Spark in Darkness #47 - back to the plot.
Apr. 6th, 2004 04:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessI'm getting back on track. I don't like this one, because I kept topping and starting it hits me as disjointed, plus I seem to utterly loose Rick, I've been doing that for a while now. I'll have to prod him a bit, because he's fighting me every step.
Picking up from the memories - which I promise to sort out any day now.
Well, it doesn’t look very mystical on the outside. But then, that’s a good sign. You show me a place with a pentacle on every door, stars, moons, and so many runes carved into the woodwork it looks like it has been attacked by a mad whittler and I’ll show you someone who doesn’t have nearly as much talent as they think they have.
A second look confirmed it was a three storey coffee shop. One of these days I’m going to ask Rick what he loves more, me or caffeine. Or maybe not, I’m not sure what his answer would be.
Inside, the room looks fairly typical, and very comfortable. Instead of those wretched plastic chairs you get in most establishments which are little more than implements of slow torture designed to make sure people eat and drink up then get out as soon as possible, there are mismatched big squashy arm chairs, a bit ragged but comfortable all the same. The occasional bean bag is pulled up between the tables which seem to be actually made of wood. A few people are gathered around various tables, potted plants and oriental screens giving each group the illusion of privacy. The place is nearly empty, though I can hear more voices upstairs. Then again, it is midweek and quite early. At least by Rick’s standards.
Rick leads the way to one group, two people sprawled on a settee, one sunk into a bean bag and another slowly sinking into an old armchair. The pair on the settee look like a couple - he is tall, a little lanky and wearing low slung jeans and layers of t-shirts and shirts. She is only a little shorter, wearing a little too much black, which does nothing for her colouring and seems to be overly fond of silver jewellery. Her long black hair mingles with his short brown for a surprisingly good effect. I aren’t sure, but by their faces, I believe they genuinely care for each other. Or maybe the relationship is newly minted, buoyed by childish fantasies and untouched by harsh reality.
The girl on the bean bag has violently dyed hair - yellow, green, and blue in stripes and whorls. Her black skin seemes all the darker under her bright pink tank top. Her jeans look like they are designed for someone three times her size. She seem to have a flute stuck in her belt, and a pair of small bongo drums lie on the floor beside her. She has a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes that remind me strongly of Rick. The last person in the group seems to be fighting a loosing battle against being eaten by the arm chair. She is Asian, dainty and petite. Her hair is cut short and looks very professional, but her face is one designed for bright smiles and carefree laughter. I always envy faces like that. There is a very large bag covered in badges and pockets besides her chair. Her clothes seem to be designed for functionality, with an incredible amount of pockets in every conceivable place.
I wonder if we are going to join them. Rick has stopped two tables away from them and is staring at another of the shop’s inhabitants. I follow his gaze and try to stifle my amusement. A dread figure indeed. The man looks like he is trying to emulate Marilyn Manson, an attempt somewhat ruined by his certainly rather heavy carriage. He has caked so much pale make up on his normally tanned face that it has cracked in places. He is wearing so much eye shadow that it looks like he has recently been in a fight. And lost. He is also clad in layers of black, and even wears a cloak! All of his clothing seems to be adorned with poorly drawn runes. I interpret a few of them, and can’t help but smile. All are of a dark aspect, but the way some of them are aligned meant that should he ever empower them (assuming he was capable) he would probably kill himself. If he were lucky. Lord and Lady protect us from fools.
I can’t understand Rick’s reaction. Surely this fool was no threat? I examined him further, and felt it. Just brushing the back of my neck, something dark and menacing. A feeling I was somewhat insulated against by the wards I wore, wards against evil and darkness meant to keep my powers in check. Powers that felt some vague kinship with the man in black. I narrowed my eyes and tried to look within, slipping some of my power past my wards. It was disturbing how good I was getting at that, it was defeating the very purpose of the wards in the first place. The pain of their burning was fleeting, and too familiar now to cause me any great discomfort.
