Welcome to The Rogue Ghost Podcast, an urban fantasy serial. Read new episodes every Thursday.
Podcast Date: December 29, 2023
Greetings, kindred spirits and fellow seekers of hidden truths. In the heart of Sheffield, beneath its brooding skies and amidst the cobbled streets that echo with secrets, my story takes root. Here, surrounded by the whispering shadows of history, I sit at the very crossroads of destiny. As the veil of the old year descends and the footsteps of a new one draw near, I return from the shadows to share an enigma-filled tale that transcends the realms of the ordinary.
But before we step deeper into this labyrinth, a proper introduction is in order. I am known as the Rogue Ghost, a name that shields my true identity like a cloak of mist. In a world of whispers and deceit, this moniker is my shield, my armor in the relentless pursuit of truth. As your guide, I vow to lead you through the serpentine paths of my existence, where each twist and turn is laden with revelations, and each step is a dance on the knife-edge of discovery.
Together, we will peel back the layers of the ordinary to expose the extraordinary, venturing into the heart of a narrative woven with the threads of the arcane. Each episode of our journey will slice through the fabric of reality, presenting tales that challenge perception and dare to reveal the unseen.
So steel yourselves, my newfound allies, for our expedition is not for the faint of heart. Here in the twilight of Sheffield’s enigmatic embrace, our quest begins, promising to lead us into the depths of the unknown. Let us tread carefully, for every shadow may hide a story, and every echo may sing a legend.
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My journey through life began in the frosty embrace of November 1974, in the quiet state of Maine, nestled in the northern reaches of the United States. However, my path was one fraught with early adversity, as I never had the chance to know my parents. Instead, fate saw fit to place me in the care of an orphanage shortly after my birth, setting the stage for a childhood marked by uncertainty and constant change.
In those tender, formative years, I became intimately acquainted with the transient existence of a child moving from one children’s home to another across the vast expanse of the United States. Each new destination held its own unique chapter in the story of my young life, with unfamiliar faces, rules, and routines shaping my world.
It was at the age of thirteen that the course of my life took a pivotal turn. A fateful medical examination unveiled a rare and serious heart condition, a revelation that would forever alter the trajectory of my existence. The treatment required to combat this condition was not readily available within the borders of the United States. So, it was determined that my best chance for a healthier future lay across the vast Atlantic Ocean, in the United Kingdom. I was uprooted once more, finding myself in a place called Elmwood Children’s Home in the city of Sheffield.
Within the echoing corridors of despair and beneath the stern rule of the matron, I stumbled upon an unexpected treasure—a love story that would forever hold my heart in its thrall.
My Angel, as she shall forever be known in the chronicles of our enigmatic journey, emerged as my kindred spirit amidst the trials and tribulations of orphanhood. Fate had woven a curious tapestry that connected us, for she too bore the weight of the same heart condition that had brought me across the ocean.
In the eyes of the world, we were mere shadows, meaningless names inscribed in a ledger, subject to the whims of a system that often treated us as if we were invisible. Yet, within the very heart of that desolation, a bond was forged that transcended the mundane. Ours was a story of love that defied the boundaries of time and circumstance, a story that would become an integral part of the cryptic narrative that lay ahead.
But our love story was never destined to follow the conventional script. To the outside world, we appeared to be victims of a malevolent heart condition, a carefully constructed cover story designed to lead us to the enigmatic Longstone Institute. Nestled in the shadows of Bakewell, this institution held a clandestine purpose: specializing in the treatment of Enchanters—gifted beings who could shape reality itself through the art of chanting. It was within these hallowed halls that we uncovered the hidden tapestry of our true heritage as Enchanters, embarking on a journey that would forever alter the course of our lives.
It is said that when Enchanters reach the age of twenty-five, the relentless march of time comes to a standstill for us. Our hearts cease to beat, and the inevitable process of aging grinds to a halt. It is at this juncture that we don Aeternum Rings, more commonly known as Shimmer Rings, arcane ornaments imbued with the don Aeternum Enchantment. These rings conceal our immortality, allowing us to appear as any ordinary person would, aging in sync with the world around us. Our guises are continuously and meticulously reset as we journey through eternity, a veil woven from the threads of magic, known only to our kind and a select few who traverse the enigmatic realms of existence.
Our metamorphosis was far from ordinary; within the confines of the Longstone Institute, a rare and remarkable magic dwelled within us. This magic was called Animas. We bore the extraordinary gift of shapeshifting, a power that transcended the limits of even standard magic. I found I could shift into a Crow, my Angel, an owl.
