown stronger over the years. What is more surprising is what hasn't changed. She doesn't seem to have aged any.

He looks at Midnight with no expression.

Very regretfully.

He turns back to the room.

He can feel her eyes on his back as he regards the room.
You are no spir-it. You are in the flesh. How is this possible?
You've changed. Darker... and something else.

What are you here about Jacob Sin-ner?

Sinn looks up and sighs.

This isn't a trick, Midnight. I did die. Spent some time downstairs. And that's as far as I go with that. That brings us to tonight. I'm going to burn this room. Then have a drink.

He looks at the empty bottle of rum.

Oh damn, the rums gone. Why is all the rum gone? No matter

He walks to the door and stands next to her.

Why are you here?

Sinn looks up and sighs.

This isn't a trick, Midnight. I did die. Spent some time downstairs. And that's as far as I go with that. That brings us to tonight. I'm going to burn this room. Then have a drink.

He looks at the empty bottle of rum.

Oh damn, the rums gone. Why is all the rum gone? No matter

He walks to the door and stands next to her.

Why are you here?

Midnight gives him a long, appraising look, trying to gauge him.

I have no' forgotten Sinn. I have no' forgotten what you did, how you betrayed us. There be blood on your hands, and it don' wash off dat easy.

De onl-y rea-son I don' be killin' be killin' you and send you on down back to da hole is cause what the bones tell me. Dey tell me somethang be here to-night, and that it might weak-en da Baron. Or sat-is-fy him. I come to see what da' is.

But what eva' da bones t'ink you can do, it won' ba done by burnin' down what already been burned. Can' just burn dem bridges and build new ones boy. Gotta look below and see what was dat caused it in da first.

Sinn regards her a moment.

You've become....stronger, Midnight. I can sense that.

He looks back to the room.

And in your strength, I can see the wisdom you are trying to teach. If I had only heard that wisdom 25 years ago. Lowering his head, he looks at the charred remains on the floor. But this room is only a reminder of the evil I caused. Its presence alone is the mockery that was Jacob Sinner. Its a symbol for all those I hurt. It shows me how Im the reason my family was murdered. For that, it must burn, if Im ever to be absolved. With that, Sinn lets a flicker of fire from his hand and lights the dead mans rope and tosses it into the room.

He takes Midnight by the arm.

Come now, its going to get a little warm in here. Sinn walks to the front door.

Midnight waves her hand, the rope hanging in the air mid-toss.
I should have known that dying and rising from the grave would have only made you more dramatic. You act without thinking. If you want to strike at de Baron, you need a key, a connection. Dis room connects you to da Baron. You want to reach out to 'im, to your family in da Land under de Sea, dis is da place. You always burn your bridges, den wonder why you get wet.


She shakes her head, looking very, very tired.
What it is you want Ja-cob? Do you want to sting da Baron, or do you want to strike at 'is 'eart?

Youve got a point. Very well Midnight, Im listening.

Still wary,, Midnight nods, laying it out.
When you contsructed dis honfour, you cemented the bond between you and da' Baron. Ye can still use dat link, an"d send your se'f inta de Baron's realm. Widout dis, you 'ave to go de 'ard way. 'Ere, you can strike at de' 'art.

Sinn nods and signals for her to put out the wick out.

Perhaps I've been a bit irrational. Can I count on you for help? Even though your friend literally ripped me apart, I'd say I have a debt to repay. Perhaps now is a good start.

Roll Etiquette -1
Midnight continues eyeing Sinn speculatively, but nods slowly.
Some assis-tance I may give, but 'twould not be eas-ey, for you or I. Much danger there is, in tanglin' wid de' Baron. You know dis betta 'dan most.

You must enter de Baron's realm. I can help you get 'dere.Per-haps.

I get the feeling you've been planning this a while.


http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2655589/

Midnight shakes her head.
Plannin'? No sug', but I been t'ink'in 'bout it. T'ink'in 'ard. But it t'won't be eas-y. You'll have to face de Baron in 'is own realm. And dere is risk to me. Besides de risk one always 'as from dealin' wid da likes o' you.

And 'dere is cost. 'Dere is always a cost.

Then I wont ask you to help me. But I am doing this. I dont think you understand the cost if I fail. Not just the risk to you, but it is in fact the last chance to save my family. There has to be no question about it Midnight. You in, or out? i could use your help, but i will understand if you should choose to walk away.

