Sparkindarkness 73 The Grand Opening
Nov. 7th, 2005 07:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessAh, some fic at least. Plot is ambushing my attempts to give them a normal life.
The grand opening was going to be perfect. Nothing was going to go wrong, nothing could go wrong. Everything was organised, all contingencies prepared for. It would be perfect. Somehow no matter how many times I repeated this to myself I still couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it. Of course, Rick wasn’t much help, he was still glaring at the world in general at the moment. He can be such a child at times, millions of people have to get up at 5:00am every day and they manage perfectly well on no coffee or something from a drive through. There is no need to be so melodramatic about everything.
Liam matched him from across the shop. His heavy, sensual features drawn down in tight disapproval, glaring eyes almost burning under heavy brows. He had been nagging me for days to help him with whatever crisis he had foreseen. I’ll be honest, I have been putting off thinking about it. My whole world has just severely spun off its axis. I want to get a few things back into balance again before I decide to tip the scales all over again. Shouldn’t I have a few days to build things back up again before I risk knocking down all the walls to ruins? So I’ve been avoiding him and ignoring him. He has conceded that his crisis doesn’t need immediate attention, so I’m going to actually live before I risk death again.
Of course, to add salt to his wounded pride, I’m also ignoring his glowering sulks about the shop. Ever since Nikolai left Liam has made it clear that he doesn’t approve of the shop. I had tried to make it equally clear that I didn’t care what he approved of. A furious Seer glaring at customers may put them off their purchases, however.
“You didn’t have a problem when Nikolai was here, Liam.” I growled quietly to him.
“It’s a bad idea to agree with Nikolai about anything when you’re arguing with him over something. He tends to see it as an admission of weakness and will just start all over again.” Liam replied. I smiled slightly. Nikolai did have a reputation for returning to arguments you thought had long since been resolved and buried. “Besides, neither he nor I knew exactly how much you were planning. You’ve got just about every Vassal family providing goods here and there’s certainly some books and potions on this list that have never left our control before.” He growled and closed the gap, using his two inches of extra height to try and loom over me. Few Camaalis can loom convincingly. “It’s one thing to sell things that wizards normally raise heaven and earth to get their hands on, quite another to sell things they have never been able to acquire.”
I nodded. “ I agree. I think about another 80-90% profit margin for one thing. Not that it matters, as you told dear Nikolai, Camaalis are autonomous.” I treated him to a rare smile.
He didn’t smile back. If anything his glare looked even more pained a she answered, “and any Camaalis has the right to autonomously oppose you when what you are doing serves no common good.”
I nodded and gave him a happy little smile. Well, I think it was a happy little smile, it made him step back. I must make a note of checking that in the mirror. “Of course. And as a Seer I am sure you are quite capable of predicting exactly what that course of action will lead to. So play nicely with the customers. That’s an order - Sorcerer’s Will.”
He choked, spluttering angrily in reply, “Seer’s Will! Only Seers have the right to command others when necessary!” Seers could be very touchy at times about their privileges. I think it stems from them not having the flashy, impressive powers that other Camaalis enjoyed. “It is one of our oldest traditions!”
“Sorcerer’s Will is a much older tradition of command. One that is recognised around the world and throughout history.” I imbued every word with gravitas and pomposity. One thing we were definitely good at.
“And that is?” He asked, acidly.
“When someone who can scatter your body parts across a large area commands you to do something, you do it.” I replied.
“The rule of the psychotically violent.” Purred Ahrimadan from under the counter. “The oldest tradition of all.”
Liam’s eyes unfocused. If he were any other Camaalis I would say he was gathering his power, but Seers rarely looked into the here and now and often looked at things no-one else could see. He threw back his head and laughed, falling heavily into a chair as his knees gave way.
“It wasn’t that funny.” Growled Rick from the corner. He hadn’t even smiled - my beloved really does not work well early in the morning without coffee. It really is terrible, it must be an addiction. I should work on weaning him off it. Maybe if I destroyed his espresso machine? Or switched him to decaffeinated? I idly pushed aside these suicidal thoughts and looked suspiciously at the Seer. You could never really trust a Seer and you could never understand them either.
I think I would have spent some time trying to torture some understanding out of him but the chiming clock (and the gathering people - always a very good sign) told me it was time to open.
