Hard Times in the Big Easy (O)

Participants: Doctor Voodoo & _____
Open/Closed: Open.
Location(s): New Orleans
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Overcast and muggy
Summary: Voodoo pays his home a visit to thwart villainy.

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DUM DUM DUM

The beating of drums seemed to come from out of nowhere, yet coming from everywhere all at once. The otherwise clear night fell under a quickened haze as smoke began to roll between the brickwalls of alleyways. There were three individuals in the alley, two of them on the ground and looking a bit worse for wear. The remaining figure glanced around at the smoke swirling around the group of them, though unlike the other two who looked anxious and confused, this person knew exactly what was going on.

"Spirit." A voice called forth from the dark cloud. A tall man dressed in a dark cloak stepped seemingly out of nothingness, his eyes glowed beneath white paint before the rest of him finally became visible. The spirit that Jericho identified looked on him with seething rage, that was only barely hidden beneath the look of disgust.

"Filthy, jungle magician." If ghosts could, this one would have hissed.

Jericho moved forward without taking a step, his cloak carrying him to reach the floating height of the evil spirit. Doctor Voodoo paused for a moment to glance down at the couple cowering on the ground, his glare conveyed enough for them to gather their wits and scamper off out of the mouth of the alley. His attention then returned to the spirit, a faint lilac field of energy growing around his hands.

"I am Jericho Drumm, Houngan Supreme. You may call me what you wish, but you will respect the title!" The glow engulfing Jericho's hands brightened almost violently. The spirit shrank backward upon instinct but the deceased would not be so easily swayed as the ghost resumed its opposing posture.

"The sorcerer who condemns his own brother to Hell dares to threaten me? You are right about one thing, jungle magician, I will call you what I wish and I wish to call you DEAD!"

The ghostly figure outstretched his arms for Drumm and shot off toward the Houngan. Doctor Voodoo clenched his jaws as his eyes flooded with white light, and he threw his arms out before his chest.

"I hold court with the Lords of the Dead and wield their magics to hold dominion over poor souls like you. I, Doctor Voodoo, can open doorways to realms where you might find your peace, however, by your own insolence and the will of the Loa, I condemn thee to the Swamps of Ogun!"

The spirit squirmed and tried to fight against the violet light that had suddenly become its prison, and Voodoo its warden. Jericho's cloak fluttered and beat against the wind as strong gusts whipped about because of the magical power he exerted. Green light opened our dimension to the next and in an instant the spirit was no more, cursed to the lowest plane of existence in the underworld.

The mystical winds that had kicked up settled at once, Voodoo's cloak and dreadlocks coming to rest at his back once more as his feet finally met with the ground. Dark smoke crept from the black corners of the alley, swallowing Jericho completely, leaving only the sound of the beating drums in his wake.

DUM DUM DUM

A different sound, miles away called Voodoo away from the site of his performed exorcism. The sound of sirens racing through the darkened streets of New Orleans. Though he protected all of the cosmos now, Jericho still held an affinity for his home and hearing the familiar sounds of trouble blaring through the streets he commonly walked brought a tinge of anger to his soul. The Sorcerer Supreme was in New Orleans within moments.