Sin folds his arms and eyes Midnight as he waits for her response.

You are a bastard Sinn. Very well. I will send you. Remember dat you will not like it. And remember de' cost. Now 'old still. Dis won't 'hurt

Midnight digs into one of her bags for a moment, until eventually coming up with a small jar. She opens it, revealing simple white smear on paint. She grabs Sinn, quickly applying the paint to his face in the once familiar skull pattern.
Dere. You will be needi'n dat. You will understand late'. Now , lay down on dee floor. Put your arms out to ye' sides.

I love it when you talk all mastermind-y to me. Sinns voice still took the low and raspy feel of it, like a smokers voice, but with a hint of humor.

He obeys and lays on the ground, with his arms at his sides.
Before I go.. Sinn rears his head up, Is there anyone you'd like me to say hello to?

Midnight says nothing as she gathers the things. From a heavy sack, she pulls out a bag of stakes. With seeming ease, she drives the stakes into the floor boards, the stakes flying from her hands into the floors. With what might actually be delight, she quickly draw out a length of rope, tying Sinn to the floor, first at the wrists, then the ankles. She spares some rope to run it up to his neck and across his abdomen.

She takes a moment to look over her handiwork, looking quite pleased. She then continues, sketching out a ritual circle on the floor in chalk and brick dust.

'Ere we are. 'Dat out to 'old you, no matte' what comes back. Comfy?

Midnight says nothing as she gathers the things. From a heavy sack, she pulls out a bag of stakes. With seeming ease, she drives the stakes into the floor boards, the stakes flying from her hands into the floors. With what might actually be delight, she quickly draw out a length of rope, tying Sinn to the floor, first at the wrists, then the ankles. She spares some rope to run it up to his neck and across his abdomen.

She takes a moment to look over her handiwork, looking quite pleased. She then continues, sketching out a ritual circle on the floor in chalk and brick dust.

'Ere we are. 'Dat out to 'old you, no matte' what comes back. Comfy?

Sinn rolls his eyes. She may as well ask him what type of torture he prefered while in Hell.

Im ready when you are.

Midnight nodded and stepped out side, coming back a moment later wit ha small snake. She tossed it onto Sinn's stomach, the simple garden variety serpent sliding around on his stomach.


She leaned down over him.
[color=salmon] Dere will be more of course, but you will not be 'ere to 'ear it all. Time to go, Sinn-er.
Midnight pulled a long bladed knife from its sheath, stabbing down, impaling it into Sinn's chest, piercing his lung.

Say 'allo to Julius for me, Ja-cob. Enjoy bread'in your own blood. Again.
She began chanting as she stood, a wicked grin on her face. She stepped back, watching as the blood filled Sinn's lungs, killing him slowly.

Sinn coughed, he heaved. The blade in his chest was more, uncomfortable then painful, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. He felt himself drift, that cool embrace he'd come to recognize. Like an fan blowing on you while you're sorounded by fire. It would be the only way he would be able to describe death.

It had been a long time since he'd traveled the path to Guinne. His trip to Hell was quick, chaotic, intense. It appeared the Christian God of Evil preffered to scare you as soon as soo as you arrived. Create the fear for you, in case being in Hell didnt do it already. Long winding tunnels of fire and nothingness. Moans and screams of the damned being tortured and maimed. Chains and whips cracking. Poe had it dead on. But not Guinne. It was virtually the same place, same concept in the long run. But the fear, that was the difference maker. The Baron didnt want to aid in any type of thing you'd be afraid of. He wants it to be natural. Let you create it for yourself. Becuase eventually, its going to get the best of you, and ultimately be your downfall in his game. As Sinn drifted, there was no fear in his black heart. Anticipation for his homecoming was all that remained there. And the love he felt for his inprisoned family. A crazier person would use the word, "determined."

.....Sinn had just made a promise is all.

Sinn finds himself in darkness, his perceptions eventually shifting enoug that he can make out his surroundings. He is not so much seeing in the dark, as he knows that here, he has no eyes. He is simply ... in the dark. He is embraced by it. Part of it.

The gentle swaying motion is hauntingly familiar. He recognized the sounds of water on wood, recognizes that he is in a small boat, barely a row boat, and that with water in it. Sinking slowly. The water is flowing. It too is black and brackish, a dead river with no life in it, drawing him into oblivion.

Composure Test

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2693712/