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Nazareth Awakened [Mage: The Awakening] [OOC]
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<blockquote data-quote="Rubberneck" data-source="post: 6302358" data-attributes="member: 6763059"><p>The wails of his siren could probably be heard for miles as he raced through the dark empty street. The flashing red and blue reflecting off storefronts could be disorienting for someone not used to it. This was one of the parts he loved most about his job, adrenaline coursing through his veins, reminding him just how alive he is.</p><p></p><p>The call came in as a simple domestic dispute, no cause for alarm, unless of course the call is dropped and the last thing that was heard was</p><p></p><p>"He has a gun!"</p><p></p><p>That makes things more interesting and warrants the need for haste. The 90s style Ford Crown Victoria was once an amazing vehicle. Over the years however, they tend to decline. Steering gets sloppy, the suspension gets soft, and the body roll makes it feel like you're flirting with disaster in every corner. There is one thing the old war horse didn't lack, and that was power.</p><p></p><p>Hawthorne smashed the gas pedal to the floor and the squad car came to life as he rocketed down the street. He blew through intersections at high speeds on city streets, being as early as it was he figured the chances were low that someone would be in his path. Well he was wrong. As he entered the intersection he could briefly remember glancing to his left and the glare of headlights as well as a moment of weightlessness before blacking out completely.</p><p></p><p>The sloshing of water brought him to and all that could be seen was sky. Was he moving? Hawthorne rose to a sitting position, strangely calm. He was in a small wooden rowboat at sea. Around him was nothing but black water and night sky. How did he get here? A dense fog made it nearly impossible to see anything, save a brief light. Every few moments a beam of light swept across the water and Hawthorne followed it to its source. Then he saw it, through the fog stood a lighthouse, a beacon to guide him to his salvation. It stood on a bluff that overlooked the sea.</p><p></p><p>Hawthorne began rowing, fast deliberate strokes, the tower at his back, and felt resistance in the water. Looking over the side of the boat he could not see what impeded his progress, but when the light swept past it revealed a floating body. The sight made Hawthorne jump back, nearly tumbling out of the boat. The light swept by and Hawthorne saw more modies, surrounding him. Floating, bobbing in the water. Each time the light swept by he could see more and more. The sea was filled with them.</p><p></p><p>He couldn't stop rowing now, he had to get to the lighthouse. Furiously he rowed, water splashing into the boat, the lighthouse still at his back. He occasionally looked over his shoulder to see his progress but the lighthouse never seemed to get closer. What was this madness? He had been rowing for what seemed like hours. Out of the corners of his eyes the bodies seemed to move, taunting him, stopping his progress, testing his resolve. He fell to his back, frustrated and exhausted. Wiping sweat from his brow he laid there staring into the dark sky. It was slowly filling with angry clouds. A storm was coming. He felt a drop hit his forehead and he knew that if he couldn't get to land the sea would wash him away forever. Why were the bodies so relentless? Oars in hand again, he pleaded with them to let him pass. When next he plunged the oars down they dug into something. He turned to look and there before him was a beach. He had made it. The tower above, light spinning, beckoning to him.</p><p></p><p>He got out of the boat. He was surrounded by fog and the storm was finally upon him, wind howling. His journey wasn't over yet. He had to get to the lighthouse, his refuge from the storm. He started jogging toward it, toward the lighthouse that overlooked the sea of the dead. When he finally reached it it was much taller and beautiful than it had seemed from a distance. It was a thing of purity, its guiding light spinning faithfully at its top. He reached for the door and it dissolved before him, denying him entrance, replaced by names scratched into the wall. He circled the tower in search of another door but saw only more names. Was he going mad?</p><p></p><p>Hawthorne reached to his shirt pocket. He always kept a pen on him when he was on duty. He didn't know how, but he knew what he had to do. He approached the list of names and found an opening, adding his own, Dominic J Hawthorne. The spinning light of the lighthouse grew intense, fighting away the fog, rain, and clouds, and above the sky was bright, so bright he had to shield his eyes from it. Rays of sunlight seemed to envelop him completely.</p><p></p><p>He blinked and rubbed his eyes and above him was florescent lighting. A subtle beeping of an ECG machine beside him, IV in his arm. He was in a hospital room.