OOC thread here:l<a class="postlink-local" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=18&amp;t=7776&amp;p=81854#p81854">viewtopic.php?f=18&amp;t=7776&amp;p=81854#p81854</a>l<br/><br/>Thomas Antiques was scrolled across the display window of the tiny store in the same fashion that was stereotypical to most Antique shows. What wasn't typical was the several floors underneath the store spelled with runes, wards, charms and thousands of dollars  of security equipment that had been used and added to over the last few centuries to protect the more,<span style="font-style: italic">unusual</span>items the store carried.<br/><br/>Items such as cursed hands, cursed jewels, cursed books, scepters, wands, knives and so on, that were more or less all of the evil persuasion. Including one jukebox that was filled with nothing but Elvis Presley records that some moron wizard had tried to bring back from the grave and instead caused the music of said jukebox to work as a vintage tuning fork to open a hell gate. But magically fanatical fans aside. Thomas Antiques for the better part of several hundred years and some dozen different countries was pretty much Fort Knox for any and all items sporting some wicked bad juju, that could be lethal to one or many depending on who was using it.<br/><br/>At present the sole proprietor of this quaint but dangerous store was Clara Thomas, a 25 year-old woman with shoulder length straight black hair, a no-nonsense personality and a quick and twisted sense of humor. She was also a woman who spent a great deal of her time in her store which according to her mother, who had been dead some 12 years and still refused to butt out of her love life, was too much time.<br/><br/>So Clara had taken a day off to clear her head of her deceased mother's nagging spirit. She had been determined to see a movie, but had seen nothing to appealing at the box office, so instead headed to the food cart and took in the varieties of fast that would give her indigestion, but for the moment would serve her better than a pint of Ben and Jerry's while she listened to her mother rant about Clara not getting any younger and being the last of the Thomas line.<br/><br/>"Like it's my fault you didn't have anymore kids." Clara grumbled, as she pushed at her greasy chowmein. Her head sitting awkwardly on her hand, then didn't when her cheek was suddenly burned and she jerked her hand away as the ring on her right hand began to glow. A sign of something not good be close by. Though not good had become relative of late.