Sparkindarkness 70 - recovery
Jul. 19th, 2005 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessMainly tying up bits and pieces. Recovery and life returns...
Making it back to the rift was surprisingly uneventful - but then, with two powerful shamans accompanying us and making sure the journey was uneventful I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe it’s because I still have trouble thinking of Rick as powerful - was I that steeped in Camaalis prejudice? Probably.
I think my smiting that spirit with waves of Sorcerous destruction may have helped. There is a limit to how much justice a person can stand. Thankfully the display also distracted my erstwhile relatives and ensured that Rick and I could concentrate on each other more. Not that I think we were capable of being distracted at that point. Was it a sign of deep personal insecurity that I missed him so badly after only a week apart? Especially since I spent much of that week rather oblivious? A question for another time. All questions can be for another time. Now is for basking in Rick’s arms, not for thinking.
“So… how come you aren’t dead?” except, of course, questions Rick asks.
“I’m a Necromancer.” I buried my face in his chest, closing my eyes for a little while, trusting him to guide my feet. I was dreadfully tired.
“Yes, I know, but that doesn’t explain why you’re still breathing.” I muttered something in response, even to my own ears it was unintelligible.
“Necromancers are hard to kill,” Nikolai answered for me, he didn’t sound nearly as tired. He sounded almost fresh - it was obscene. But then, he hadn’t come back from the dead recently.
“He was staked through the heart. Shouldn’t he be dust or something?” Rick asked. I opened my eyes and gave him a cold glare, his grin never slipped. I gave up and nuzzled against his neck instead, He ran a gentle hand through my hair - I took it as my cue to sink my teeth into his neck, not letting up until he yelped and tried to prise me away. I settled back into his chest, satisfied.
Liam chuckled behind us. “You can kill a Necromancer, but if you haven’t done enough damage or if they have enough magic or have prepared a ritual or even want it bad enough, they can usually crawl from the grave again. They’re almost as bad as powerful Life Mages, it really takes pretty powerful magic to actually kill one and make it stay dead.”
“So you’re immortal then?” Rick shook me, gently, I nuzzled closer, letting him carry some of my weight. “Y’think you could have actually let me know before your near death encounter? A little ‘by the way, don’t worry if I drop dead, put the kettle on I’ll be back before dinner’ or something?”
I grumbled sleepily. “I didn’t know if I could do it. It’s difficult, painful, tiring and generally horrible.”
I think Rick asked some more questions, but he was holding more and more of my weight, though I bet he was pretty tired himself, and sleep was just pulling me under.
Coming back from the dead was more than tiring, it was utterly exhausting. Normally you couldn’t use magic or do anything physically active for weeks after something like that - I’ve been going on daemon energy alone for far too long… but it shouldn‘t leave me this tired...
I woke up blearily. My head felt like it was packed with cotton wool, my eyes seemed to have been gummed up over night… or day, since there seemed to be a stream of obscenely bright sunlight pouring through the window and completely inadequate curtains. Was this what Rick felt like very morning? I half resolved to be more sympathetic in future… well, for as long as I remembered.
There was a heavy weight on my legs. I tried to sit up to see what it was but moving seemed too hard, the sheets above me pressed me down into the bed as if they were made of sheet metal rather than silk. My muscles just weren’t working right, now my head was clear I could feel a dull ache throbbing through them. It was bearable, I’d survived worse, but it seemed to rob me of all strength. I glared irritably at the ceiling and reached out with my power to the Infernal Realms. My vision ran in spots, my head screamed pain at me, I started to pant with effort, the void between realms seemed impossibly far - surely it had always been so close that a mere thought would cross the veil? I collapsed back on the bed, exhausted and powerless.
The weight on my legs moved to my head. I cracked open my eyes again to see Ahrimadan’s yellow eyes mere inches from mine. It says how strange my life is that I find the presence of a daemon possessed cat comforting. I tried to life a hand to scratch the familiar behind his ears but couldn’t seem to life my own weight, let alone the sheet that pinned it.
“Lord and Lady, I’m weak. Am I ill?” Even my voice was weak, shaking like an old man’s.
“Nay, Master Darren. Thou didst cross life’s threshold and return. ‘Tis a great feet that hath taxed thee sorely - taxed thee more that thou didst call upon mine infernal brethren. Thou hath… overextended yourself.” Ahrimadan sounded almost relieved.