Yes. He was similar. Not a Sorcerer. I knew that, Clan Camaalis would have long since hunted him down if he was... No, but a practitioner of the Dark Arts nonetheless. A Shadow Touched? Perhaps... they were similar to Sorcerers in many ways, their powers all but the same, except where a Sorcerer plumbed to the blackest depths, one of the Shadow Touched merely danced in the shallows. The Shadow Touched were not so dangerous or powerful as Sorcerers, not by a long stretch, but the ‘lesser’ edge of their powers meant they could apply it to other arts - rune casting, ritual and alchemy, far more easily. Still there was something... more.... I loosed some more of my power, pushing it through my wards, feeling the sudden intense burn of their rebuke. The party at the table turned in surprise. At least they were genuine talents, and quite sensitive as well... I was impressed. Rick turned and looked at me in surprise... the man in black?
I gritted my teeth, felt my face twist into a snarl. My power surged forwards in outrage, demanding I confront this challenger and bend him to my will or destroy him. Practioners of the dark Arts never played well together. And this one was more.. Daemon Sworn. Daemon Vessel. I fought not to destroy the wretch where he sat.
I was an Infernalist. I called daemons, I rode them, I summoned them, I controlled them. I used their powers, struck bargains and made pacts. I could use them and command them in a hundred ways. The Daemon Sworn were different. They were slaves to the Infernal, they gave of their will and freedom in exchange for power. They weren’t a simple human exploiting the powers of the Infernal. They were the Infernal exploiting humanity. The Daemon Vessel even allowed a daemon to occupy them, possess them and ride with them always. They gave power, but they took everything and demanded utter slavery from their hosts.
The man had felt my power, probably better than any in the room, and recognised the kinship of it. He grinned and raised his cup in toast to me. I ignored him and turned my back, walking towards the group I had seen on entering, leaving Rick to hurriedly catch me up.
“Like to tell me what that was about?” I looked at him, I knew my face was set and cold, trying to hide the fury within. My wards still gleamed, their glow hidden by my gloves and shirt, but the one in my hair cast shadows around the room.
“Avoid that man. He is dangerous. A dangerous fool, but dangerous nonetheless. By rights I should destroy him now, or report him to my family.”
“Because he uses Dark Magic? Isn’t that a little... hypocritical or something?” I glared at him. “Don't look at me like that. C’mon you’re a...”
“I am not like him. Not by any stretch. Trust me on this Rick, he is dangerous. I don’t know if you are his friend or enemy, but avoid him at all costs - or at least ensure I am also present.”
He looked offended. “I can look after myself. I don’t need you as a baby sitter. I got my own power, remember?”
“I know you have your own power!” I hissed, frustrated, “But there are types of power. Please... trust me?” The last was practically begging. I did not want Rick facing the Demon Sworn alone. I don’t think I could stand it.
He looked at me for a while, before nodding. He didn’t have time for more because we’d finally arrived at the table. He gave them all that wonderful smile of his, all the better for how free he was with it.
“Hi guys. Long time, no see!”
The girl... no woman, she was young but had a confident air about here that demanded ‘woman’ in the arm chair smiled back “It’s been an age, Rick. Where’ve you been hiding?”
The black girl on the bean bag gave a throaty chuckle, her eyes roaming over me. “I think I can guess. Damn, Rick, you have good taste and the best luck!” I raised my eyebrows at her, causing her smile to widen further.
“Ok, introductions,” Rick grinned at her, “but you’re not to try and steal him off me. The nymphomaniac on the bean bag is Mia,”
“That’s Ms Nymphomaniac, thank you!”
“Misha’s the girl falling down the back of the chair...” She nodded and pulled herself free of its grasp to perch on the edge. “The happy couple is Zara,” I didn’t smile at all. I am very proud of that. “And Eric.” They both sat up to say hello. “Everyone, this is Darren, my new squeeze.” I furnished him with a withering stare. As ever it seemed to flow off him easily as he dragged me to the counter to collect a round of coffee and return to a settee opposite Zara’s and Eric’s.
“You been keeping him busy, Darren?” Mia grinned, “he been too tired to get out and about lately?”
There were three ways to react to such words. You could become embarrassed, but Clan Camaalis is never embarrassed, rudely ignore it, but Clan Camaalis is never rude - or play along. “I’ve been ensuring that he puts his energy to... productive purposes, yes.” I allowed a slow smile to stretch over the mask of my face. She laughed appreciatively.
