For those that missed it, part II can be found here: The Magic Circle Disaster: Forensics (Part 2) – SixtySkills
Jed wasn’t sure what he was reading. Maybe it was the recent loss of consciousness, lack of sleep or the coffee not yet kicking in. But maybe, just maybe, he was reading the writing of the world’s biggest idiot.
The first page appeared to be starting in mid-sentence. The stream of consciousness rant seemed to pervade the journal. Luckily the handwriting was neat. Something about, “I dropped a super heavy Akasha and defragged…defragmented his mental field.” Jed knew what Akasha was. This guy not only sounded like he was taking a shit, but that he was also very full of it. How did this moron wind up getting himself killed?
Whoever showed up in that circle had jam. A lot of it too. Pulling off a physical evocation on that scale took way more ability than this New Age hippy could ever pull off. A few names came to mind that were within driving distance. None would have likely hooked up with whatever was left of this guy, while he was still a guy.
Jed started thumbing through the pages. Seemed this clown had been interested in empty force. Ah yes, the mythical ability to move people without touching them. Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that it only works on about one in a thousand people. Almost all of whom have a lot of brain damage or used a lot of drugs. Oh well.
Jed was about two thirds of the way through the journal and then he saw it. His heart sank a little. It was a receipt taped to a page in the journal for eight kilograms of Dittany of Crete ordered from a warehouse in Cyprus. Next to it was a hand drawn sigil labeled “next stop!” Then his heart sank again. It was the sigil for the Lord of Gravity and Time. But it was drawn backwards. The now deceased, if he was lucky, had spent at least $12000 to get himself killed. Probably a lot more if this was the only receipt he found. Jed sighed, “oh well.”
This retard had tried to physically evoke the negative expression of a near Akashic being. In laymen’s terms a demon. And not one of the “let’s bargain for your soul” kind either. Considering the limited radius of the damage involved it appears he managed to summon one of the lesser supporting demons. And the fact that Jed wasn’t in the middle of an apocalypse seemed to confirm it. The major arcana tends to exact a pretty high body count when they enter the field. Think D Day level events. That’s something he thought.
The internet has a lot of information on it these days. Sigils of that nature are widely considered off limits for publication amongst the in the know crowd, so it was unlikely he randomly stumbled across it. Likewise, the energetic magic being thrown around was likely beyond his ability as well.
If you want to learn how to do the real-world version of any of this, check out:
So, he had help. Jed thought maybe the dupe in question was wealthy and a stronger, but financially strapped, practitioner essentially conned him into it. Wouldn’t be that rare a deal considering the overall level of criminal activity in the community. It reminded him of another time involving a guy who charged $5000 to turn people into vampires. He made a pretty good living of the goth crowd, until he tried his schtick on the familiar of an actual vampire. Even in the magic community some things were considered a little too crass to be acceptable behavior.
Next question is, who got this patsy to pony up the money?
Jed looked at the wallet next. The guy in the picture looked like one of those raw vegan weirdos. Emaciated. The driver’s license said Waldo Finch, street address somewhere in Canada, 5’8” and 145 pounds. The name sounds like that of a patsy. Getting a fix on where the guy was staying seemed unlikely based off the Canadian driver’s license. Hmmm. Dead end there.
A collection of credit cards, a prayer card to Avalokiteshvara/Guan Yin, a mix of Canadian looneys and US dollars rounded out the contents of the wallet. The Guan Yin card didn’t scream alpha male either. More like a “let me massage your root chakra as it is very congested” vibe instead. No contact information or next of kin. Too bad. Talking to a relative about what Waldo was up to would have been handy.
Then he looked at the keys. They were for a Toyota. It was one of the modern electronic keys as well. Now that meant some possibilities existed. A dealership could tell him the VIN number of the car, and that meant he could have some friends look for the tracking data if it hadn’t been disabled. This guy looked like the hippy tai chi kind and probably couldn’t figure out the tech to disable the factory tracking on the car.
Since the car wasn’t there that meant either he hadn’t driven it to the scene, or someone had driven it away using a different set of keys. Either way, he should be able to find where the guy was staying. Have to love all that police state tech.
So, the next move was going home, showering, taking a nap and heading over to the local Toyota dealership service department. A brief call to the police department was in order as well to let them know that Where in the World is Waldo doesn’t likely have a solution this time. But he might wait a few days on that to do his own poking around first. A house key was conveniently on the key ring with the Toyota.
Then, and he cringed as he said the words aloud, “I’m off to see the Peacedog.”
That never ends well. Really it doesn’t.