I groaned. Brownout - that’s what young Camaalis called it. Some spells or magic just pushed a talent too far - took your power to it’s limit and beyond and you could Brownout - or have Dimmed, as the older ones called it. It generally left you physically exhausted and unable to use your magic for a couple of weeks while your system got used to the shock. It seemed self-resurrection was the limit of my talents - I should have collapsed within an hour of crawling from my grave - probably would have if it weren’t for me pushing Infernalism to the limit as well.
A sudden wash of panic overcome me. I’d had a Brownout. I was helpless… and there were two Camaalis in the city. My enemies were here and I had no magic.
“Thy Sorcery shouldst still work. Thou hast not pushed beyond thy limits there.” Ahrimadan tried to reassure me.
“No. Sorcery is of the Self. Third Power. I’m too damn physically tired to use it.” I sighed, trying to burrow deeper in the covers.
“Third power? As opposed to second or first? What’s that about?” Rick asked as he sauntered into the room, trying to hide the worry in his eyes.
“Camaalis secrets.” I croaked, irritably. “And you still haven’t shaved; if you‘re planning on growing a beard I will attack you with blades.”
“I’ll shave if you tell me about this Third power thing.” He leaned over me to kiss me - and rub one stubbly cheek against mine. I winced but didn’t pull away.
“No, that is a Camaalis secret.” Nikolai said sharply, nearly running into the room; my paranoia swooped to all new heights. “And we have important business before you two waste time… getting reacquainted.”
I groaned. “I’m in the middle of two horrendous Brownouts. Whatever desperate fate Liam has seen befalling the world will just have to wait.”
“At the minute I am more concerned with a certain bespelled knife wound," he insisted.
“Oh.” I cringed a little, not really something I should forget. “My apologies." I reached out to my Sorcery. My body groaned, my head began to throb again - tiredness, just tiredness, I could do this. The power built, reluctantly and sluggishly, I had to fight it every step, fight to stop it overwhelming me, fight to be able to raise it at all. I laughed, a hollow, choked sound, there was a time when I had prayed for my magic to be this difficult - be careful what you wished for indeed. Finally I had enough, sweat poured from me, my breath was ragged with effort - I reached out and found the darkness clinging to Nikolai’s wound. I couldn’t cancel it, that would take more than I could manage at the minute. I seized it instead, and thrust it out of the window, away from us.
“It’s done.” I gasped, eyes closing leadenly. I barely felt Rick’s hand straightening my hair (though I felt enough to realise how clumsily he was doing it). The last thing I heard before sleep sucked me under again was Nikolai and Rick talking.
“The tree outside’s dead.” Nikolai observed.
“Shame, but on the plus side, so are all the fucking pigeons. They’ll not be waking me up in a morning any more.”
The next time I woke was better. I could think, I could see, I was alert. I checked the small NASA computer by the bed which Rick insisted was a clock - though why he would want to know the time in eighteen world capitals on waking was beyond me. I can only assume it excused his sleeping hours - after all, it was early morning somewhere when he woke up. Apparently four days had passed since I was last awake.
I felt better, still physically wrung out, but not sleepy any more. More like I’d just finished a 10 mile run and needed to sit down. I could move, but my body didn’t like it yet. Better, I could think without having to battle with thoughts moving at Rick-like slowness. I reached for my magic - Necromancy and Infernalism were both still beyond me, I didn’t really expect otherwise, but my Sorcery came back as eagerly as ever. I fell back against the pillows, wincing. I was too tired and abused to fight the wards yet.
Rick, obediently shaved and cleaned up came into the room, he must have heard me move. “You’re awake! Feeling any better?”
“Yes. I just feel half dead now.” I grimaced, it is probably best not to joke about such things when you have just risen from the grave. I touched my chest where I had been stabbed, there wasn’t even a scar any more. One of the benefits of saturating your body with Infernal energy.
“Good, because your relatives have found something new to bitch about. And my spirit guide and your familiar seem to have some kind of bet on who can drive a Camaalis mad first.” He rolled his eyes heavenwards begging for strength.
“Really? I have £20 on Ahrimadan.” I even tried a grin.
“Hah, I’ll take that - Ghost is easily three times as annoying as your cat.”
“What are they bitching about now?” I aksed with all due sense of trepidation. The problem with a family of rabid perfectionists is they could always find flaws (except when looking in the mirror, perhaps).
“Packages have arrived for your shop - no-one cancelled them after you died because… well…” Rick trailed off.
“Because you were too busy having your mental breakdown," I finished for him, helpfully.
He shrugged. “Basically, yeah.”
“And their problem is that I am using Camaalis suppliers for commercial ventures?” I couldn't stop from sighing, I didn't need this.