“Darren’s enough to tire anyone out.” Rick pulled me closer to him, his strong arms allowing no argument. Not that I was going to raise one, though I am not overly fond of public displays of affection. “I think he’s the first magic user boyfriend I’ve ever had as well. My family will be scandalised!” Everyone seemed to regard this as a good thing.
“Another magic talent in the city? Always a good thing!” Zara purred happily. She had a rich, deep rolling voice with a slight trace of a foreign accent. I wondered if it were real... “We’re all spellcasters here. More or less. I’m a medium.” Interesting, I mentally logged all the possible supplies she could need or want for future reference. Some people believed that the magic of a Medium was one of the Weakening Arts. As magic left the world many people manifested magical talents which were little more than shadows of what they once were. The Shadow Touched were the Weakened versions of Sorcerers. Mediums were Weakened Necromancers. I wasn’t so sure. The Weaker arts seemed to have strengths their more powerful brethren lacked. In her case - a Necromancer may command the powers and forces of death and the Netherworld, but a Medium could befriend them and receive their freely given co-operation. not something to be underestimated.
She gestured with her cup to Eric, sat next to her. “Eric has been gifted with the powers of the runes. Especially those of the Norsemen.”
“A Spae-crafter.” Eric looked a little surprised. I smiled reassuringly and started another mental catalogue of various books and tools no Spae-crafter should be without.
“Mia’s music has magic in it,” that was actually quite a rare talent; the power of Mystic Voice, though it did not have to manifest through singing. “Misha there brews potions. I don’t know what you would call it, Alchemist? Herbalist? Her potions can perform near miracles.” Actually, it was hard to pin down potion makers since every craft had it’s own elixirs and potions. Well most anyway. Some crafts were dedicated entirely to them, like Alchemists and Herbalists. I think the two arts mix together very well, if you have magical talent in one you can probably manage the other, or at least understand the principals enough to get round any shortfalls you may have. More to the point, a potion brewer had a high demand for mystical components and tools.
“And I am a Sorcerer!” I looked up, startled. I hadn’t noticed the Demon Sworn approach. Still, I managed to hide it better than the others round the table.
“Who asked you, Marcus?” Eric hissed between clenched teeth, one had moving protectively over Zara.
“I see a new magic user in town. I’m not going to let you get a monopoly on him. I thought he’d like to meet someone with some real power, not just kids playing games.”
I could feel the tension round the table thicken, I wondered if they were going to burst his arrogant bubble... a small voice in the back of my mind wonders if they can. Regardless, I know I can.
His eyes widen, outraged as I laugh in his face. It wasn’t fake, not really, it was funny to see this fool with his self-destructive runes and his idiotic service to the Infernal claim to know the meaning of real power. The others, even Rick, looked at me in astonishment.
“You think you know about real power? You claim to be a Sorcerer, Shadow Touched? Oh, that is too amusing!” I fell in laughter again, letting just a tiny amount of my power leak past the wards into my voice. I felt, rather than saw him wince. It pleased me, I wanted this daemonic thrall to hurt. “Go crawling back to your master, Marcus. You’re out of your league here.”
His outrage was truly comical. Almost as much as his gathering of power. Oh, he was powerful - the daemons had ensured that if nothing else. But it was like watching a child swing a sledgehammer, it was too big and too clumsy for him to use. Or an old man using a powerful computer, the potential was there, he just had no idea how to use it. He should’ve traded some of the power for knowledge from the daemon, if he was fool enough to enter these pacts in the first place.
He unleashed the power against me, a bolt of pure dark magic that raised the hairs of every magic user there. I sat, perfectly at ease. Utterly unconcerned. The first bolt hit my wards, which flared briefly before utterly absorbing the power. They were made to withstand far worse forces than he could call. For the second bolt, I used my own power to breach a hole through the wards, burying the pain of it in my rising vicious satisfaction at my sheer superiority over this fool. The bolt hit me square, utterly unprotected. And was absorbed and overwhelmed by my power. You cannot defeat the ocean by throwing water at it.
I looked up and met his wide, shocked eyes. I knew my eyes had fallen into pools of rolling darkness, dusted slightly with distant stars of unknown worlds. My turn. Holding the hole in the wards open I reached out with my own power. not pure Sorcery, no, Sorcery mixed with my infernal mastery. It his him full on, invisible to all, sensed only as a dark terror in the back of the animal mind. It hit his bond, his oaths and the Daemon that rode his body like some vile spiritual parasite. I felt it scream silently in agony. Felt a shard of it’s terror as it realised what it faced.