</p><p></p><p>"Doctor! He's awake!"</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rubberneck, post: 6302358, member: 6763059"] The wails of his siren could probably be heard for miles as he raced through the dark empty street. The flashing red and blue reflecting off storefronts could be disorienting for someone not used to it. This was one of the parts he loved most about his job, adrenaline coursing through his veins, reminding him just how alive he is. The call came in as a simple domestic dispute, no cause for alarm, unless of course the call is dropped and the last thing that was heard was "He has a gun!" That makes things more interesting and warrants the need for haste. The 90s style Ford Crown Victoria was once an amazing vehicle. Over the years however, they tend to decline. Steering gets sloppy, the suspension gets soft, and the body roll makes it feel like you're flirting with disaster in every corner. There is one thing the old war horse didn't lack, and that was power. Hawthorne smashed the gas pedal to the floor and the squad car came to life as he rocketed down the street. He blew through intersections at high speeds on city streets, being as early as it was he figured the chances were low that someone would be in his path. Well he was wrong. As he entered the intersection he could briefly remember glancing to his left and the glare of headlights as well as a moment of weightlessness before blacking out completely. The sloshing of water brought him to and all that could be seen was sky. Was he moving? Hawthorne rose to a sitting position, strangely calm. He was in a small wooden rowboat at sea. Around him was nothing but black water and night sky. How did he get here? A dense fog made it nearly impossible to see anything, save a brief light. Every few moments a beam of light swept across the water and Hawthorne followed it to its source. Then he saw it, through the fog stood a lighthouse, a beacon to guide him to his salvation. It stood on a bluff that overlooked the sea. Hawthorne began rowing, fast deliberate strokes, the tower at his back, and felt resistance in the water. Looking over the side of the boat he could not see what impeded his progress, but when the light swept past it revealed a floating body. The sight made Hawthorne jump back, nearly tumbling out of the boat. The light swept by and Hawthorne saw more modies, surrounding him. Floating, bobbing in the water. Each time the light swept by he could see more and more. The sea was filled with them. He couldn't stop rowing now, he had to get to the lighthouse. Furiously he rowed, water splashing into the boat, the lighthouse still at his back. He occasionally looked over his shoulder to see his progress but the lighthouse never seemed to get closer. What was this madness? He had been rowing for what seemed like hours. Out of the corners of his eyes the bodies seemed to move, taunting him, stopping his progress, testing his resolve. He fell to his back, frustrated and exhausted. Wiping sweat from his brow he laid there staring into the dark sky. It was slowly filling with angry clouds. A storm was coming. He felt a drop hit his forehead and he knew that if he couldn't get to land the sea would wash him away forever. Why were the bodies so relentless? Oars in hand again, he pleaded with them to let him pass. When next he plunged the oars down they dug into something. He turned to look and there before him was a beach. He had made it. The tower above, light spinning, beckoning to him. He got out of the boat. He was surrounded by fog and the storm was finally upon him, wind howling. His journey wasn't over yet. He had to get to the lighthouse, his refuge from the storm. He started jogging toward it, toward the lighthouse that overlooked the sea of the dead. When he finally reached it it was much taller and beautiful than it had seemed from a distance. It was a thing of purity, its guiding light spinning faithfully at its top. He reached for the door and it dissolved before him, denying him entrance, replaced by names scratched into the wall. He circled the tower in search of another door but saw only more names. Was he going mad? Hawthorne reached to his shirt pocket. He always kept a pen on him when he was on duty. He didn't know how, but he knew what he had to do. He approached the list of names and found an opening, adding his own, Dominic J Hawthorne. The spinning light of the lighthouse grew intense, fighting away the fog, rain, and clouds, and above the sky was bright, so bright he had to shield his eyes from it. Rays of sunlight seemed to envelop him completely. He blinked and rubbed his eyes and above him was florescent lighting. A subtle beeping of an ECG machine beside him, IV in his arm. He was in a hospital room. "Doctor! He's awake!" [/QUOTE]
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