Bite the Bullet
06-16-16, 09:37 PM
Dirk Akster was beginning to breathe a little heavily as he stomped through the puddles at the docks. He was attempting to run, having given up on stealth in the current wetness. The rain had let up, but the stacked crates trapped the moisture in the air and it was humid as hell. This new desk job was getting to him, sure, it was supposed to be a promotion. He had so much paperwork though, he hardly ever got any real action. It made it harder to stay in shape.
Before rounding the next corner Dirk froze into a crouch and withdrew his Smith and Wesson .38 special from its holster under his coat. Taking his fedora in one hand to reduce his profile, he peaked around the corner of the crate. Three men stood at the far side of the dock, arguing. Three on one, he would have preferred better odds, but hey, no one lives forever. He sure could have used a cig right about now, after his time in the Great War, and then his time in the Bureau, he had nerves of steel, but a cig always helped.
As he was about to stand up he suddenly heard a familiar click. Damn, he thought, some bastard managed to sneak up on me.
Slowly he turned and stood to face his new found menace. Dark grey scuffed suit, patched cap, shadowed face. Dirk didn’t recognize the man, but he was obviously some goon’s hired muscle. His only chance was-
“Boss Mercury gives his regards.”
There was a bang, and a flash, and the world faded to dark.
*****
There was nothing, he was nothing. There was just darkness. However, it wasn’t black darkness, somehow he knew that there were a myriad of colors all around him, but he couldn’t see all of them. There was something wrong, he knew he should have been able to see them, he should have been able to remember- he should have…
He felt as if he were floating and falling at the same time. Where was he? For that matter, who was he?
He had a feeling he’d been looking for something, something important, it was something he had to bring back to- but no, he couldn’t remember. There was only nothing, nothing but the darkness.
There! There was the pull! It was what he was looking for! What was he looking for? He couldn’t recall, but he’d found it. It burned like a bright light in the darkness, a fading light. No! It’s starting to burn out! He had to get it, to bring it back, or else everything was for naught!
He reached out with his being and enveloped the brightness. The blackness was gone, it was replace with color, and fire, and pain.
*****
Dirk Akster woke with a throbbing headache, for that matter, he woke with a throbbing everything. His body felt like it was on fire, like when a leg falls asleep from sitting too long on a stake out, but everywhere from his skin to his bones. He rolled over on his side and lay there a few minutes until the room stopped spinning about, then he opened his eyes groggily. The world looked odd, but he couldn’t quite figure out how. The ceiling was stone, like some of those ancient castles he’d never quite gotten to see when he was in Europe. Everything felt odd too, his body didn’t seem to have the right-
Dirk looked down at his chest, waved his hand in front of his face, and then just lay back and stared at the ceiling again. He wasn’t sure how to process this. He felt weird, and well he should. He didn’t exactly have good frame of reference, but his body- was wrong, somehow. Too small, maybe. It was definitely not his hand, it was fine fingered and looked like it hadn’t done a day of real work in its life.
Dirk was pretty comfortable in his role as a bruiser. He was a big guy, which had come in handy on more than one occasion. At 6’6” and 250lbs of mostly muscle, he had developed an imposing loom that ended a lot of his fights before they began, and his own strength let him end the ones that did begin pretty quickly too, normally. His body now though, was something else entirely. It was… small. Smaller, at least. And someone had put him in some sort of fancy dress! What the hell?!
Still not sure exactly what was going on, Dirk scrambled to his feet and pulled the weird dress off over his head. Examining it more closely, it was more like a fancy robe or a nightshirt, but it was still weird. His body too, was all skin and bone and not much else. Gone were his callouses and scars, body hair and biceps. The only hint that he even had muscles under his skin was how on fire they all were.
Then he started to examine his surroundings more closely. The floor of the room was covered with a large circle, ornately detailed with all sorts of odd runes and symbols. His mind itched, like he should recognize them, but no, he’d never seen anything like this before in his life. Some sort of occult gathering? The edges of the room were crowded with tables, bookshelves, and chairs, as if all of the furniture had previously been spread throughout the room and had been pushed to the sides. It would take time to sort through all of the clutter and try to make some sense of what was going on.
Immediately surrounding his feet, was another circle, separating him from the rest of the design on the floor, but his body had marred and destroyed the edge of it when he was laying down. As he walked towards the middle of the room, he saw something a pile. He crouched to examine it. Shoes, hat, shirt and pants: it was his old clothes, it looked like everything he was wearing when-
His blood ran cold.
It looked like everything he was wearing when he died.