He staggered, his Daemon patron pulling back in shock, denying him it’s power while it reeled. I turned my power to him, to the runes he wore in a cloak of stupidity. At a touch of my power, the rune of enfeeblement and helpless weakness emblazoned on his chest came to life in a gleam of dark light and purple energy.. It took next to no power, just activating the power of the symbol he had helpfully pasted to be used against his own flesh. He fell to the his knees, crashing to the floor as his body became too heavy for his feeble muscles to lift. His breathing became laboured, haggard as he tried to force air into his dilapidated lungs. I rose to move over him, kneeling next to the struggling fool.
“I hold the true powers of the darkness. I am it’s lord, it’s master. The powers you dabble with are mine to command. Even the master you have enslaved yourself to trembles at my presence. Do not come against me again. Clan Camaalis gives no second warnings, and I rarely allow even one. Do you understand?” He struggled to breath. “Just nod.” He nodded, spasmodically. “Good.”
I returned to my seat. Rick nudged me. I looked at him, a little confused. he gestured towards the fallen Daemon Sworn. I sighed pointedly, Rick really was too soft to exist in the magical world, I thought. I released the rune that was slowly killing the fool and let him scurry out of the shop. It was against my better judgement, but I value Rick’s sensibilities more. My eyes remain glued to the exit. I can’t help but think that no act of mercy goes unpunished.
“Clan Camaalis? Whoa, that’s some serious power there. When did the Clan get in town?” Mia sounded worried, Clan Camaalis was too powerful for unaffiliated magic uses to resist. We were regarded, in many ways, like the medieval church. Something vast an powerful worthy of respect and reverence, but at the same time more than a little feared.
“It’s Ok, Mia, he’s not part of any main action or anything.” Rick had never been afraid of the Clan. I wondered if it were ignorance or sheer reckless, Rick. Probably both. “He’s actually going to set up a magic shop here, since he’s got all the Camaalis know how and suppliers and stuff.”
Misha leapt on that casual comment, almost spilling her coffee. “The Camaalis suppliers? Their books? Their knowledge? Really?” I smiled, at least there was one here who recognised what I was offering.
“Not all. I don’t have access to all... but yes, certainly sufficient.” Eric and Misha both looked extremely pleased with the news. The seeds were sown, the word would spread.
“Why?” Zara was a lot less gullible than she looked. “Why should Clan Camaalis finally give up what they’ve horded for so long? Why weaken themselves like that?”
Mi shifted, “I also want to know what that crap was you threw at Marcus. He’s a bastard, but I’ve never seen him that scared before.”
I trod round the questions, like a man surrounded by quick sand. “First, Camaalis won’t be weakened by this... I do not wish to offend anyone, but magic is fading,” A shudder passed through everyone round the table. Magic is fading... “Even if Clan Camaalis gave up every last scrap of knowledge we had, gave up all our secrets, gave up all our supplies and treasures, and I say again, that I’m not, there would still be no-one powerful enough to challenge us.” Skirting the truth. There would be no ONE person capable of challenging us... but more than one magical organisation which would give us cause to worry. “Perhaps we wish to preserve what magic is left... and if that means sharing our knowledge, it is a small price to pay.” Everyone drained their coffee, trying to avoid their thoughts, I’m sure. No-one liked to think about the decline.
“And what you did to Marcus?” I think Mia was trying to change the subject as much as anything.
I grinned. “Marcus appears to be a man of great intentions, loud words and no actual foundations. He’s all talk.” A brief round of laughter. More forced than anything. “He’s not a Sorcerer, believe me, no matter how much he wishes he was. And he knows as much about those self-destructive runes he wraps himself in as Rick knows about basic fashion sense.”
Rick spluttered in protest and started trying to defend his wardrobe before the suddenly judging crowd, while I rose to get another round of coffee.
The seeds were sown, I think the business will be a great success. I wish I could be happier about it, but in the back of my thoughts the feel of a daemonic mind dances. The face of an idiot who has opened his soul to things beyond his comprehension darts at the edge of my sight. I do not need another enemy.
Picking up from the memories - which I promise to sort out any day now.
