"You're here, you shouldn't be." He laughs, a sound like granite barking. "You look like you seek something." The voice sighs. "Yes, you're definitely seeking something. Maybe," he adds, "yes, maybe you've found it! Is it an old rat that you're hunting, eh?"
The waves and weaves of force seem to keep his rough voice suspended in mid air, but you don't see any source for this voice. As you continue to look around, you see what *might* be a badly-concealed magic circle, the kind a guy might use for summoning and such. It's just outlined in debris, garbage --- makes it *very* hard to make out. If whoever this is isn't a shaman of some sort, he's hiding it authentically. Like a boss.
A breeze kicks up a little behind you, drifting across from the other side of the block. In the distance you think you hear small arms fire, then the familiar backfilling swell of New York City's nightnoise. The street continues to breathe, noxious fumes wafting even up here, to the roof. Below, the sound of a bus purring towards it's next stop. |
