The Quiet Storm

Why are we hear, a not so existential question.
It’s only been a month since the rumors started to filter down river, so to speak, from Chicago about some Wizard that not only lists himself in the phone book as a P.I., but took a case from the cops and had it out with a Hecatean Hag, or a River Hag, or some kind of supernatural creature in a Zoo. Who ever this wizard is, he sure has the local Warden, the highest ranking member of the White Council in the city, and even that old crazy wizard from Hog Hollow in some manner of distress or laughter. The curt old man, known to frequent Behrmann’s Basement, has been coming in all month in one of two moods, either elation that the kid did it, because he was his apprentice, or anger, because his apprentice is causing a ruckus in the public eye. The local Warden is seen there rarely, yet she makes it a point to attend to remind the old man of the rules and keep him out of general trouble. He doesn’t really drink, he just comes in, dressed in his overalls and work shirt, and sits on a stool talking to Behrmann.

The local supernatural community has been wondering what is going on, there is a feeling that something over the horizon is building, something bad. Then again, there is always someone foreseeing doom and destruction. You never know if its something that will actually come of the general feeling. There has been an odd influx of traffic from neighboring cities, and the normally reclusive, quiet, and well known of the community have been seen moving, making small ripples. This seems to make some believe something may be building. In times like these, all you ever have is your friends, even if you think some group is going to back you because of some ancient accord, the reality of the thing is the ones who have your back for real are those that have had it forever, not those that feel obligated.


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