Well, it doesn’t look very mystical on the outside. But then, that’s a good sign. You show me a place with a pentacle on every door, stars, moons, and so many runes carved into the woodwork it looks like it has been attacked by a mad whittler and I’ll show you someone who doesn’t have nearly as much talent as they think they have.
A second look confirmed it was a three storey coffee shop. One of these days I’m going to ask Rick what he loves more, me or caffeine. Or maybe not, I’m not sure what his answer would be.
Inside, the room looks fairly typical, and very comfortable. Instead of those wretched plastic chairs you get in most establishments which are little more than implements of slow torture designed to make sure people eat and drink up then get out as soon as possible, there are mismatched big squashy arm chairs, a bit ragged but comfortable all the same. The occasional bean bag is pulled up between the tables which seem to be actually made of wood. A few people are gathered around various tables, potted plants and oriental screens giving each group the illusion of privacy. The place is nearly empty, though I can hear more voices upstairs. Then again, it is midweek and quite early. At least by Rick’s standards.
Rick leads the way to one group, two people sprawled on a settee, one sunk into a bean bag and another slowly sinking into an old armchair. The pair on the settee look like a couple - he is tall, a little lanky and wearing low slung jeans and layers of t-shirts and shirts. She is only a little shorter, wearing a little too much black, which does nothing for her colouring and seems to be overly fond of silver jewellery. Her long black hair mingles with his short brown for a surprisingly good effect. I aren’t sure, but by their faces, I believe they genuinely care for each other. Or maybe the relationship is newly minted, buoyed by childish fantasies and untouched by harsh reality.
The girl on the bean bag has violently dyed hair - yellow, green, and blue in stripes and whorls. Her black skin seemes all the darker under her bright pink tank top. Her jeans look like they are designed for someone three times her size. She seem to have a flute stuck in her belt, and a pair of small bongo drums lie on the floor beside her. She has a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes that remind me strongly of Rick. The last person in the group seems to be fighting a loosing battle against being eaten by the arm chair. She is Asian, dainty and petite. Her hair is cut short and looks very professional, but her face is one designed for bright smiles and carefree laughter. I always envy faces like that. There is a very large bag covered in badges and pockets besides her chair. Her clothes seem to be designed for functionality, with an incredible amount of pockets in every conceivable place.
I wonder if we are going to join them. Rick has stopped two tables away from them and is staring at another of the shop’s inhabitants. I follow his gaze and try to stifle my amusement. A dread figure indeed. The man looks like he is trying to emulate Marilyn Manson, an attempt somewhat ruined by his certainly rather heavy carriage. He has caked so much pale make up on his normally tanned face that it has cracked in places. He is wearing so much eye shadow that it looks like he has recently been in a fight. And lost. He is also clad in layers of black, and even wears a cloak! All of his clothing seems to be adorned with poorly drawn runes. I interpret a few of them, and can’t help but smile. All are of a dark aspect, but the way some of them are aligned meant that should he ever empower them (assuming he was capable) he would probably kill himself. If he were lucky. Lord and Lady protect us from fools.
I can’t understand Rick’s reaction. Surely this fool was no threat? I examined him further, and felt it. Just brushing the back of my neck, something dark and menacing. A feeling I was somewhat insulated against by the wards I wore, wards against evil and darkness meant to keep my powers in check. Powers that felt some vague kinship with the man in black. I narrowed my eyes and tried to look within, slipping some of my power past my wards. It was disturbing how good I was getting at that, it was defeating the very purpose of the wards in the first place. The pain of their burning was fleeting, and too familiar now to cause me any great discomfort.
Yes. He was similar. Not a Sorcerer. I knew that, Clan Camaalis would have long since hunted him down if he was... No, but a practitioner of the Dark Arts nonetheless. A Shadow Touched? Perhaps... they were similar to Sorcerers in many ways, their powers all but the same, except where a Sorcerer plumbed to the blackest depths, one of the Shadow Touched merely danced in the shallows. The Shadow Touched were not so dangerous or powerful as Sorcerers, not by a long stretch, but the ‘lesser’ edge of their powers meant they could apply it to other arts - rune casting, ritual and alchemy, far more easily. Still there was something... more.... I loosed some more of my power, pushing it through my wards, feeling the sudden intense burn of their rebuke. The party at the table turned in surprise. At least they were genuine talents, and quite sensitive as well... I was impressed. Rick turned and looked at me in surprise... the man in black?
