Jack Russell the Arcane-ine
[Warning: self destructive themes, I don’t THINK they count a suicidal]
This is it… Jack Russell thought as he swirled his untouched whiskey glass as he drank from the bottle. No matter how much he tried to run, his past would always $#/+ all over him. As he stared at the old rotary phone that sat in front of him, he couldn’t help but think back to everything that brought him here…
Jack Russell was a cocky little $#/+stain. He managed to find his great grandfather’s book of magic and thought he could take on the world because he could spray some sparks around. With less than a half a dozen spells under his belt, he figured he could take on the things that go bump in the night and crap like that.
Didn’t go too bad at first, which in retrospect… only made him more insufferable. Banish a couple ghosts and kill a starving vampire and he thought he was the best damn wizard since Merlin.
Then came Patty in her slinky red dress, pouty lips and legs for miles… he should have known she was trouble from the moment she walked in…
She spun him some yarn about her boyfriend going missing on the night of the full moon only to turn up as a bloody mess the next morning… obviously a werewolf. He didn’t know shit about them outside pop culture… but damn this dame was gorgeous. How hard could it be?
That month… even knowing how it ended, Jack could regret it. Patty was a whirlwind that caught him and wouldn’t let him go… and they enjoyed every second… and every inch if you know what I mean.
Around the time of the next full moon, they made their way back to Massachusetts to hunt down the beast. Patty insisted that she go along… for closure… he was such a £₩^&ing sap.
He managed to enchant a crossbow with a silver bolt, he had melted down his dead mom’s wedding ring to make it… he thought it was romantic or something.
The night before Patty was able to lead him right to where the werewolf would be… such a moron. That should have been a red flag. Then she insisted that they enjoy themselves beforehand… intimately. Middle of the dark woods, stripped to their birthday suits, dangerous monster somewhere… what could possibly go wrong?
As they were finishing their fun, he felt claws rip across his back. He threw Patty out of the way and turned to where he thought the beast was… but he was alone. No beast, no Patty… no cloths… he was right £₩^&ed.
He snuck his way back to their motel, ready to cut his losses. He was shocked to see Patty waiting for him… with his crossbow aiming at him.
She explained how SHE was the werewolf (news flash moron: werewolves don’t NEED the moon), she had hoped that the stiff she killed would have been her mate but she got carried away, but Jack… they’d be perfect for each other.
He responded by tearing out her throat. Now HE was the monster…
Even now, he wasn’t sure he revered killing her. On the one hand, she was a dangerous monster and confirmed murder who stole his humanity… on the other… damn she was good in bed.
He tilted back his bottle once again only to find out he had finished it. He tossed it across the room, shattering it on the door. With a sigh he looked down at the cracked and rusted blade.
He gently lifted it as one would hold a priceless antique then gave the blade a quick swing. The edge erupted with holy light as it cut clean through his desk…
Jack Russell was a desperate man. He was a cursed man… if he had been less hasty and NOT killed Patty, maybe he could have learned to control this mess. But NO! He had to be a £₩^&! He could have killed her at any time…
In the ensuing few years he lied, cheated and stole every scrap of magic he could. Always chasing the tiniest of leads. Looking for some kind of cure…
Eventually he found this risky dink cult doing some kind of sacrifice ritual in a swamp. Trying to summon some dark something… he didn’t really care about that. What he DID care about was the silver sword at the center… it was a cursed blade, it would drain the spirit out of the holder… with the hilt shaped like a wolf skull.
He jumped in without thinking… par for the course really. He isolated the freaks in purple… twice… he needed to do it again after they got up as zombies…
Once he had cleared the way, he hastily painted binding runes on his body in pig’s blood. He hoped that that would bind his spirit to his body while sucking the ‘wolf’ into the sword. The moment he grabbed the blade… not the hilt… the blade… he felt it… it was working. He thought… he had painted the runes wrong… instead most of his human spirit was pulled out with some of the wolf… now he could only maintain his humanity while he had the sword… but he had more control…
He decided to embrace his dual nature, becoming a costumed hero.
JACK RUSSELL THE TERROR!
He groaned as he remembered that stupid name. What the hell was he thinking? Needless to say, that was not a good career move.