*****
Sometime later Dirk stood in front of a mirror he’d found behind one of the bookcases, adjusting his tie. Something weird was going on, and this fit no description of heaven or hell he’d ever heard, but hell if he was going to let that slow him down. He seemed to have been reborn or resurrected or reincarnated somehow. He could tell from how his clothes fit, or rather didn’t fit, that he was both much shorter and slighter than he used to be. It was a good thing he wore suspenders, because if he’d had a belt he’d have had to punch new holes to keep his pants up. His facial features were completely wrong, he looked like a young boy, or even a dame of some sort. No, that’s not quite right, but definitely finer featured than any grown man he’d ever met. He’d had to cut his hair too, using a weird wavy knife he’d found while exploring the room. It was a rough job, but it’d do. What self-respecting man braids his hair? His new hair was silvery blond, though not quite grey like an old man. It was white and not quite metallic. Together with his amber gold eyes and weirdly pointed ears- did it make him some sort of freak now? Were there some sort of weird drugs in that gun rather than bullets, and he was hallucinating? As time had worn on and he’d gotten used to his surroundings, he was more and more certain that that wasn’t the case. Everything seemed oddly familiar.
His gun wasn't among his things, he must have dropped it when he got shot. He still had his badge though, and his holster. The rest of his clothes were too big now, but his hat still fit. Maybe he could find someplace to adjust the fit of everything else. He’d found all sorts of papers while he’d searched the room, but they were covered with strange writing that he didn’t recognize, but again, he did feel as he should know what they meant for some reason.
While searching the room he’d found a few maps, some preserved food, and some weird coins and gems all of which he’d gathered into a small bindle made from his suitcoat and some sort of walking stick. He hated to use his coat to wrap up everything, it had cost him nearly a week’s pay, but both it and his shirt were ruined anyways. There was a bullet hole right through them, directly where his heart would have been. He'd also found some sort of primitive replacement gun in a box under a desk, covered in dust. It looked like some sort of black powder pistol. He'd tried black powder rifles once, as a kid, while shooting with his old man. If he could figure out the trick of it, this would probably make a decent service gun for the time being. This in mind, he put it in his old holster, under his left arm.
There were no windows in the room he was in, but given the angle of the door and the stairs, he was assuming it was some sort of cellar. Placing his hat squarely over his head, he gathered his belongs and set off. He was an investigator by trade, it was time to do some investigating and figure out what in all hell was going on.
As he opened the door to his underground lair, two persons looked up from where they seemed to have been waiting just outside the door. One was apparently reading, the other writing something.
“Galadon? What’s with the weird clothes, were you successful already?” The first one asked, it was a young... Man? Woman? person with very similar features to his own current face.
Dirk didn’t know who Galadon was, but he was beginning to get an idea, and he didn't like it one bit. He had a hunch though, things were about to make a lot more sense.
Name: Diederik Johann Aakster
Nickname/Alias: Dirk Akster, Galadon Merilinor
Age: 33, mentally. His body is of a physically mature, but not yet aging, elf.
Race: Elf. Formerly human.
Height: 5’11”
Weight:160 lbs
Occupation: Adventurer/Private Detective
Personality: Cynical, Suspicious, Brooding, but with a heart of gold underneath it. If you can find it. Some days are better than others, check back tomorrow.
History: Son of Dutch immigrants to the United States, Dirk enlisted underage and served a short time towards the end of the First World War on some earth-like reality. He later joined the FBI and met his end while hunting down crime lords towards the end of the prohibition era. He is also now an elf for some reason that will be disclosed at a later date.
Appearance: Dirk, as an elf, is willowy and lithe, without a trace of ever having worked physically in his life, except for some few calluses and muscles that he is just now starting to put there. He has the typical elf’s grace and beauty, with fine features pale hair and golden eyes. Of note, he is still masculine looking, but as an elf is, which Dirk doesn’t have the familiarity to really tell yet. He wears a grey suit with suspenders and a matching fedora. He has a flintlock pistol strapped into a revolver holster under his coat on one side, and a wavy-blade dagger strapped opposite to it. He also carries a gnarled wooden walking staff.
Skills: Investigation-Dirk made his living as a detective fighting mobsters and criminals. He knows how to spot clues, interrogate witnesses, and everything that goes with the territory of rooting out information and finding the truth, or the bad guy, whichever’s easier. Back on earth at least, there’s sure to be some differences on Althanas, especially now that he can’t loom nearly so well.