I gritted my teeth, felt my face twist into a snarl. My power surged forwards in outrage, demanding I confront this challenger and bend him to my will or destroy him. Practioners of the dark Arts never played well together. And this one was more.. Daemon Sworn. Daemon Vessel. I fought not to destroy the wretch where he sat.
I was an Infernalist. I called daemons, I rode them, I summoned them, I controlled them. I used their powers, struck bargains and made pacts. I could use them and command them in a hundred ways. The Daemon Sworn were different. They were slaves to the Infernal, they gave of their will and freedom in exchange for power. They weren’t a simple human exploiting the powers of the Infernal. They were the Infernal exploiting humanity. The Daemon Vessel even allowed a daemon to occupy them, possess them and ride with them always. They gave power, but they took everything and demanded utter slavery from their hosts.
The man had felt my power, probably better than any in the room, and recognised the kinship of it. He grinned and raised his cup in toast to me. I ignored him and turned my back, walking towards the group I had seen on entering, leaving Rick to hurriedly catch me up.
“Like to tell me what that was about?” I looked at him, I knew my face was set and cold, trying to hide the fury within. My wards still gleamed, their glow hidden by my gloves and shirt, but the one in my hair cast shadows around the room.
“Avoid that man. He is dangerous. A dangerous fool, but dangerous nonetheless. By rights I should destroy him now, or report him to my family.”
“Because he uses Dark Magic? Isn’t that a little... hypocritical or something?” I glared at him. “Don't look at me like that. C’mon you’re a...”
“I am not like him. Not by any stretch. Trust me on this Rick, he is dangerous. I don’t know if you are his friend or enemy, but avoid him at all costs - or at least ensure I am also present.”
He looked offended. “I can look after myself. I don’t need you as a baby sitter. I got my own power, remember?”
“I know you have your own power!” I hissed, frustrated, “But there are types of power. Please... trust me?” The last was practically begging. I did not want Rick facing the Demon Sworn alone. I don’t think I could stand it.
He looked at me for a while, before nodding. He didn’t have time for more because we’d finally arrived at the table. He gave them all that wonderful smile of his, all the better for how free he was with it.
“Hi guys. Long time, no see!”
The girl... no woman, she was young but had a confident air about here that demanded ‘woman’ in the arm chair smiled back “It’s been an age, Rick. Where’ve you been hiding?”
The black girl on the bean bag gave a throaty chuckle, her eyes roaming over me. “I think I can guess. Damn, Rick, you have good taste and the best luck!” I raised my eyebrows at her, causing her smile to widen further.
“Ok, introductions,” Rick grinned at her, “but you’re not to try and steal him off me. The nymphomaniac on the bean bag is Mia,”
“That’s Ms Nymphomaniac, thank you!”
“Misha’s the girl falling down the back of the chair...” She nodded and pulled herself free of its grasp to perch on the edge. “The happy couple is Zara,” I didn’t smile at all. I am very proud of that. “And Eric.” They both sat up to say hello. “Everyone, this is Darren, my new squeeze.” I furnished him with a withering stare. As ever it seemed to flow off him easily as he dragged me to the counter to collect a round of coffee and return to a settee opposite Zara’s and Eric’s.
“You been keeping him busy, Darren?” Mia grinned, “he been too tired to get out and about lately?”
There were three ways to react to such words. You could become embarrassed, but Clan Camaalis is never embarrassed, rudely ignore it, but Clan Camaalis is never rude - or play along. “I’ve been ensuring that he puts his energy to... productive purposes, yes.” I allowed a slow smile to stretch over the mask of my face. She laughed appreciatively.
“Darren’s enough to tire anyone out.” Rick pulled me closer to him, his strong arms allowing no argument. Not that I was going to raise one, though I am not overly fond of public displays of affection. “I think he’s the first magic user boyfriend I’ve ever had as well. My family will be scandalised!” Everyone seemed to regard this as a good thing.
