Moses never had a last name, but that never bothered him.

Not much ever bothered Moses, to be honest. His master said it was on account of him being simple. But, then again, his master fled the city instead of getting sent off to fight, and Moses didn’t put much stake in the word of a coward.

That Italian organ player man had bothered Mosses, though. He stank of liquor and wouldn’t leave him alone.

That was when all this trouble started.

“Pormorcameran,” Moses whispered to himself, looking up at the gallows. It was a word he’d made up as a boy. It rolled around in his mouth like a candy every time he said it, and he liked that. It was a comfort they couldn’t take away from him.

He repeated it again as he watched them slip the noose round that other man’s neck. Isaac, he’d called himself. Moses had been locked up with him since hitting that organ player man harder than he meant to, accidentally sending him onto salvation.

Moses says his word again as Isaac takes a short, sharp drop.

Then, the men in uniforms turn toward him.

“Pormorcameran,” Moses says, for the final time.

Memphis Note
Isaac and Moses were the first men legally executed by the government of the city of Memphis, both for the crime of murder. But, in the records, they make note that Moses was not mentally sound, but knew enough of his Bible to be considered fit to execute. They were both black.

In the dancing dark of a candlelit room he scribbles furiously into the massive leather bound tome. His ultimate design was nearly complete. It had taken him more than a century of unwavering willpower and meticulous planning, but with just a few more songs everything would come together.

He paused for a moment. It saddened him that he’d never been able to make Crowley and the rest of that lot understand the mythical nature of what he was doing. They were only interested in the flashy stuff and had no time for the slow and deliberate nature of the grandest magics.

With a snort of disdain, he returned to his scribbling. It was the songs that made his plan possible. They were the perfect confluence of aether resonance and power invocation. Songs were perfect three and a half minute spells.

He’d spent the entirety of the twentieth century seeding an ancient word into the minds of songwriters across the globe. The word is a name, a name of a place. Each time that word is used in a song, magical ley lines shift toward that place.

And soon enough, Memphis would be the crossroads of all magic in the world.

Memphis Note
Memphis is the most named checked city in music. Seriously. Now imagine if some one was doing that on purpose.