Absit Omen RPG

Duncan almost laughed at the expression on his friend’s face, but managed to restrain himself. The incredulous expression alone made the entire exchange worth it. Blaming Kurby wasn’t an option, no more than he could blame any other McBoid were they to learn the truth.

Once the Scotsman was certain his voice wouldn’t give away his mirth he replied, “Angus can’t help me because he doesn’t know about this job.” Duncan paused to let that thought sink in for a moment. “And something might bite you, but it won’t be a horse.”

Another moment passed while he tried to work out what to say next. The short but brief ‘I have a secret life’ sounded far too pretentious. In this case, simple and straight facts would likely work the best, and quickest. He hated guessing games, especially when they could be avoided.

“I’ve been lying to almost everyone for roughly the past thirteen years.” Duncan crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest stall. It was a semi-relaxed pose, one that the hunter would be familiar with from days gone by. “In short, I have a second job. The work is mostly the same as when I was with the beast division at the Ministry. Without the red tape. My family knows nothing about it. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve told about it.”

The first person he’d told on the right side of the law, anyhow. If the Ministry learned about it there was a chance he could find himself inside a jail cell. Not everything Duncan did was entirely legal, after all.

Duncan had been awake for nearly three hours by the time 8am rolled around. All traces of sleep and weariness had departed the Scotsman earlier, during his morning routine of working out, showering, and eating breakfast. Once that was out of the way he had set about the task of making sure everything was in order for the upcoming job. While he couldn’t control his luck, he could control preparation.

As it turned out, his work bag was in desperate need of restocking, the supplies inside becoming thin in nature. For such situations, he kept fresh and extra bottles and materials in a different supply trunk under his bed. Other inconspicuous supplies were kept in the barn.

His niece, Moira, had left for work a little early, not that it mattered to him. Had she still been at home coming up with a plausible excuse for his friend’s presence so early in the morning wouldn’t have been difficult. Assuming the werewolf hunter followed his lead on the matter, anyway.

“Oi,” the aforementioned hunter made his presence known. Perfect timing, since Angus would be starting to stir at the house within the next thirty minutes. While Duncan didn’t mind making up excuses for Moira, he preferred to not need to with his brother. The reason being simply that his niece didn’t talk much or ask quite as many questions as his brother did. It sometimes became rather time consuming.

“Actually, I need your help with one of my business trips,” Duncan replied without looking up, pausing between the words ‘my’ and ‘business’ just long enough to be significantly noticeable. He had been debating how to tell Kurby about his biggest secret and he still wasn’t entirely sure. Tossing his friend in blind definitely wasn’t the right way to go about it though, he knew.

The Scotsman closed up the bag when he finished sorting and turned to face his friend, taking in his appearance and general state of being. While he hated asking Kurby for assistance so soon after the full moon but it couldn’t be helped. There was no way he was going to drag his family into this mess, and there was no one else he trusted to thoroughly watch his back.

“You look terrible. If you ever need a pick-me-up while we’re out let me know.” Duncan said, half teasing but completely serious. Then with a shake of his head he added, “Sorry, mate. I’d have waited another week if it were possible.”

“Obviously,” Came his immediate response when she offered that she had been looking for him. Duncan remained standing, watching as she played with the dust. Her control over the maneuvers was admirable, however he refused to show any appreciation for it. Not yet, anyway, as she still hadn’t answered his real question. He wondered if there was a reason the shape she kept making was a spiraling tower, or if it was just the simplest thing to make.

                                                                               "You are not very hard to find once someone starts looking," she added, looking up directly at McBoid. “I am surprised
                                                                                that you do not get more visitors here.”

“It’s only about 12 years too late for me to assume a fake identity,” he quipped with a raised eyebrow. “Besides, if anyone who shouldn’t visit me did, there would be a very high price for them to pay. Most aren’t willing to.” By himself he couldn’t fortify the entire property the way he wanted and he didn’t want to have to explain to his brother what he wanted all the wards for. The cabins and barn perimeters had to suffice.

Duncan flashed the auror a grin at the mention of Bagnold’s social nature. The man who merely suffered through visits. Once, long ago, they both had sat up all night talking around a fire with other good people. New Years had been slightly reminiscent of those times.

