Tag: Wizard/Mage

Flash: Three-Fold Returns

Erin Penn

5496139 © Leeloomultipass | Dreamstime.com

A swoosh of her skirts, and that was all she needed to control the room. Color me jealous. Her dark eyes danced a tango when they met mine, sparkling in their cat’s eye liner. A shared secret smirk made my heart skip. What was my witchy friend about to do to these men?

I shouldn’t have cried on her shoulder last night. I really shouldn’t have.

(words 66; first published May 30, 2022 – from a picture prompt for a Facebook writing group. Aim is about 50 words.)

 

Flash: Like-to-Like

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Reversing grip on his gun to bring the butt smashing against the bouncer’s head, the drunk proved himself far from drunk. He continued to spin towards me as he reversed the grip again, but the time he took to take care of the Billy, bless his simple soul, the distraction provided me the time to finish the spell.

Like-to-Like. Unhealthy poisonous dangerous things within a radius around the assassin came-together. Beer glass and gun combined. My ex, who was sitting on a bar stool next to the assassin, slammed into the man.

Poor assassin. My ex weighed 250 pounds, all stalker-muscle, and he didn’t want anyone but him touching me. The owner didn’t care if the ex stayed around, so long as he paid for his counter space and didn’t make the now-unconscious bouncer work. Bridger was five beers into his counter space rent for the night and would not untangle easily and would be cranky about it the whole time.

As entertaining as watching that would be, I decided running would be better.

(words 174, first published 3/28/2022, from a FB visual prompt for a writing group I belong to, aiming for around 50 words)

Flash: Porter Weaves

Erin Penn

Previous story: Porter Gets Infravision – This is what happened when my Warlock gained her Pact of the Tome.

“We rest.” Filmore declared after the last of the bugbears heartblood finished pumping out onto the barrack floor. The two warrior women slumped, the adrenaline which had kept them moving through battle flushing from their systems leaving only the ache of injury instead of the rush of victory.

Outside the barracks, Porter shook her head, fearful the noise of the short fight carried at sufficient levels beyond the room, though little sound reverberated beyond the stone room to her location in the doorway. She snuck to the other door in the corridor and listened a moment. Less than five minutes had passed since the last time she had listened at the keyhole. The unchanged distinctive sound of dice rolling and drunkenness assured her the noise of the battle had actually been more quiet than the now deceased bugbears usual habits while living.

She sneered. These were the human guards who should have been at the back entrance the hour before sunset. Instead of protecting their compatriots, they were gaming and drinking. In her house, they would have been flogged, received extra chores, then extra training until the butlers decided the idiots were significantly impressed with the level of their stupidness. The Threshold offered mercenaries and warlocks to guard caravans. Whoever was on the other side of this door was beneath her consideration as a fighting equal. She briefly considered opening the door and showing them the error of their ways, but the butlers had cured her early of the stupidity of working solo when a team was available so she padded back to the demihuman barracks and closed the solid wooden door.

Tik nodded at Porter’s entrance from her position on the bed by the front door, continuing to clean the grime from her sword before she sheathed it. The half-orc then put the abused cloth cut from the goblin’s clothing to cleaning the worst of the splatter covering her armor. The half-elf was on the other door bed similarly taking care of her weapons, her armor, then herself in the proper order of those following a warrior path. A little more picky than Tik who crashed out as soon as she finished the basics, Selena wetted the a new cut rag from her water jug and used that for a second level of cleaning grime from herself.

“How long are we resting?” Porter asked in her developing alto voice.

Filmore looked over the group before declaring “An hour.”

Selena nodded, “That would be good.”

A snore issued from Tik, a true solider who could sleep anywhere.

The halfling, sitting on the only bed not splashed with guts and glory during the battle, shrugged. He was worrying the nick his bow received during the fight. From experience Porter knew it wouldn’t be repairable, but it would aggravate the owner until he replaced the bow. Replacing bows is like replacing sword, you never do it without at least a week to train with the new weapon. DeEste didn’t have that type of time at the moment. Instead his finger stroked the area back and forth hoping the injury to the weapon would instantly repaired.

A half-smile twisted on Porter’s mocha face, “Would anyone mind if I use the time to do a ritual for my patron?”

The dwarf grunted. “If you want to talk to your god …”

Porter interrupted. “Not my god, my patron. I don’t need to pray to Tempus right now. This is business, not worship.”

