People. Buildings. Advertisements. Pollution. Crowded streets. All of these pushed in on Dorian Watson as he walked down the street on a typical 2004 New York day. On the outside, Dorian was the epitome of normal. Short brown hair, sunglasses, and a business suit. And a suitcase. Inside this suitcase was Dorian's secret. If he had tripped, and the suitcase had spilled, no man would recognize what they were. They were five forcibles. His power. The power of the Runelords.
Dorian entered his small apartment, and dropped the suitcase rather carelessly on the small bedside table. He called into the kitchen: "John, did you get your big break?" There was a huge crash, some muttered curses, and a slightly paunchy balding man stormed out, wiping the dishwater of his hands with a ratty cloth. He spread his arms wide. "Good news today!" "Oh really?" asked Dorian, as he took his sunglasses off and pocketed them. "I have found," he dropped his voice close to a whisper, "Potential Dedicates!" Dorian smiled. "Shall we?" He flipped a secret switch on the wall, and the bookcase moved aside. He walked into the Dedicate's keep.
The Entrance Ante-Chamber was a small room, and strikingly medieval. As Dorian walked in, he was no longer Dorian. No alibis came into this room. The six people waiting on the stone benches were greeted by Velocirous North, one of the one hundred Runelords on the planet Earth.
Elsewhere...the phone rang in the office of Sigourney Merelda. She gave a small grunt of rage, picking up the phone rather violently. "Yes?" she snapped, not caring if she sounded unprofessional. It wasn't that she didn't like her job; it was just that as a secretary, you were always expected to do more, and people took it out on you. Problems in life? Well kill the messenger. Dump it on the secretary. *Oh no, * she thought. *Off on one of my irrelevant tangents again...* The voice on the other side was smooth and silky. "Tell Boab that I have the dirt on a new RL. He'll know what I mean..."