My Angel and I found ourselves recruited by the Spectrus Order, a covert organization that operated beneath the surface of reality. Serving as the primary enforcement and mystical intelligence arm for Kalendis, the magical government, the Order upheld secrecy and security within the magical community. Marked with tattoos that mirrored our animal personas, we became Spectrus Ghosts, entrusted with missions that plunged us into the depths of intrigue and danger. It was within the folds of this clandestine world that we honed our abilities and marked our unwavering devotion to the mysterious cause.
But destiny, that capricious mistress, has a way of revealing her darkest plans at the most unexpected moments. On a mission in the Dominican Republic, a sinister plot by a group known as the Cerberus Syndicate unraveled before our eyes. Their malevolent design sought to infiltrate the government, and we, my Angel and I, stood as the last line of defense against their nefarious intentions.
However, the price we paid was immeasurable, and the light of my Angel was extinguished, casting me into a world plunged into the abyss of sorrow. The Syndicate, adept at weaving their web of deception, sought to lay a sinister shadow over my Angel’s demise and framed me for her murder, keeping their very existence hidden in the darkness. The organization I had once served with unwavering loyalty, the Spectrus Order, now marked me as their most wanted fugitive, their prime target.
The tattoo that bore my allegiance to the Spectrus Order was not just a symbol—it was a malevolent tracker, imbued with the Vigilia Unicus Enchantment, an ever-watchful eye that shadowed my every move. I embarked on a perilous journey to the heart of Australia, seeking refuge with an Aboriginal tribe possessing a unique ability to conceal the tattoo beneath a layer of a dead man’s skin, rendering it powerless.
And so, the Rogue Ghost was born—a voice emerging from the darkness, a beacon of truth in a realm draped in deception. I launched a podcast, an auditory vigil in the night, chronicling my relentless pursuit of justice. It served as a stark mirror, reflecting the deep-seated malevolence of the Cerberus Syndicate, unveiling their twisted existence and deeds to the listening world.
But as the threads of my investigation wove deeper into the fabric of their dark operations, the spotlight on me intensified. The more I revealed, the more perilous my existence became. It wasn’t long before maintaining the veil of anonymity that shielded me became untenable. As a marked man, pursued not only by the sinister Syndicate but also by my former allies within the Spectrus Order, the risks multiplied exponentially.
Faced with mounting dangers and the stark reality of my vulnerable position, I was compelled to make a grave decision. With a heavy heart and a weary spirit, I chose to silence the broadcast that had become my life’s work. I ended the podcast, putting a temporary hold on my crusade to bring the Syndicate to justice. This was not defeat but rather a necessary maneuver—a strategic withdrawal into the shadows from where I could regroup and, perhaps one day, reemerge stronger and ready to finish what I had started.
Today, my friends, marks a significant chapter in this tale. The Rogue Ghost emerges from the shadows once more, and as I stand on the precipice of a new era, there is more to unveil. For you see, just a few days ago, on that fateful Christmas Eve night as I drowned my sorrows in a Sheffield pub, an extraordinary encounter transpired—an encounter that would rekindle the fire of my purpose.
A man, his red jumper standing out against the pub’s subdued backdrop, settled across from me. He boldly claimed to be none other than Santa Claus himself. I must admit, my initial reaction was one of doubt and disbelief. This man, youthful and far from the conventional image of Santa Claus, evoked a deep sense of skepticism within me.
I contemplated rising from my seat and discreetly slipping out of the pub, dismissing him as a charming but misguided drunkard, perhaps deserving of pity at best and certainly unworthy of further attention at worst. But the man possessed something that gave me pause, something that hinted at the extraordinary—a Shimmer Ring, hanging from a chain around his neck.
This man, who had proclaimed himself to be Santa Claus, was no mere imposter. He was an Enchanter, much like me, and he was showing his true face as a gesture of trust. He revealed a grave peril that threatened the very fabric of our world—a peril that the Cerberus Syndicate sought to exploit.
Santa Claus needed me to find the pieces of his Last Christmas Door before the Syndicate laid claim to it. Magic doors were commonplace in the Enchanter world, but this particular Christmas Door was no ordinary portal; it possessed unparalleled power, capable of puncturing through the very essence of reality, bridging the gap between realms. And now, this Christmas Door was in grave peril.
The heart of this door had been broken apart and concealed within twelve intricately crafted wooden puzzle boxes, each corresponding to one of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” just like the classic song. Santa’s trusted allies had scattered these boxes across the globe, and even Santa himself could not pinpoint their exact locations. It became clear to me that, for reasons unspoken, he was forbidden from rebuilding this sacred door himself, compelling him to seek outside help for such a crucial task.
To underscore the urgency, Santa revealed a triangular tattoo etched onto his wrist—a Vigilia Notam, a magical all-seeing eye, similar to mine, which relentlessly tracked his every move. However, on the hallowed night of Christmas Eve, he had a brief respite, where he could walk as himself, albeit only in shadows. It was on this night that Santa sought out my assistance to locate and reunite the puzzle boxes. But why me? All he would say was that I was uniquely positioned to carry out this quest.