“Another magic talent in the city? Always a good thing!” Zara purred happily. She had a rich, deep rolling voice with a slight trace of a foreign accent. I wondered if it were real... “We’re all spellcasters here. More or less. I’m a medium.” Interesting, I mentally logged all the possible supplies she could need or want for future reference. Some people believed that the magic of a Medium was one of the Weakening Arts. As magic left the world many people manifested magical talents which were little more than shadows of what they once were. The Shadow Touched were the Weakened versions of Sorcerers. Mediums were Weakened Necromancers. I wasn’t so sure. The Weaker arts seemed to have strengths their more powerful brethren lacked. In her case - a Necromancer may command the powers and forces of death and the Netherworld, but a Medium could befriend them and receive their freely given co-operation. not something to be underestimated.
She gestured with her cup to Eric, sat next to her. “Eric has been gifted with the powers of the runes. Especially those of the Norsemen.”
“A Spae-crafter.” Eric looked a little surprised. I smiled reassuringly and started another mental catalogue of various books and tools no Spae-crafter should be without.
“Mia’s music has magic in it,” that was actually quite a rare talent; the power of Mystic Voice, though it did not have to manifest through singing. “Misha there brews potions. I don’t know what you would call it, Alchemist? Herbalist? Her potions can perform near miracles.” Actually, it was hard to pin down potion makers since every craft had it’s own elixirs and potions. Well most anyway. Some crafts were dedicated entirely to them, like Alchemists and Herbalists. I think the two arts mix together very well, if you have magical talent in one you can probably manage the other, or at least understand the principals enough to get round any shortfalls you may have. More to the point, a potion brewer had a high demand for mystical components and tools.
“And I am a Sorcerer!” I looked up, startled. I hadn’t noticed the Demon Sworn approach. Still, I managed to hide it better than the others round the table.
“Who asked you, Marcus?” Eric hissed between clenched teeth, one had moving protectively over Zara.
“I see a new magic user in town. I’m not going to let you get a monopoly on him. I thought he’d like to meet someone with some real power, not just kids playing games.”
I could feel the tension round the table thicken, I wondered if they were going to burst his arrogant bubble... a small voice in the back of my mind wonders if they can. Regardless, I know I can.
His eyes widen, outraged as I laugh in his face. It wasn’t fake, not really, it was funny to see this fool with his self-destructive runes and his idiotic service to the Infernal claim to know the meaning of real power. The others, even Rick, looked at me in astonishment.
“You think you know about real power? You claim to be a Sorcerer, Shadow Touched? Oh, that is too amusing!” I fell in laughter again, letting just a tiny amount of my power leak past the wards into my voice. I felt, rather than saw him wince. It pleased me, I wanted this daemonic thrall to hurt. “Go crawling back to your master, Marcus. You’re out of your league here.”
His outrage was truly comical. Almost as much as his gathering of power. Oh, he was powerful - the daemons had ensured that if nothing else. But it was like watching a child swing a sledgehammer, it was too big and too clumsy for him to use. Or an old man using a powerful computer, the potential was there, he just had no idea how to use it. He should’ve traded some of the power for knowledge from the daemon, if he was fool enough to enter these pacts in the first place.
He unleashed the power against me, a bolt of pure dark magic that raised the hairs of every magic user there. I sat, perfectly at ease. Utterly unconcerned. The first bolt hit my wards, which flared briefly before utterly absorbing the power. They were made to withstand far worse forces than he could call. For the second bolt, I used my own power to breach a hole through the wards, burying the pain of it in my rising vicious satisfaction at my sheer superiority over this fool. The bolt hit me square, utterly unprotected. And was absorbed and overwhelmed by my power. You cannot defeat the ocean by throwing water at it.
I looked up and met his wide, shocked eyes. I knew my eyes had fallen into pools of rolling darkness, dusted slightly with distant stars of unknown worlds. My turn. Holding the hole in the wards open I reached out with my own power. not pure Sorcery, no, Sorcery mixed with my infernal mastery. It his him full on, invisible to all, sensed only as a dark terror in the back of the animal mind. It hit his bond, his oaths and the Daemon that rode his body like some vile spiritual parasite. I felt it scream silently in agony. Felt a shard of it’s terror as it realised what it faced.