Hand to hand- Dirk knows how to fight. He was in his share of brawls both as a fed, and as a soldier before that. He’s learned a fair bit of hand to hand fighting from people he’s met all over the world, and used it well before his new body. He still knows how, but his body is not really up to the task these days. He’s also nowhere near as coordinated as he used to be, being shaped so much differently and differently sized. He can use hands and feet, sticks and clubs, and knives and daggers. In theory, at least. He also has some small experience with single edge swords, such as sabers and machetes, but never used them much because they were already out of favor when he joined the war.
Marksman- Since he was a soldier at the age of 16, Dirk has been training with guns. He’s a pretty decent shot, and he knows how to maintain them fairly well. His usage of guns spanned through the end of the war into his career as a fed. Probably not going to be seeing much in the way of modern firearms on Althanas though. Still, aim itself is a skill, and he still has that.
Move Quietly- Dirk has developed skills necessary to move quietly and perform actions in relative silence in common situations and environments of the city. He doesn’t yet have the knowledge necessary to do so in wooded or brushed environments, or in bad weather. He is also less coordinated now, due to yet being completely used to his new body.
Man of the world- Dirk knows generally how to take care of himself. He grew up on a ranch in California, and used to go hunting now and again as a child. He had to do a lot of makeshift maintenance on some of the machines during the war, and had to combat the mob all over the country during his career as a special agent. He knows a little about a lot, and is habitually resourceful to boot.
Illiterate- Dirk cannot yet read the written languages of Althanas. However, he still reads and writes his own pretty well.
Abilities:
Dirk doesn’t have much in the way of abilities to speak of. He has his skills, but his current body is weak, comparatively at least. Physically he’s probably about average, with all the practice he’s been giving himself, with some attributes a little below still. His strength and speed have been getting better since he’s been practicing on the road, but he still has very low endurance.
Unknown to him, his body has a very strong magic affinity, as if someone has already been developing it. He cannot actively use this at all, and wouldn’t be able to even if he was aware of it. He doesn’t know the first thing about magic. The affinity, however, may come up.
Shades of Memories- Dirk occasionally has odd flashes of insight or memory that help him interact with the world of Althanas, such as his ability to communicate verbally, and the weird familiarity he feels with the written symbols he’s seen. This is mostly involuntary, but he has begun to notice it and will occasionally try to seek it.
Equipment/Weapons:
Scavenged provisions and money.
One red steel kris, about 16" in blade length
One charcoal grey fedora, with matching suit and suspenders.
One gnarled staff
FBI Badge
One flintlock pistol
Bullets, blackpowder, flint etc. Pistol accesories.
Before rounding the next corner Dirk froze into a crouch and withdrew his Smith and Wesson .38 special from its holster under his coat. Taking his fedora in one hand to reduce his profile, he peaked around the corner of the crate. Three men stood at the far side of the dock, arguing. Three on one, he would have preferred better odds, but hey, no one lives forever. He sure could have used a cig right about now, after his time in the Great War, and then his time in the Bureau, he had nerves of steel, but a cig always helped.
As he was about to stand up he suddenly heard a familiar click. Damn, he thought, some bastard managed to sneak up on me.
Slowly he turned and stood to face his new found menace. Dark grey scuffed suit, patched cap, shadowed face. Dirk didn’t recognize the man, but he was obviously some goon’s hired muscle. His only chance was-
“Boss Mercury gives his regards.”
There was a bang, and a flash, and the world faded to dark.
*****
There was nothing, he was nothing. There was just darkness. However, it wasn’t black darkness, somehow he knew that there were a myriad of colors all around him, but he couldn’t see all of them. There was something wrong, he knew he should have been able to see them, he should have been able to remember- he should have…
He felt as if he were floating and falling at the same time. Where was he? For that matter, who was he?
He had a feeling he’d been looking for something, something important, it was something he had to bring back to- but no, he couldn’t remember. There was only nothing, nothing but the darkness.
There! There was the pull! It was what he was looking for! What was he looking for? He couldn’t recall, but he’d found it. It burned like a bright light in the darkness, a fading light. No! It’s starting to burn out! He had to get it, to bring it back, or else everything was for naught!
He reached out with his being and enveloped the brightness. The blackness was gone, it was replace with color, and fire, and pain.