It was hectic. I think all my predications were accurate, practioners of all kinds had emerged from the woodwork at the rumour of Camaalis products on sale. Even without the angry religious groups there was a large number of magicless or almost magicless New Age types (and a few heavy dark types who I have to say amused me immensely. Ahrimadan was strutting from one to another carrying a rolled up contract in case anyone wanted to put their soul where their mouth is. Thankfully Rick stole it off him and burned it, which was extremely impressive and very good advertising. Sulphur is expensive, after all. And it’s rare to see such realistic special effects - after all, where else can you see a cat loudly cursing a rapidly running human to an eternity of torment?). As the day wore on the stream of people who had seen the adverts and the genuine practioners who were eager to get their hands on Camaalis goods and knowledge (even if they were a little disappointed at how expensive Camaalis goods and knowledge was) were filling the shop. I had to press gang Rick (with the promise of coffee and dire threats of terrible vengeance) into helping. Mia was convinced to lend a hand with the promise of a wage and staff discount (though why she needs one I don’t know. I think she just wants to make Misha jealous with it). I really didn’t think staff recruitment would have been necessary! I couldn’t believe how busy it was. If it kept up like this I was going to have to shanghai Liam into service, he was already helping a girl with too much jewellery with her bags.
Rick grinned at me, “I think it’s a success. If this keeps up you can treat me to that holiday home in the Bahamas. Or our own little desert island, y’know, I’m not picky.”
I smiled back at him in a brief lull between customers. “You’d die on a desert island. No television, no internet, no electricity, no espresso machines. You need a hi-tech villa somewhere expensive.”
He grinned wider, running someone else’s order through the till. “Sounds good. A reward for my wonderful advertising.”
Rick had placed that adverts, it’s true but they weren’t that special… unless. “Rick,” I asked warily. “What did you do to the adverts?” He just kept grinning. I rang through a customer’s books - he had ambitions of either saving the world or destroying it by his purchases - and prepare for some subtle boyfriend interrogation.
Then the wall fell in. Fragments of brick shot into the room and brick dust clouded the air. Plaster fell from the ceiling. There was a terrible spark and the lights exploded, showering glass through the shop. A shelf of potion creaked over, bottles shattering against the floor. The air became thick with strange fumes that seemed to glow and sparkle in the flickering light. The floor fizzed and flowed as potions mixed strangely with herbs and magical items that had been scattered. A wand had been badly damaged and was emitting thick clouds of smoke and shooting random sparks that had fallen among several hanging dry herbs causing them to smoulder. People screamed in panic, running madly for any exit they could find. Some had been oddly effected by the fumes, hallucinating and making strange noises, running like mad men through the gloom. Ahrimadan hissed with feline fury at my feet, glowing golden eyes glaring into the darkness. I turned and followed his gaze, my own eyes clouding as I called my power, Necromancy and Infernalism rising to give me sight beyond sight. The darkness seemed to fall away. In the ruins of the wall I saw a large van with a large, ostentatious bull bar bumper on the front. It looked wrecked, it must have hit the wall at an incredible speed. People stood out in the ruins vibrantly, their souls shining or dim depending on their health and how close they were to death - on how much death energies touched them.
Six people were running through the shop, but not with panic. They moved with studied determination and purpose between the intact shelves. They all carried bags or cases and were loading them as quickly as possible. It was almost impressive watching them, seeing how efficiently they filled their sacks, quickly but very carefully being sure not to break anything. They ignored most of the shelves, they seemed to know exactly what they were after. Anger bubbled inside me, Sorcery rose, pushing past my flaring tattoos. It was almost wonderfully easy. A dark, green tinted corona that flickered around my hand, dancing like black flames, emitting a sickly, cold heat. I pointed at one of the looters and unleashed the Balefire. It hit him squarely in the back, flowing over him hungrily. He fell to his knees, his screams lost in the noise and the chaos. I saw the almost actinically bright flare of his life force dim as the Balefire ate at him.