“Yup.”
“Help me up and I can go bitch back. Ah, it reminds me of home," I grumbled tiredly.
It was actually very much like home - the argument quickly became less about reason and more about Proving I am Right. Alright, Camaalis did have a monopoly on some of those suppliers - some of them were even Vassal Families - magical families in Britain and Eastern Europe who shared some common ancestry with Camaalis but weren’t nearly as powerful, they looked to Camaalis as ruler in the same way Barons looked to the King. As far as I was concerned, this was a good thing. We didn’t give up any of our power or knowledge and magicians in America (or over then net) became dependant on and beholden to Camaalis - always a good thing, right? I was definitely in the right here. Nikolai was raising some utterly spurious arguments about exploitation and some other foolishness - he was just being awkward now, really. I was definitely right. Hmmm, definitely?
I fell in a chair laughing. Nikolai gaped at me as if I’d gone mad. I pointed at him helplessly, unable to talk past the laughter.
“I win the wager - I hath driven a Camaalis mad first.” Ahrimadan crowed.
What? No way! Darren doesn’t count! Besides, I claim full responsibility.
When I could breathe I tried to answer Nikolai’s outraged expression. “Gods, I’ve been away from you guys for years and I’m still thinking like a Camaalis.”
“Arguing because you are RIGHT? Note the bloc capitals.” Liam remarked, grinning. “You are family, it seems. Leave over Nikolai, he’s Camaalis and autonomous.”
“Camaalis tradition?” Rick cut in quickly. “I like this, I’m learning more about your crazy people than every.”
“The guy who used Italian plumbers as guardians has no right to call anyone crazy. But yes, tradition.” I glared at Rick and made a note to interrogate him for what information he had gleaned from us. Camaalis has been known to be extremely… zealous at protecting our secrets. “So I keep my shop unmolested?”
Liam shrugged. Nikolai scowled. I took that as a yes - otherwise the nos would be very vocal. “Good, Rick get me that paperwork I put aside. I’ve got an opening to plan," I instructed quickly, already considering options.
Making it back to the rift was surprisingly uneventful - but then, with two powerful shamans accompanying us and making sure the journey was uneventful I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe it’s because I still have trouble thinking of Rick as powerful - was I that steeped in Camaalis prejudice? Probably.
I think my smiting that spirit with waves of Sorcerous destruction may have helped. There is a limit to how much justice a person can stand. Thankfully the display also distracted my erstwhile relatives and ensured that Rick and I could concentrate on each other more. Not that I think we were capable of being distracted at that point. Was it a sign of deep personal insecurity that I missed him so badly after only a week apart? Especially since I spent much of that week rather oblivious? A question for another time. All questions can be for another time. Now is for basking in Rick’s arms, not for thinking.
“So… how come you aren’t dead?” except, of course, questions Rick asks.
“I’m a Necromancer.” I buried my face in his chest, closing my eyes for a little while, trusting him to guide my feet. I was dreadfully tired.
“Yes, I know, but that doesn’t explain why you’re still breathing.” I muttered something in response, even to my own ears it was unintelligible.
“Necromancers are hard to kill,” Nikolai answered for me, he didn’t sound nearly as tired. He sounded almost fresh - it was obscene. But then, he hadn’t come back from the dead recently.
“He was staked through the heart. Shouldn’t he be dust or something?” Rick asked. I opened my eyes and gave him a cold glare, his grin never slipped. I gave up and nuzzled against his neck instead, He ran a gentle hand through my hair - I took it as my cue to sink my teeth into his neck, not letting up until he yelped and tried to prise me away. I settled back into his chest, satisfied.
Liam chuckled behind us. “You can kill a Necromancer, but if you haven’t done enough damage or if they have enough magic or have prepared a ritual or even want it bad enough, they can usually crawl from the grave again. They’re almost as bad as powerful Life Mages, it really takes pretty powerful magic to actually kill one and make it stay dead.”
“So you’re immortal then?” Rick shook me, gently, I nuzzled closer, letting him carry some of my weight. “Y’think you could have actually let me know before your near death encounter? A little ‘by the way, don’t worry if I drop dead, put the kettle on I’ll be back before dinner’ or something?”
I grumbled sleepily. “I didn’t know if I could do it. It’s difficult, painful, tiring and generally horrible.”
I think Rick asked some more questions, but he was holding more and more of my weight, though I bet he was pretty tired himself, and sleep was just pulling me under.
Coming back from the dead was more than tiring, it was utterly exhausting. Normally you couldn’t use magic or do anything physically active for weeks after something like that - I’ve been going on daemon energy alone for far too long… but it shouldn‘t leave me this tired...