*****
Dirk Akster woke with a throbbing headache, for that matter, he woke with a throbbing everything. His body felt like it was on fire, like when a leg falls asleep from sitting too long on a stake out, but everywhere from his skin to his bones. He rolled over on his side and lay there a few minutes until the room stopped spinning about, then he opened his eyes groggily. The world looked odd, but he couldn’t quite figure out how. The ceiling was stone, like some of those ancient castles he’d never quite gotten to see when he was in Europe. Everything felt odd too, his body didn’t seem to have the right-
Dirk looked down at his chest, waved his hand in front of his face, and then just lay back and stared at the ceiling again. He wasn’t sure how to process this. He felt weird, and well he should. He didn’t exactly have good frame of reference, but his body- was wrong, somehow. Too small, maybe. It was definitely not his hand, it was fine fingered and looked like it hadn’t done a day of real work in its life.
Dirk was pretty comfortable in his role as a bruiser. He was a big guy, which had come in handy on more than one occasion. At 6’6” and 250lbs of mostly muscle, he had developed an imposing loom that ended a lot of his fights before they began, and his own strength let him end the ones that did begin pretty quickly too, normally. His body now though, was something else entirely. It was… small. Smaller, at least. And someone had put him in some sort of fancy dress! What the hell?!
Still not sure exactly what was going on, Dirk scrambled to his feet and pulled the weird dress off over his head. Examining it more closely, it was more like a fancy robe or a nightshirt, but it was still weird. His body too, was all skin and bone and not much else. Gone were his callouses and scars, body hair and biceps. The only hint that he even had muscles under his skin was how on fire they all were.
Then he started to examine his surroundings more closely. The floor of the room was covered with a large circle, ornately detailed with all sorts of odd runes and symbols. His mind itched, like he should recognize them, but no, he’d never seen anything like this before in his life. Some sort of occult gathering? The edges of the room were crowded with tables, bookshelves, and chairs, as if all of the furniture had previously been spread throughout the room and had been pushed to the sides. It would take time to sort through all of the clutter and try to make some sense of what was going on.
Immediately surrounding his feet, was another circle, separating him from the rest of the design on the floor, but his body had marred and destroyed the edge of it when he was laying down. As he walked towards the middle of the room, he saw something a pile. He crouched to examine it. Shoes, hat, shirt and pants: it was his old clothes, it looked like everything he was wearing when-
His blood ran cold.
It looked like everything he was wearing when he died.
*****
Sometime later Dirk stood in front of a mirror he’d found behind one of the bookcases, adjusting his tie. Something weird was going on, and this fit no description of heaven or hell he’d ever heard, but hell if he was going to let that slow him down. He seemed to have been reborn or resurrected or reincarnated somehow. He could tell from how his clothes fit, or rather didn’t fit, that he was both much shorter and slighter than he used to be. It was a good thing he wore suspenders, because if he’d had a belt he’d have had to punch new holes to keep his pants up. His facial features were completely wrong, he looked like a young boy, or even a dame of some sort. No, that’s not quite right, but definitely finer featured than any grown man he’d ever met. He’d had to cut his hair too, using a weird wavy knife he’d found while exploring the room. It was a rough job, but it’d do. What self-respecting man braids his hair? His new hair was silvery blond, though not quite grey like an old man. It was white and not quite metallic. Together with his amber gold eyes and weirdly pointed ears- did it make him some sort of freak now? Were there some sort of weird drugs in that gun rather than bullets, and he was hallucinating? As time had worn on and he’d gotten used to his surroundings, he was more and more certain that that wasn’t the case. Everything seemed oddly familiar.
His gun wasn't among his things, he must have dropped it when he got shot. He still had his badge though, and his holster. The rest of his clothes were too big now, but his hat still fit. Maybe he could find someplace to adjust the fit of everything else. He’d found all sorts of papers while he’d searched the room, but they were covered with strange writing that he didn’t recognize, but again, he did feel as he should know what they meant for some reason.
While searching the room he’d found a few maps, some preserved food, and some weird coins and gems all of which he’d gathered into a small bindle made from his suitcoat and some sort of walking stick. He hated to use his coat to wrap up everything, it had cost him nearly a week’s pay, but both it and his shirt were ruined anyways. There was a bullet hole right through them, directly where his heart would have been. He'd also found some sort of primitive replacement gun in a box under a desk, covered in dust. It looked like some sort of black powder pistol. He'd tried black powder rifles once, as a kid, while shooting with his old man. If he could figure out the trick of it, this would probably make a decent service gun for the time being. This in mind, he put it in his old holster, under his left arm.
There were no windows in the room he was in, but given the angle of the door and the stairs, he was assuming it was some sort of cellar. Placing his hat squarely over his head, he gathered his belongs and set off. He was an investigator by trade, it was time to do some investigating and figure out what in all hell was going on.
As he opened the door to his underground lair, two persons looked up from where they seemed to have been waiting just outside the door. One was apparently reading, the other writing something.