He staggered, lurching drunkenly for the exit, the dark flames still consuming him. I gasped, it was incredible. How could anyone move with such wounds? His lifeforce still pulsed, fitful and dim, but still there, pulsing and lit. He was completely encased in the Balefire now but still he did not die! I looked closer, allowing my Sight to look deeper. Wards. Strings of wards wound around him, fending off darkness, decay and death. They built up into an impressive defence around him, trying to shield him from the hunger of the Balefire. I gritted my teeth, another dark talent in town, and a good one judging by the wards. Why did a peaceful life always seem to elude me?
I called my power again, again darkness surrounded my hand, but this didn’t dance and flicker as the Balefire had. It was steady and sharp edged and so dark it looked like someone had cut a hole out of reality and wrapped it round my hand. I pointed the Essence of Destruction at the fleeing man. There were several ways round wards. You could find their weak spots, find out what they ward against and use something else, try to dispel them or overwhelm them with pure power and force. I have always preferred the latter. I smiled… and the Balefire flames were extinguished. I had time to gape in surprise like a fool before a fist of pure power slammed into my side.
I staggered back, clutching at the counter to hold onto my feet. A bolt of dark magic had hit me, enough to reduce most people to dust. It had rolled over my tattoo wards and staggered me. I concentrated, my tattoos held, they hadn’t been breached. I turned to see the attacker, another bolt of darkness already leaving his hands and heading for me. I glared, fury a quiet burn inside me and reached out for that arching destructive power and pulled it into myself. It flowed past the wards like silk with my power wrapped round it. For a second it pulsed inside me, not hurting, just pulsing, thick and warm, almost comforting, before I thrust it into the Essence of Darkness in my hand, back it up with an equal amount of my own power and threw it at the fool. I had time to see his eyes widen before the magic hit him. He soared into the air from the impact of the power, smashing through the van’s already cracked windscreen.
I cursed in frustration. He shouldn’t have been thrown back, he should have just dissolved. He was warded, and warded well, to have survived that. I had no doubt he had survived. He had ducked beneath the windscreen, hiding from view. I wasn’t going to play cat and mouse here! I am not playing hide and seek! I have better games - like artillery and target.
The bumper melted, consumed by balefire, the remaining glass in the windscreen flowed like water. The engine exploded outwards in a shower of sparks and debris, metal panels were shredded or rotted and collapsed. I glared and ceased my attack. Even the van was warded! I lashed out, directly at the wards, damaged and tattered from the collision and the barrage. There was a blinding black flash behind my eyelids and a shockwave of energy prickled across my skin as the wards died.
I grinned. Balefire flared over the ruined vehicle at impossible speed, the entire chassis pitted and rusted to dust, metal scattered itself in explosions and sheer unexplained destruction. I stalked over to the ruins, sifting through the dust with my toe., It was probably lucky it was dark, if anyone could have seen the satisfied look on my face it would probably have scared them.
Then I heard the other van peel away. I ran out of the shop, Infernal energy flooding to my legs to get me out just in time to see them speeding off, a glow of magic surrounding the van. I flung magic after it, rust, corruption, balefire, death, loss, rot - too little, too late; the van pitched around the corner, scarred, wards damaged but still driving away too fast for me to follow. I uttered a black curse that melted the tarmac under my feet. They could run, and for their sake, they had better know how to hide.
I sat on the melted pavement and reached out with my Necromancy. A command, a demand, a summons. I felt them brushing against me, darts of unbelievable cold, brief flashes of pain and injury across my skin. The world seemed to grow a little darker and depression seemed to seep into my heart, pushing me down with sadness, despair and simple, hopeless grief. I steeled myself and concentrated, my eyes drawing the whispy, misshapen shapes into focus. Drawn to the violence and destruction of the raid, they waited just beyond the veil for my call. I pushed aside their powers, my Necromancy flaring through my mind - nothing of the dead could command and control me unless I willed it. At least not these specters, ghosts of people who died consumed by hate and pain and grief - people so consumed that when they died a part of their soul remained behind, twisted and corrupted into something utterly inhuman and terribly evil. I pushed out their icy, cruel touch on my body and mind and reached out with my power to command them. Their wills flared against mine, trying to push back my control, my enslavement of them. One by one they submitted to my control.
I pointed to where the van had sped off, projecting an image of my attackers to the undead. I uttered one word, thick with ghostly echoes as it penetrated to the land of the dead communicating with the specters in ways that went beyond language. “Hunt,” I commanded.