“I don’t know if there’s really all that much to mention about a grave,” the Scotsman looked thoughtful with no hint of any non-compliance. He thought back to what had been said, and even further when he had originally discussed the whole business with his friend[1]. Aside from mentioning the mess that had been left he couldn’t recall mentioning any details about it.

“I told him it was a nice location with some nice words inscribed. Mentioned that the guardian tree was traditional and that the place felt terribly empty, aside from that watched feeling anyway.” Iona’s body was still lost and hidden somewhere. Her spirit had passed beyond Death’s gate. Nothing there beyond soil, a tree, and a pretty slab of stone.

1.	Fire On The Mountain

“I went to Bagnold’s flat. Kurby Bagnold.”

The Scotsman had definitely not gone to visit the somewhat older Shay Bagnold. When the war ended, he and Duncan had a falling out. One wanted to immediately return to the Ministry to put things back in order. In the other a seed of mistrust in the overall scheme of organization that held so much power had been planted and he did not want to return.

Duncan went on ahead with answering the young auror’s next question, “And I stayed until morning. Talked and drank too much and Bagnold was kind enough to let me sleep on the couch.[1]”

1.	Whether Duncan slept on the couch or on Kurby’s bed has yet to be determined. But Duncan insists on the couch.

Duncan looked over at the senior auror’s interjection, nodding in agreement at his mention of the wine. Then at his question he looked thoughtful for a moment before answering, “Around eight, I’d say, give or take a few minutes.”

He had a hunch that Kurby wanted whatever he had been doing earlier that evening to remain as much a secret as his own dealings. Of course, none of that would matter if the Scotsman’s two guests didn’t learn the hunter was his friend.

Only the fact was they were aurors. Aurors generally liked to follow up on most everything involving a serious case like catching the Hunts. One never knew what clues would be found in the strangest of places.

Duncan's surprise guest had continued to play with dirt while she waited, he saw, making different shapes with it before letting it fall away at his approach. The witch gave no hints as to why she had shown up here at his home of all places.

In all their dealing with each other the two wix had kept their personal lives separate. Personal lives had nothing to do with a job. Of course, Cohen knee he kept that business aspect of his life a secret. That simply served to make her appearance even more disconcerting.

Giving her a moment to look her over, the Scotsman placed his hands on his hips much like their last meeting in December  thr movement was fully intentional on his part while he too took in her appearance.

"Considering your dust dragon didn't eat them, they're fine."

A moment later Duncan asked, "What are you doing here?" He had always been the straightforward type.

Most of his family were the same way, actually. They liked to get things done and not waste time, having little patience for mind games or dancing around subjects. It was a trait that had served the wizard well in the past and likely it would continue to do so.

Like now, when he didn't know where his brother was or what he had seen. Even if Angus had seen the fake dragon and/or Cohen he could likely come up with a reasonable lie, especially with the witch being on the attractive side. He'd had plenty of practice at lying over the years.

Miss Blake certainly seemed to bite into the ‘feeling watched’ statements from him and his family. They were fair questions, considering everything that had happened. Except out here on a farm in the middle of nowhere it wasn’t a certainty for anything. Likely that had been the biggest reason his niece hadn’t wanted to mention it. Wild animals, or any of their animals, sometimes watched the wix as they went about their day.

“Aye, that was the first time.” Very likely the first because he hadn’t gotten her attention yet. Duncan had it now, he was certain. The time or two he had felt watched since, the Scotsman thought he had felt a certain amount of hate aimed at him but it disappeared so quickly he might have just imagined it.

For her next question he gave a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder. “A few times around the farm, but I can’t say for certain if it was like at the grave or not. For all I know it might have been the local wildlife, or nothing at all.” Of course, anytime someone felt watched they should remain alert. Duncan was steadfast on that point, regardless of what was watching.

Duncan considered the two, clearly exhausted teenagers. When everything was settled, he’d have to ask about what adventures they’d all been having that evening. They had a bit of a haunted look.

“I think it’s a bit late for coffee anyway, lass.” It was well after midnight. Besides, what the Scotsman really wanted was something a lot stronger than coffee for entirely different reasons. Probably not the best of ideas at the moment though, despite how he wished otherwise.

He returned Abby’s glance. Grumpnold? Kurby did certainly have more than his share of grumpy moments, it was true. The nickname was interesting, to say the least.

Shifting the ice pack slightly on his hand Duncan again wishing for his bag back at home to be here instead. Maybe there was a way he could attach a summoning charm to it, in case of similar future situations. So long as it didn’t mix up anything inside the bag, anyway. That would be liable for disaster. Maybe an explosion.