I woke up blearily. My head felt like it was packed with cotton wool, my eyes seemed to have been gummed up over night… or day, since there seemed to be a stream of obscenely bright sunlight pouring through the window and completely inadequate curtains. Was this what Rick felt like very morning? I half resolved to be more sympathetic in future… well, for as long as I remembered.
There was a heavy weight on my legs. I tried to sit up to see what it was but moving seemed too hard, the sheets above me pressed me down into the bed as if they were made of sheet metal rather than silk. My muscles just weren’t working right, now my head was clear I could feel a dull ache throbbing through them. It was bearable, I’d survived worse, but it seemed to rob me of all strength. I glared irritably at the ceiling and reached out with my power to the Infernal Realms. My vision ran in spots, my head screamed pain at me, I started to pant with effort, the void between realms seemed impossibly far - surely it had always been so close that a mere thought would cross the veil? I collapsed back on the bed, exhausted and powerless.
The weight on my legs moved to my head. I cracked open my eyes again to see Ahrimadan’s yellow eyes mere inches from mine. It says how strange my life is that I find the presence of a daemon possessed cat comforting. I tried to life a hand to scratch the familiar behind his ears but couldn’t seem to life my own weight, let alone the sheet that pinned it.
“Lord and Lady, I’m weak. Am I ill?” Even my voice was weak, shaking like an old man’s.
“Nay, Master Darren. Thou didst cross life’s threshold and return. ‘Tis a great feet that hath taxed thee sorely - taxed thee more that thou didst call upon mine infernal brethren. Thou hath… overextended yourself.” Ahrimadan sounded almost relieved.
I groaned. Brownout - that’s what young Camaalis called it. Some spells or magic just pushed a talent too far - took your power to it’s limit and beyond and you could Brownout - or have Dimmed, as the older ones called it. It generally left you physically exhausted and unable to use your magic for a couple of weeks while your system got used to the shock. It seemed self-resurrection was the limit of my talents - I should have collapsed within an hour of crawling from my grave - probably would have if it weren’t for me pushing Infernalism to the limit as well.
A sudden wash of panic overcome me. I’d had a Brownout. I was helpless… and there were two Camaalis in the city. My enemies were here and I had no magic.
“Thy Sorcery shouldst still work. Thou hast not pushed beyond thy limits there.” Ahrimadan tried to reassure me.
“No. Sorcery is of the Self. Third Power. I’m too damn physically tired to use it.” I sighed, trying to burrow deeper in the covers.
“Third power? As opposed to second or first? What’s that about?” Rick asked as he sauntered into the room, trying to hide the worry in his eyes.
“Camaalis secrets.” I croaked, irritably. “And you still haven’t shaved; if you‘re planning on growing a beard I will attack you with blades.”
“I’ll shave if you tell me about this Third power thing.” He leaned over me to kiss me - and rub one stubbly cheek against mine. I winced but didn’t pull away.
“No, that is a Camaalis secret.” Nikolai said sharply, nearly running into the room; my paranoia swooped to all new heights. “And we have important business before you two waste time… getting reacquainted.”
I groaned. “I’m in the middle of two horrendous Brownouts. Whatever desperate fate Liam has seen befalling the world will just have to wait.”
“At the minute I am more concerned with a certain bespelled knife wound," he insisted.
“Oh.” I cringed a little, not really something I should forget. “My apologies." I reached out to my Sorcery. My body groaned, my head began to throb again - tiredness, just tiredness, I could do this. The power built, reluctantly and sluggishly, I had to fight it every step, fight to stop it overwhelming me, fight to be able to raise it at all. I laughed, a hollow, choked sound, there was a time when I had prayed for my magic to be this difficult - be careful what you wished for indeed. Finally I had enough, sweat poured from me, my breath was ragged with effort - I reached out and found the darkness clinging to Nikolai’s wound. I couldn’t cancel it, that would take more than I could manage at the minute. I seized it instead, and thrust it out of the window, away from us.
“It’s done.” I gasped, eyes closing leadenly. I barely felt Rick’s hand straightening my hair (though I felt enough to realise how clumsily he was doing it). The last thing I heard before sleep sucked me under again was Nikolai and Rick talking.
“The tree outside’s dead.” Nikolai observed.
“Shame, but on the plus side, so are all the fucking pigeons. They’ll not be waking me up in a morning any more.”