One word and they sped away. Their quarry would have to run very fast and very hard to escape them.
The grand opening was going to be perfect. Nothing was going to go wrong, nothing could go wrong. Everything was organised, all contingencies prepared for. It would be perfect. Somehow no matter how many times I repeated this to myself I still couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it. Of course, Rick wasn’t much help, he was still glaring at the world in general at the moment. He can be such a child at times, millions of people have to get up at 5:00am every day and they manage perfectly well on no coffee or something from a drive through. There is no need to be so melodramatic about everything.
Liam matched him from across the shop. His heavy, sensual features drawn down in tight disapproval, glaring eyes almost burning under heavy brows. He had been nagging me for days to help him with whatever crisis he had foreseen. I’ll be honest, I have been putting off thinking about it. My whole world has just severely spun off its axis. I want to get a few things back into balance again before I decide to tip the scales all over again. Shouldn’t I have a few days to build things back up again before I risk knocking down all the walls to ruins? So I’ve been avoiding him and ignoring him. He has conceded that his crisis doesn’t need immediate attention, so I’m going to actually live before I risk death again.
Of course, to add salt to his wounded pride, I’m also ignoring his glowering sulks about the shop. Ever since Nikolai left Liam has made it clear that he doesn’t approve of the shop. I had tried to make it equally clear that I didn’t care what he approved of. A furious Seer glaring at customers may put them off their purchases, however.
“You didn’t have a problem when Nikolai was here, Liam.” I growled quietly to him.
“It’s a bad idea to agree with Nikolai about anything when you’re arguing with him over something. He tends to see it as an admission of weakness and will just start all over again.” Liam replied. I smiled slightly. Nikolai did have a reputation for returning to arguments you thought had long since been resolved and buried. “Besides, neither he nor I knew exactly how much you were planning. You’ve got just about every Vassal family providing goods here and there’s certainly some books and potions on this list that have never left our control before.” He growled and closed the gap, using his two inches of extra height to try and loom over me. Few Camaalis can loom convincingly. “It’s one thing to sell things that wizards normally raise heaven and earth to get their hands on, quite another to sell things they have never been able to acquire.”
I nodded. “ I agree. I think about another 80-90% profit margin for one thing. Not that it matters, as you told dear Nikolai, Camaalis are autonomous.” I treated him to a rare smile.
He didn’t smile back. If anything his glare looked even more pained a she answered, “and any Camaalis has the right to autonomously oppose you when what you are doing serves no common good.”
I nodded and gave him a happy little smile. Well, I think it was a happy little smile, it made him step back. I must make a note of checking that in the mirror. “Of course. And as a Seer I am sure you are quite capable of predicting exactly what that course of action will lead to. So play nicely with the customers. That’s an order - Sorcerer’s Will.”
He choked, spluttering angrily in reply, “Seer’s Will! Only Seers have the right to command others when necessary!” Seers could be very touchy at times about their privileges. I think it stems from them not having the flashy, impressive powers that other Camaalis enjoyed. “It is one of our oldest traditions!”
“Sorcerer’s Will is a much older tradition of command. One that is recognised around the world and throughout history.” I imbued every word with gravitas and pomposity. One thing we were definitely good at.
“And that is?” He asked, acidly.
“When someone who can scatter your body parts across a large area commands you to do something, you do it.” I replied.
“The rule of the psychotically violent.” Purred Ahrimadan from under the counter. “The oldest tradition of all.”
Liam’s eyes unfocused. If he were any other Camaalis I would say he was gathering his power, but Seers rarely looked into the here and now and often looked at things no-one else could see. He threw back his head and laughed, falling heavily into a chair as his knees gave way.
“It wasn’t that funny.” Growled Rick from the corner. He hadn’t even smiled - my beloved really does not work well early in the morning without coffee. It really is terrible, it must be an addiction. I should work on weaning him off it. Maybe if I destroyed his espresso machine? Or switched him to decaffeinated? I idly pushed aside these suicidal thoughts and looked suspiciously at the Seer. You could never really trust a Seer and you could never understand them either.
I think I would have spent some time trying to torture some understanding out of him but the chiming clock (and the gathering people - always a very good sign) told me it was time to open.