With another look at Nemo, Duncan decided against asking further questions despite his curiosity and want to think about something other than Hunt and his still painful injuries. The worst was over for now.

“I have a feeling tonight’s excitement is over. Thank you both for your help, by the way. It’s much appreciated.” Even small acts could have large effects, he knew.

Duncan dipped his head to Fauna in confirmation on the day, “Aye, New Year’s Day.” There was little point trying to make it a day earlier or later. The fewer lies one told, the easier it was to keep track of them all. Granted, he kept truths hidden regarding quite a few things including the existence of a different cousin he had just recently learned about on the day in question.

Once her other questions were asked, Duncan shook his head. “The tree was undamaged and everything looked exactly the same as when the gravestone was set in place.” Not even a week had passed between those two events. Had the hag been watching the area since the stone had been placed?

“Except for that watched feeling, everything was unremarkably ordinary.” And so it had been, before the duel.

“I had left a bottle of wine before I went to a friend’s flat to celebrate the new year. The night before I spent with my brother.” Moira had declined to partake in their festivities. Duncan thought she had said something about needing to study.

While the others set about with their respective work, Abby had crept closer to his chair and Duncan glanced over at her. He then noticed her hand on the arm rest near his and had an idea of what she was trying to do. The gesture was certainly familiar.

No longer wringing Hunt’s neck, he took her hand but as it had been with Iona he instead offered comfort and support. Sure, there had been the chance that the insane witch might have killed him tonight. That was nothing to be upset about. There had been many times in the resistance when his life had been on the table. There would be more in the future, he had no doubt. The only ‘upset’ he felt was anger that Hunt had escaped.

Aileen placed the stone around his neck and activated it. Immediately he could feel the difference and he gave her a grateful look before transferring it to Abby. “I’ll return this as soon this curse is dealt with.”

Moments later all the claws were out, the salve was applied to the wound, and Kurby handed him the witch field-style ice pack. Hearing about his friend’s lack of skele-grow potion he immediately thought about the bottle resting in his bag. By his bed. At home. He sighed internally to himself. Letting go of Abby’s hand he laid the ice filled sock over his broken fingers with a slight grimace at the pressure, though the cold felt divine. Thanks to everyone’s efforts he felt so much better than when he first arrived, even if everything did still hurt.

Duncan had caught the look Kurby had sent Aileen, silently beckoning her to the kitchen with him before he made the announcement. So when the eldest witch moved by him he caught her gaze and gave a slight nod of his head. Kurby could be trusted with this.

He watched the two of them go before looking to the teenager he had not yet been introduced to. Understandably.

“So, you’re Nemo?” Pleased to meet you. I’m Duncan.”

Just over a week had passed since Duncan had received a scheduled visit from a couple Ministry officials[1], asking about the incident at the grave. Since then things had been relatively quiet, other than trying to help Moira break the very persistent potion based curse she had. The nature of the curse meant that killing Lorelei wouldn’t break it, assuming they hadn’t managed to before then.

The Scotsman was tending to a scrape one of the horses had gotten along their wing bone, somehow. It was in an awkward location but fortunately the beast was standing quietly while he worked. Until a giant dragon seemed to swoop over the farm from out of nowhere before breaking formation and floating away and down in a cloud of dust.

Watching this phenomenon while simultaneously trying to soothe the spooked animal Duncan scowled. What was Cohen doing here and more importantly why was she summoning him where anyone around could see it? Maybe his luck would be kind and his brother had been in the barn at the time. He could hope.

Once he finished with his task, he let the horse back out into one of the pens to let it graze. Then he went to find Raizel, casting Homenum Revelio to pinpoint her location instead of just guessing based on the location of the dragon.

And there she was, waiting oh so patiently for him and looking extremely satisfied with herself. Duncan stopped a few paces away and looked at her, clearly not happy about finding her here of all places.

“Cohen?” He said her name as a greeting but mostly as a question. What the hell was she doing here?

1.	Cloud Hangs Over

In the few seconds it took Bagnold to grab the potion Duncan realized what he was about to do.

He didn’t have time to prepare for it.