“Galadon? What’s with the weird clothes, were you successful already?” The first one asked, it was a young... Man? Woman? person with very similar features to his own current face.
Dirk didn’t know who Galadon was, but he was beginning to get an idea, and he didn't like it one bit. He had a hunch though, things were about to make a lot more sense.
Name: Diederik Johann Aakster
Nickname/Alias: Dirk Akster, Galadon Merilinor
Age: 33, mentally. His body is of a physically mature, but not yet aging, elf.
Race: Elf. Formerly human.
Height: 5’11”
Weight:160 lbs
Occupation: Adventurer/Private Detective
Personality: Cynical, Suspicious, Brooding, but with a heart of gold underneath it. If you can find it. Some days are better than others, check back tomorrow.
History: Son of Dutch immigrants to the United States, Dirk enlisted underage and served a short time towards the end of the First World War on some earth-like reality. He later joined the FBI and met his end while hunting down crime lords towards the end of the prohibition era. He is also now an elf for some reason that will be disclosed at a later date.
Appearance: Dirk, as an elf, is willowy and lithe, without a trace of ever having worked physically in his life, except for some few calluses and muscles that he is just now starting to put there. He has the typical elf’s grace and beauty, with fine features pale hair and golden eyes. Of note, he is still masculine looking, but as an elf is, which Dirk doesn’t have the familiarity to really tell yet. He wears a grey suit with suspenders and a matching fedora. He has a flintlock pistol strapped into a revolver holster under his coat on one side, and a wavy-blade dagger strapped opposite to it. He also carries a gnarled wooden walking staff.
Skills: Investigation-Dirk made his living as a detective fighting mobsters and criminals. He knows how to spot clues, interrogate witnesses, and everything that goes with the territory of rooting out information and finding the truth, or the bad guy, whichever’s easier. Back on earth at least, there’s sure to be some differences on Althanas, especially now that he can’t loom nearly so well.
Hand to hand- Dirk knows how to fight. He was in his share of brawls both as a fed, and as a soldier before that. He’s learned a fair bit of hand to hand fighting from people he’s met all over the world, and used it well before his new body. He still knows how, but his body is not really up to the task these days. He’s also nowhere near as coordinated as he used to be, being shaped so much differently and differently sized. He can use hands and feet, sticks and clubs, and knives and daggers. In theory, at least. He also has some small experience with single edge swords, such as sabers and machetes, but never used them much because they were already out of favor when he joined the war.
Marksman- Since he was a soldier at the age of 16, Dirk has been training with guns. He’s a pretty decent shot, and he knows how to maintain them fairly well. His usage of guns spanned through the end of the war into his career as a fed. Probably not going to be seeing much in the way of modern firearms on Althanas though. Still, aim itself is a skill, and he still has that.
Move Quietly- Dirk has developed skills necessary to move quietly and perform actions in relative silence in common situations and environments of the city. He doesn’t yet have the knowledge necessary to do so in wooded or brushed environments, or in bad weather. He is also less coordinated now, due to yet being completely used to his new body.
Man of the world- Dirk knows generally how to take care of himself. He grew up on a ranch in California, and used to go hunting now and again as a child. He had to do a lot of makeshift maintenance on some of the machines during the war, and had to combat the mob all over the country during his career as a special agent. He knows a little about a lot, and is habitually resourceful to boot.
Illiterate- Dirk cannot yet read the written languages of Althanas. However, he still reads and writes his own pretty well.
Abilities:
Dirk doesn’t have much in the way of abilities to speak of. He has his skills, but his current body is weak, comparatively at least. Physically he’s probably about average, with all the practice he’s been giving himself, with some attributes a little below still. His strength and speed have been getting better since he’s been practicing on the road, but he still has very low endurance.
Unknown to him, his body has a very strong magic affinity, as if someone has already been developing it. He cannot actively use this at all, and wouldn’t be able to even if he was aware of it. He doesn’t know the first thing about magic. The affinity, however, may come up.
Shades of Memories- Dirk occasionally has odd flashes of insight or memory that help him interact with the world of Althanas, such as his ability to communicate verbally, and the weird familiarity he feels with the written symbols he’s seen. This is mostly involuntary, but he has begun to notice it and will occasionally try to seek it.
Equipment/Weapons:
Scavenged provisions and money.
One red steel kris, about 16" in blade length
One charcoal grey fedora, with matching suit and suspenders.
One gnarled staff
FBI Badge
One flintlock pistol
Bullets, blackpowder, flint etc. Pistol accesories.