It was hectic. I think all my predications were accurate, practioners of all kinds had emerged from the woodwork at the rumour of Camaalis products on sale. Even without the angry religious groups there was a large number of magicless or almost magicless New Age types (and a few heavy dark types who I have to say amused me immensely. Ahrimadan was strutting from one to another carrying a rolled up contract in case anyone wanted to put their soul where their mouth is. Thankfully Rick stole it off him and burned it, which was extremely impressive and very good advertising. Sulphur is expensive, after all. And it’s rare to see such realistic special effects - after all, where else can you see a cat loudly cursing a rapidly running human to an eternity of torment?). As the day wore on the stream of people who had seen the adverts and the genuine practioners who were eager to get their hands on Camaalis goods and knowledge (even if they were a little disappointed at how expensive Camaalis goods and knowledge was) were filling the shop. I had to press gang Rick (with the promise of coffee and dire threats of terrible vengeance) into helping. Mia was convinced to lend a hand with the promise of a wage and staff discount (though why she needs one I don’t know. I think she just wants to make Misha jealous with it). I really didn’t think staff recruitment would have been necessary! I couldn’t believe how busy it was. If it kept up like this I was going to have to shanghai Liam into service, he was already helping a girl with too much jewellery with her bags.
Rick grinned at me, “I think it’s a success. If this keeps up you can treat me to that holiday home in the Bahamas. Or our own little desert island, y’know, I’m not picky.”
I smiled back at him in a brief lull between customers. “You’d die on a desert island. No television, no internet, no electricity, no espresso machines. You need a hi-tech villa somewhere expensive.”
He grinned wider, running someone else’s order through the till. “Sounds good. A reward for my wonderful advertising.”
Rick had placed that adverts, it’s true but they weren’t that special… unless. “Rick,” I asked warily. “What did you do to the adverts?” He just kept grinning. I rang through a customer’s books - he had ambitions of either saving the world or destroying it by his purchases - and prepare for some subtle boyfriend interrogation.
Then the wall fell in. Fragments of brick shot into the room and brick dust clouded the air. Plaster fell from the ceiling. There was a terrible spark and the lights exploded, showering glass through the shop. A shelf of potion creaked over, bottles shattering against the floor. The air became thick with strange fumes that seemed to glow and sparkle in the flickering light. The floor fizzed and flowed as potions mixed strangely with herbs and magical items that had been scattered. A wand had been badly damaged and was emitting thick clouds of smoke and shooting random sparks that had fallen among several hanging dry herbs causing them to smoulder. People screamed in panic, running madly for any exit they could find. Some had been oddly effected by the fumes, hallucinating and making strange noises, running like mad men through the gloom. Ahrimadan hissed with feline fury at my feet, glowing golden eyes glaring into the darkness. I turned and followed his gaze, my own eyes clouding as I called my power, Necromancy and Infernalism rising to give me sight beyond sight. The darkness seemed to fall away. In the ruins of the wall I saw a large van with a large, ostentatious bull bar bumper on the front. It looked wrecked, it must have hit the wall at an incredible speed. People stood out in the ruins vibrantly, their souls shining or dim depending on their health and how close they were to death - on how much death energies touched them.
Six people were running through the shop, but not with panic. They moved with studied determination and purpose between the intact shelves. They all carried bags or cases and were loading them as quickly as possible. It was almost impressive watching them, seeing how efficiently they filled their sacks, quickly but very carefully being sure not to break anything. They ignored most of the shelves, they seemed to know exactly what they were after. Anger bubbled inside me, Sorcery rose, pushing past my flaring tattoos. It was almost wonderfully easy. A dark, green tinted corona that flickered around my hand, dancing like black flames, emitting a sickly, cold heat. I pointed at one of the looters and unleashed the Balefire. It hit him squarely in the back, flowing over him hungrily. He fell to his knees, his screams lost in the noise and the chaos. I saw the almost actinically bright flare of his life force dim as the Balefire ate at him.
He staggered, lurching drunkenly for the exit, the dark flames still consuming him. I gasped, it was incredible. How could anyone move with such wounds? His lifeforce still pulsed, fitful and dim, but still there, pulsing and lit. He was completely encased in the Balefire now but still he did not die! I looked closer, allowing my Sight to look deeper. Wards. Strings of wards wound around him, fending off darkness, decay and death. They built up into an impressive defence around him, trying to shield him from the hunger of the Balefire. I gritted my teeth, another dark talent in town, and a good one judging by the wards. Why did a peaceful life always seem to elude me?