He staggered, his Daemon patron pulling back in shock, denying him it’s power while it reeled. I turned my power to him, to the runes he wore in a cloak of stupidity. At a touch of my power, the rune of enfeeblement and helpless weakness emblazoned on his chest came to life in a gleam of dark light and purple energy.. It took next to no power, just activating the power of the symbol he had helpfully pasted to be used against his own flesh. He fell to the his knees, crashing to the floor as his body became too heavy for his feeble muscles to lift. His breathing became laboured, haggard as he tried to force air into his dilapidated lungs. I rose to move over him, kneeling next to the struggling fool.
“I hold the true powers of the darkness. I am it’s lord, it’s master. The powers you dabble with are mine to command. Even the master you have enslaved yourself to trembles at my presence. Do not come against me again. Clan Camaalis gives no second warnings, and I rarely allow even one. Do you understand?” He struggled to breath. “Just nod.” He nodded, spasmodically. “Good.”
I returned to my seat. Rick nudged me. I looked at him, a little confused. he gestured towards the fallen Daemon Sworn. I sighed pointedly, Rick really was too soft to exist in the magical world, I thought. I released the rune that was slowly killing the fool and let him scurry out of the shop. It was against my better judgement, but I value Rick’s sensibilities more. My eyes remain glued to the exit. I can’t help but think that no act of mercy goes unpunished.
“Clan Camaalis? Whoa, that’s some serious power there. When did the Clan get in town?” Mia sounded worried, Clan Camaalis was too powerful for unaffiliated magic uses to resist. We were regarded, in many ways, like the medieval church. Something vast an powerful worthy of respect and reverence, but at the same time more than a little feared.
“It’s Ok, Mia, he’s not part of any main action or anything.” Rick had never been afraid of the Clan. I wondered if it were ignorance or sheer reckless, Rick. Probably both. “He’s actually going to set up a magic shop here, since he’s got all the Camaalis know how and suppliers and stuff.”
Misha leapt on that casual comment, almost spilling her coffee. “The Camaalis suppliers? Their books? Their knowledge? Really?” I smiled, at least there was one here who recognised what I was offering.
“Not all. I don’t have access to all... but yes, certainly sufficient.” Eric and Misha both looked extremely pleased with the news. The seeds were sown, the word would spread.
“Why?” Zara was a lot less gullible than she looked. “Why should Clan Camaalis finally give up what they’ve horded for so long? Why weaken themselves like that?”
Mi shifted, “I also want to know what that crap was you threw at Marcus. He’s a bastard, but I’ve never seen him that scared before.”
I trod round the questions, like a man surrounded by quick sand. “First, Camaalis won’t be weakened by this... I do not wish to offend anyone, but magic is fading,” A shudder passed through everyone round the table. Magic is fading... “Even if Clan Camaalis gave up every last scrap of knowledge we had, gave up all our secrets, gave up all our supplies and treasures, and I say again, that I’m not, there would still be no-one powerful enough to challenge us.” Skirting the truth. There would be no ONE person capable of challenging us... but more than one magical organisation which would give us cause to worry. “Perhaps we wish to preserve what magic is left... and if that means sharing our knowledge, it is a small price to pay.” Everyone drained their coffee, trying to avoid their thoughts, I’m sure. No-one liked to think about the decline.
“And what you did to Marcus?” I think Mia was trying to change the subject as much as anything.
I grinned. “Marcus appears to be a man of great intentions, loud words and no actual foundations. He’s all talk.” A brief round of laughter. More forced than anything. “He’s not a Sorcerer, believe me, no matter how much he wishes he was. And he knows as much about those self-destructive runes he wraps himself in as Rick knows about basic fashion sense.”
Rick spluttered in protest and started trying to defend his wardrobe before the suddenly judging crowd, while I rose to get another round of coffee.
The seeds were sown, I think the business will be a great success. I wish I could be happier about it, but in the back of my thoughts the feel of a daemonic mind dances. The face of an idiot who has opened his soul to things beyond his comprehension darts at the edge of my sight. I do not need another enemy.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-06 05:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-07 11:39 am (UTC)I think making an idiot squrim in pain should be an olympic sport. There are so many candidates out there!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-06 06:09 pm (UTC)This one was just lots of fun. And I do like the way Darren delt with Marcus.
(There seems to be a problem with wandering verb tenses. Just pointing it out.)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-07 11:47 am (UTC)Verb tenses! Aregh, thank you, I'll go through it. I'm terirble at very tenses in the first person.