The shift from a continual throbbing - and sometimes lancing - pain to a fire hot burn had him gripping the chair arm with his good hand, trying to pretend that it was Hunt’s throat. He cursed colorfully in Gaelic, where even if the words weren’t understood the meaning was clear. A few seconds of eternity later the shock of it wore off and he was able to bear it slightly. Not that he had much choice in the matter.

The Scotsman was focusing on his breathing, giving a small nod of gratitude to the teenager he didn’t know when she brought the ice, when Abby’s voice spoke up. She recognized the curse. Duncan looked over, surprised like the other two apparently were. How did she know what the curse was and what it did?

Abby had asked him who, and he didn’t say the name, none of them did. Instead of leaving her question completely unanswered he supplied, “A nasty hag who happened to find a wand.” Lorelei was a hag in her own right, preying on children and adults alike. He didn’t mention that it was a returned favor.

Then she and her sister were talking. How did she know how to stop the spread of the curse, too? Surely she didn’t see it when she was with the Hunts. If they had subjected her to it, in any way, that just gave him more reason to kill them.

Duncan gave Kurby a tight grin at his quip regarding the pain. The talons wouldn’t be near as bad as the potion but still highly unpleasant.

“Aye, well. St. Mungo’s isn’t an option this time.” This time he was able to prepare himself, watching as the tongs lowered to hook the talon. He gritted his teeth as it was pulled free and then shook his head, “And sometimes they aren’t too nice about patching me up either, come to think of it.”

Duncan watched the first talon disappear into the stein. “Not that I was looking for a fight, but I will do my utmost to make sure that’s what happens,” he responded in a dry tone of his own, glancing over to where Aileen was working on that runed stone.

The Scotsman didn’t know if there was anything he could ease anyone’s concerns but he could try. “Despite how it all looks, I actually defended myself very well. There’s no way I was followed.” No, Lorelei Hunt had her own curse to attend to.

The Scotsman could only nod in acknowledgement to the hunter’s comment about his explanation. It was a terrible one, with absolutely no context. He had come here fully expecting to explain what had happened, and why he couldn’t go to St. Mungos. His friend might have doubts of the methods he used, and maybe even his intention on killing the witch, but he didn’t believe Kurby would go running to the authorities about it.

As Bagnold began the preparations for the field healing he knew and the two teenagers went to appropriate a sock, Duncan shifted in the chair to try and work off his jacket, enchanted for easy clean up fortunately, though the task proved difficult given his state of health. Help came a moment later, in the form of Aileen Reid. He looked up at her, ignoring her apologetic gaze. It wasn’t her fault.

In fact, out of everyone in the flat, she had the most right to know whom he had faced in the graveyard. Her sister had been kidnapped, without anyone immediately realizing, and almost killed. This matter would be as personal to her as it was to him.

Duncan shot a quick glance over his shoulder towards the room where the teenagers were, still occupied with their search. It wasn’t up to him if they should know too. Turning his head back he lowered his voice, his tone and expression suddenly becoming serious, so only Kurby and Aileen could hear him[1], “It was Lorelei Hunt, disguised as usual, at Iona’s grave” Using some poor soul to change her appearance.

A glint of anger flashed through his eyes again and he spoke quickly, still hushed. “Been keeping an eye on it I imagine, waiting for someone to come by. She pretended to be someone else, lied about almost everything, and when I undoubtedly knew who she was I attacked.” They could see the results for themselves.

“She got away in the end, though,” he added with a hint of disgust. While that fact was going to be a sore spot he was grateful that the someone Hunt had tried to trick was himself and not Donnan or even Moira. He didn’t want to consider the outcome of such an event.

1.	Feel free to have Abby and Nemo come back in at any point of this and overhear something if you like!

And there it was.

Duncan shook his head, “Not since the New Year. I went by to pay my respects, though I felt like an idiot talking to a rock.” That was true enough. It wasn’t like his cousin’s spirit was around anymore and her bones were still lost somewhere. No matter what he said or did, she couldn’t hear him.

The Scotsman looked down now, as though thinking back to that graveside visit. “While I was there, I did get the feeling like someone was watching me though I didn’t see anyone even with a revelio charm.” He considered a moment longer and looked up again.

“My family doesn’t generally like to voice hunches without some kind of evidence, but after my time in the Resistance during the war I learned to trust those hunches. That’s why I warned them all not to visit the gravesite alone, just in case.” One lie surrounded by truth. Fortunately he’d had a lot of practice at that over the last decade.