I called my power again, again darkness surrounded my hand, but this didn’t dance and flicker as the Balefire had. It was steady and sharp edged and so dark it looked like someone had cut a hole out of reality and wrapped it round my hand. I pointed the Essence of Destruction at the fleeing man. There were several ways round wards. You could find their weak spots, find out what they ward against and use something else, try to dispel them or overwhelm them with pure power and force. I have always preferred the latter. I smiled… and the Balefire flames were extinguished. I had time to gape in surprise like a fool before a fist of pure power slammed into my side.
I staggered back, clutching at the counter to hold onto my feet. A bolt of dark magic had hit me, enough to reduce most people to dust. It had rolled over my tattoo wards and staggered me. I concentrated, my tattoos held, they hadn’t been breached. I turned to see the attacker, another bolt of darkness already leaving his hands and heading for me. I glared, fury a quiet burn inside me and reached out for that arching destructive power and pulled it into myself. It flowed past the wards like silk with my power wrapped round it. For a second it pulsed inside me, not hurting, just pulsing, thick and warm, almost comforting, before I thrust it into the Essence of Darkness in my hand, back it up with an equal amount of my own power and threw it at the fool. I had time to see his eyes widen before the magic hit him. He soared into the air from the impact of the power, smashing through the van’s already cracked windscreen.
I cursed in frustration. He shouldn’t have been thrown back, he should have just dissolved. He was warded, and warded well, to have survived that. I had no doubt he had survived. He had ducked beneath the windscreen, hiding from view. I wasn’t going to play cat and mouse here! I am not playing hide and seek! I have better games - like artillery and target.
The bumper melted, consumed by balefire, the remaining glass in the windscreen flowed like water. The engine exploded outwards in a shower of sparks and debris, metal panels were shredded or rotted and collapsed. I glared and ceased my attack. Even the van was warded! I lashed out, directly at the wards, damaged and tattered from the collision and the barrage. There was a blinding black flash behind my eyelids and a shockwave of energy prickled across my skin as the wards died.
I grinned. Balefire flared over the ruined vehicle at impossible speed, the entire chassis pitted and rusted to dust, metal scattered itself in explosions and sheer unexplained destruction. I stalked over to the ruins, sifting through the dust with my toe., It was probably lucky it was dark, if anyone could have seen the satisfied look on my face it would probably have scared them.
Then I heard the other van peel away. I ran out of the shop, Infernal energy flooding to my legs to get me out just in time to see them speeding off, a glow of magic surrounding the van. I flung magic after it, rust, corruption, balefire, death, loss, rot - too little, too late; the van pitched around the corner, scarred, wards damaged but still driving away too fast for me to follow. I uttered a black curse that melted the tarmac under my feet. They could run, and for their sake, they had better know how to hide.
I sat on the melted pavement and reached out with my Necromancy. A command, a demand, a summons. I felt them brushing against me, darts of unbelievable cold, brief flashes of pain and injury across my skin. The world seemed to grow a little darker and depression seemed to seep into my heart, pushing me down with sadness, despair and simple, hopeless grief. I steeled myself and concentrated, my eyes drawing the whispy, misshapen shapes into focus. Drawn to the violence and destruction of the raid, they waited just beyond the veil for my call. I pushed aside their powers, my Necromancy flaring through my mind - nothing of the dead could command and control me unless I willed it. At least not these specters, ghosts of people who died consumed by hate and pain and grief - people so consumed that when they died a part of their soul remained behind, twisted and corrupted into something utterly inhuman and terribly evil. I pushed out their icy, cruel touch on my body and mind and reached out with my power to command them. Their wills flared against mine, trying to push back my control, my enslavement of them. One by one they submitted to my control.
I pointed to where the van had sped off, projecting an image of my attackers to the undead. I uttered one word, thick with ghostly echoes as it penetrated to the land of the dead communicating with the specters in ways that went beyond language. “Hunt,” I commanded.
One word and they sped away. Their quarry would have to run very fast and very hard to escape them.