The next time I woke was better. I could think, I could see, I was alert. I checked the small NASA computer by the bed which Rick insisted was a clock - though why he would want to know the time in eighteen world capitals on waking was beyond me. I can only assume it excused his sleeping hours - after all, it was early morning somewhere when he woke up. Apparently four days had passed since I was last awake.
I felt better, still physically wrung out, but not sleepy any more. More like I’d just finished a 10 mile run and needed to sit down. I could move, but my body didn’t like it yet. Better, I could think without having to battle with thoughts moving at Rick-like slowness. I reached for my magic - Necromancy and Infernalism were both still beyond me, I didn’t really expect otherwise, but my Sorcery came back as eagerly as ever. I fell back against the pillows, wincing. I was too tired and abused to fight the wards yet.
Rick, obediently shaved and cleaned up came into the room, he must have heard me move. “You’re awake! Feeling any better?”
“Yes. I just feel half dead now.” I grimaced, it is probably best not to joke about such things when you have just risen from the grave. I touched my chest where I had been stabbed, there wasn’t even a scar any more. One of the benefits of saturating your body with Infernal energy.
“Good, because your relatives have found something new to bitch about. And my spirit guide and your familiar seem to have some kind of bet on who can drive a Camaalis mad first.” He rolled his eyes heavenwards begging for strength.
“Really? I have £20 on Ahrimadan.” I even tried a grin.
“Hah, I’ll take that - Ghost is easily three times as annoying as your cat.”
“What are they bitching about now?” I aksed with all due sense of trepidation. The problem with a family of rabid perfectionists is they could always find flaws (except when looking in the mirror, perhaps).
“Packages have arrived for your shop - no-one cancelled them after you died because… well…” Rick trailed off.
“Because you were too busy having your mental breakdown," I finished for him, helpfully.
He shrugged. “Basically, yeah.”
“And their problem is that I am using Camaalis suppliers for commercial ventures?” I couldn't stop from sighing, I didn't need this.
“Yup.”
“Help me up and I can go bitch back. Ah, it reminds me of home," I grumbled tiredly.
It was actually very much like home - the argument quickly became less about reason and more about Proving I am Right. Alright, Camaalis did have a monopoly on some of those suppliers - some of them were even Vassal Families - magical families in Britain and Eastern Europe who shared some common ancestry with Camaalis but weren’t nearly as powerful, they looked to Camaalis as ruler in the same way Barons looked to the King. As far as I was concerned, this was a good thing. We didn’t give up any of our power or knowledge and magicians in America (or over then net) became dependant on and beholden to Camaalis - always a good thing, right? I was definitely in the right here. Nikolai was raising some utterly spurious arguments about exploitation and some other foolishness - he was just being awkward now, really. I was definitely right. Hmmm, definitely?
I fell in a chair laughing. Nikolai gaped at me as if I’d gone mad. I pointed at him helplessly, unable to talk past the laughter.
“I win the wager - I hath driven a Camaalis mad first.” Ahrimadan crowed.
What? No way! Darren doesn’t count! Besides, I claim full responsibility.
When I could breathe I tried to answer Nikolai’s outraged expression. “Gods, I’ve been away from you guys for years and I’m still thinking like a Camaalis.”
“Arguing because you are RIGHT? Note the bloc capitals.” Liam remarked, grinning. “You are family, it seems. Leave over Nikolai, he’s Camaalis and autonomous.”
“Camaalis tradition?” Rick cut in quickly. “I like this, I’m learning more about your crazy people than every.”
“The guy who used Italian plumbers as guardians has no right to call anyone crazy. But yes, tradition.” I glared at Rick and made a note to interrogate him for what information he had gleaned from us. Camaalis has been known to be extremely… zealous at protecting our secrets. “So I keep my shop unmolested?”
Liam shrugged. Nikolai scowled. I took that as a yes - otherwise the nos would be very vocal. “Good, Rick get me that paperwork I put aside. I’ve got an opening to plan," I instructed quickly, already considering options.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-19 08:01 pm (UTC)still getting confused between nikolai and donald eh? *G*
*Jarrod smokes* dying is always the easy part. Coming back.... well it tends to make you wish you were dead.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-19 09:30 pm (UTC)Dying is certainly deeply unpleasant - and coming back? Well, there's a reason magicians don't make a habit of it.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-20 01:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-19 09:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-21 06:06 pm (UTC)I have some strange pathological dislike of the words 'he said.' It's weird, but I'll got to extreme lengths to avoid it, even if it means you can't tell who's saying anything.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-21 10:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-31 06:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-07-21 10:39 pm (UTC)