He let out a morbid chuckle… Even after ‘curing’ his curse, his thirst for magical knowledge only grew and now that he wasn’t rushing… he actually LEARNED it instead of just skimming it. Oh, that was a kick in the teeth… If he had actually studied more… or gotten help… he could have been cured, but having up his own soul… he even pulled in something else… oh yeah, he was sterile too.
Over time, he had learned how to… not control… but direct and leash it. Eventually even being able to avoid transforming at the full moon. He was all set to live a quiet and $#/+y life… until OblivAeon…
The bar he was in was swarmed by those freaky orange things fighting some moron dressed like a train.
The stress was enough to force him into the wolf form. It would have looked £₩^&ing ridiculous. A wolf in jeans and Thomas the tank running through an infinite number of dudes… but it was unending.
He was able to force himself back to human, hoping that his magiks could do SOMETHING.
Blood Howl (god he was such a little
$#/+, why the hell did he name the sword Blood Howl?) had been able to cut through the energy beings, especially when enhanced by magic… but each hit took its toll. Now the blade was on its last leg, so cracked and burned it was nearly unrecognizable.
If the only thing being destroyed was his oversized paperweight, he’d be pretty ambivalent… but that thing literally held his soul.
There was the slim chance that his spirit would just snap back together. He could die… or be erased. Or… human side could vanish leaving behind the wolf unchained… or directed by that trickle of evil…
He may not be a hero but he wanted to avoid that last outcome no matter what… which led him to his current predicament. He pulled from his coat pocket a creased and staind business card. It was a memory of a person he’d rather forget… but he had nowhere else to turn.
shh, cliclik, shh, clicliclicliclicliclicliclik, shh, cliclicliclicliclicliclicliclicli the rotary phone spun as he died
He held his breath as the phone rung once… twice… thr… click answer.
“Faye… it’s Jack Russell, don’t hang up.”
“I’m sorry,” a voice that absolutely was not Faye Diamond responded. “She… she didn’t make it…”
She was gone… probably the only person who could help him… dead.
“I can help you, I’m…”
Jack slammed the receiver down so hard it shattered. There was no hope. He couldn’t help but laugh. Really, he should probably just…
Even with Blood Howl hanging like a Sword of Damocles over his head… he didn’t want to leave his life behind the way it was… even with… Even with his horrible attempts at heroism, it would be nice to be remembered for helping people in the end. Also on a more morbid note, if he was around heroes… somebody would be able to put him down when the inevitable happens…
This will be the return of JACK RUSSELL THE TER…HAHAHAHA! No. That was the worst. NO, nevermind… the costume was the worst, seriously… leather and spandex with exposed abs and pouches… so many pouches… No costume, new name…
Maybe… THE ARCANE-INE…
Meh, good enough. It probably doesn’t need to last that long.
Edit: replace the line “the fourth is still being considered.” With the following:
The fourth team member came down via editorial mandate… Jack Russell the Terror… a one off character from the 50s Tome of the Bizarre who got a disastrously bad attempt at a reboot in the mid 90s. (The now editor that pushed this was the writer who mad that terrible story hope that he could replace Nightmist. NOW he’s hoping that his character can replace Pinion as Nightmist’s successor.)
None of the writes were excited to work on this… 2d… jerk of a character but think think the found a decent line to follow after aging him up to his spry 60s. (Most of editorial like this but… one is beyond angry)
They are preparing a backup magic character to replace him if the run into trouble with the higher ups. (The part demon former assassin, Flameberge)
Okay… this was a trip. My friend was able to throw a few ideas in but kinda needed me to fill just about everything. (50ish hours a week does get in the way of tabletop rpgs)
I had 2 routs to take
One was a younger character who would have been wrapped up in the cult of gloom.
The other seemed more interesting to me. An early one-shot monster hunter becomes the monster himself horror story.
The 90s reboot was to give a chance to spread the story a bit, make the sword a consequence of his own actions… and use the absolutely garbage name that he gave me, JACK RUSSELL THE TERROR (God that name is so terrible).
He’s a big fan of Harry Dresden and Constantine so I’m hoping (he sleeps till noon on the weekend) that hell enjoy these paralels.
The extra character, I may have a 5th player. I’m going to possibly be writing that out too once I confirm things.