My name is Johnathan Morris. That isn’t a name I expect most of you to know. Hopefully, for both our sakes, it’s one you’ll never come across.
Elegant, noble, and aristocratic… these are the defining traits of the greatest age of royalty England has ever known. No longer torn apart by gruesome wars with the French or the Scots, finally at peace with the rest of the world, and now turning our sights to the far eastern reaches of the globe; the Victorian rule is that of joy and merriment for all.
Of course, that’s just barely scratching the surface.
The brightest of light will always cast the darkest shadows, and the streets of my home are no exception. The bloody history of the United Kingdom is still being written, even to this very day. False prophets, soothsayers, and the curious elite of civilization are drawn to each other like maggots to a fresh corpse, and getting fat on the lifeblood of lower society. A common man may be hung for the murder of another man over a trivial matter such as a few coins, yet when the Duke of Canterbury is rumored to be holding human sacrifices and dark rituals in his manor home, the law turns a blind eye to his crimes, bought off by wealth and power. The reason he was removing the hearts of one hundred young men and women? To summon a devil from the bottom level of Hell. And how do I know about it?
Believe it or not, I’m the poor fool that had to stop him.
My entire life, I’ve never known anything but the constant pursuit of simple purity, and a righteous soul. My father, my father’s father, and every Morris for nearly a thousand years has done the same, by whatever means necessary. Many of us have given our lives for the cause, and I’m certain that many more will die. But no sacrifice has ever been unwarranted. Slaying vampires, werewolves, and banishing demons has been my family’s trade since the first of us, years ago. None of us have ever complained, or turned away the chance to right a grievous wrong. The alternative is too terrible to consider.
Unfortunately, I am not alone in my Herculean endeavors. Some snobby, foolish physician, Samael Norse, thinks himself better than I. As a result, the two of us are constantly running into each other; trying to dispel the same evil, and rid the world of the same threat. Of course, he does it all wrong, and shouldn’t be mixed up in this nonsense in the first place. For a doctor, he certainly can be a great fool sometimes. However, though I am loathe to admit it, he does have a certain amount of skill with powerful magic that I have yet to train myself for. If the circumstance is dire enough, I will allow Norse to assist me. The old fossil would probably say that I was the one assisting him, but I think he’s been the victim of one too many blows to the head.
This is my life; this is my world. Humans, the only beings capable of bringing demons into this world, are the same black-hearted traitors I am sworn to protect. Any man can be an enemy in disguise, and thus, every man is my enemy, yet I must continue guard their lives. It is a highly unpleasant situation I have been placed in, but my work demands nothing less. One cannot choose one’s enemies in such a highly volatile situation. All I am able to do is put my faith before my life, and pray my righteous soul can split the darkness.
For naught but entropy and sin can live, deep within the Brooding Darkness.
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