Santa Claus did not send me on this perilous journey without guidance. He bestowed upon me a Christmas card that would act as a beacon and compass, leading me to the hidden treasures when in proximity to them. This card, imbued with magical properties, carried a message within. It said: “Christmas spirit will show the way, from your friends, D and A.” Santa declared that this very spirit would illuminate the path, even in the darkest of nights.
Beneath this message lay a riddle, a puzzle carefully crafted by Santa’s allies, intended to unveil the whereabouts of the First Puzzle Box. It said: “In the city that never sleeps, where skyscrapers reach for the sky, seek the First Box where an urban sanctuary hides your prize.”
Santa expressed his concern, cautioning me that the Syndicate somehow possessed knowledge of the riddle’s existence. He emphasized the importance of solving it swiftly to stay ahead of their pursuit.
Before we parted ways, Santa made a solemn commitment to return once the mission neared its successful conclusion. This pledge was not taken lightly, for it carried with it the weight of destiny and the unspoken understanding that our journey was far from over.
As I gazed upon this mysterious figure, I vowed with unwavering determination that I would go to any lengths necessary to ensure the safety of his Last Christmas Door, preventing it from falling into the clutches of the malevolent Cerberus Syndicate. No matter the challenges that lay ahead, I knew that this mission was one I could not abandon, and the flame of resolve burned brighter than ever within me.
In the days that followed my encounter with Santa, I took the opportunity to revisit familiar places in Sheffield, each one carrying memories of my beloved Angel. I found solace in the moments spent on the bench outside the cathedral, a place where our love had bloomed like the most resplendent of flowers. The cafés we had frequented, seeking refuge from the rigors of life at Elmwood, also held echoes of our laughter and the warmth of our connection.
I even found myself near Hillsborough Stadium, recalling the afternoons and evenings we’d spent at football games, cheering until our voices were hoarse, the shared excitement binding us in a way only my Angel truly understood.
After reliving these cherished memories, I discovered a startling truth: the existence of your world, so parallel yet so painfully barren of magic and enchantment. It was soon after my encounter with Santa Claus that the existence of your world crashed upon my consciousness. Mysterious entities, known only as the Watcher and the Keeper, guardians dwelling in the void between our realms, reached out in desperation. They revealed a tiny fissure had emerged between our worlds, a crack they feared was linked not just to my quest for the Last Christmas Door but also to the dark machinations of the Cerberus Syndicate.
These ethereal sentinels, bound by their roles yet forbidden to intervene directly, found themselves compelled to act as the fissure threatened to widen. Their celestial court, a bastion overseeing the balance of our two realms, hovered on the brink of exposure. To convince me of the gravity of their plight and to cultivate trust, they granted me passage across the threshold to their hidden space, risking their existence to show me the profound technologies and magical surveillance at their command, centered around the Veraseer—an arcane intelligence, a mystical AI capable of peering into the soul of every living thing.
Their request was as unusual as it was desperate: to reboot my podcast, this time engineered to breach the divide and echo solely within your world. They proposed using the slight opening as a conduit to foster awareness and readiness in your realm, a preemptive measure should magic begin to seep through the widening crack. This mission, they believed, was a critical juncture in their guardianship, pushing their capabilities to the limit but essential under the circumstances.
Grasping the weight of their plea, I accepted without reservation. And so, the Rogue Ghost Podcast is reborn, not through conventional means but as a spectral transmission orchestrated by our otherworldly hosts. No longer just a reflection of the battles within my world, it transforms into a clarion call to yours, a voice from beyond the veil, delivering tales and truths of hidden magic. This time, there are no microphones involved. Each podcast episode will be crafted by the Veraseer, using my thoughts, extracting them directly from my mind, like a mystical editor weaving together my experiences.
Now, as your unseen companion, our enigmatic hosts transmit my voice to your realm, carrying secrets swathed in mystical veils as both a warning and preparation for what may spill forth should the barriers between our worlds ever fully dissolve.
As this chapter closes and another beckons, I call upon you, my allies in the darkness, to brace for a journey where the impossible becomes possible. Boundless mysteries await, where danger lurks in every shadow, and the very fabric of reality quivers under the weight of our quest. We stand united, you and I, against the dark machinations of the Cerberus Syndicate, our resolve unbroken. Together, we shall delve deeper into the arcane, protect the ancient magic that pulses at the heart of Christmas, and perhaps, just perhaps, reveal the truth that lies beneath.
Until next time, my kindred spirits, keep the flame of belief ever burning.
In context of ep 2 comment: January 29, 2023 probably meant December, yes?