DeEste jerked in surprise. “Oh, well then.” He had thought the group’s wizard had been following a false god, but Tempus, while not the best ideals of war, had many things to recommend him and worked closely with HIS GOD in matters of Just War.

Porter carefully walked through the gore strewn room, getting nothing on her clothes. She had thrown magic through the door and managed to avoid the splatter-fest the hand-to-hand warriors’ wardrobes had suffered. Bending over one of the bugbears solidly hit by her magic, she pulled a thread from the burned area the Eldritch Bolt had hit. Humming she pulled a bone hook from her braids and wrapped the thread end around the hook, then touched the end into a puddle on the floor of the defeated enemy congealing icor. Standing up she walked over to the barrack bed where the halfling sat. The other three beds had been claimed by those who had suffer injuries during the battle.

The halfling scooted over, marveling at the burnt thread being pulled out of the bugbears clothing, connected to the floor puddle where it turned a blue-red-black and thickened as it passed through the icor and continued to the hook the mage was now running around a bracelet she had been wearing and had slipped off over her hand. The bracelet was a simple cooper piece bent in a hundred different hooks and spirals. As the humming grew softer DeEste could nearly make out words and the hook made tiny “tinks” hitting the metal bracelet. Within the bracelet, the beginnings of a cloth formed about the circumference of a halfling hat. The colors constantly changed through all the colors of the rainbow, line after line. The fabric forming below the line of weaving looked like a cross between fabric weaving and knitting.

With everyone resting, the halfling nearly nodded off despite being the guard on duty when the warlock, whose glazed-over eyes were clearly not seeing anything from this world, reach sideways with the hand not holding the hook and pulled another thread from midair. She brought the thread and held it a moment before reaching into her hair and pulling out another hook. Once the amazement of something coming from nowhere passed,  DeEste eyed the braids and decorative bits scattered throughout them speculating what else of value was hidden in Porter’s tresses. He didn’t notice when the bag closed at the bottom.

Close to the end of the hour, Porter snapped the thread with her teeth. The copper bracelet had turned into metal edging absorbed into the flap of the bag’s design with an eye. One of the hooks had been integrated into the front of the bag and the hook closed the bag through the eye.

Looking over at the halfling, clearly having returned to this world, Porter smiled slyly hefting the full bag in one hand. “Shall we see what is inside?” she asked quietly, the rest of the party still resting. Twisting the hook out of the eye, Porter opened the bag and pulled out a book covered in threads which DeEste had never seen before.

The human twisted her left ring finger under one string and her right index finger under another string, back and forth she worked, her tongue slipping out between her lips as she concentrated. Eventually her hands were covered in a Cat’s Cradle and the book opened to a page. Moving her hands in a manner not very much different from spell casting, the strings formed into a Witch’s Broom and the page turned. Page after page passed from one side to another as the string went through dozen of shapes of the children’s game, Soldier’s Bed, Jacob’s Ladder, Winking Eye, Open the Gate… and some he had never seen before even in the games his training had included to prepare his fingers for lock picking. Finally the spellcaster nodded and closed the book, wrapping the dozens of strings back around the book and tucking it back into the newly created rainbow cloth pouch.

“Not a bad selection. I may need to work on it a bit as we continue to adventure.”

Intrigued, the thief raised his voice some to be heard over the stirring of their warrior companions. “So what would happen if someone cut the strings so they could open the book.”

“Oh, my patron just loves providing learning experiences to the stupid and lazy.” Porter’s broad smile included a nose scrunch directed at the halfling.

(Words 1,327; first published 2/2/2020)

Other Cool Blogs: Magical Words 8/17/2009

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of Multipedia at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Magic Systems

Last month, the Magical Words posting from A.J. Hartley talked about Too Much Power. This week I thought I would circle back to an old post from David B. Coe on magic systems.

Magic in fantasy and powers in superheroes contain an affinity for exponential growth, reaching Too Much Power without much effort. The challenge is reigning in the power systems to make the story as much fun to read as it was to create the powers. 

Mr. Coe suggests three structures to control the systems:

  1. Limitations – Example, planetary gravity wells are limited to a certain distance from the planet.
  2. Costs – Example, escaping gravity takes propellant.
  3. Rules – Example, all matter is affected by gravity. Energy is not affected by gravity.

Be careful introducing exceptions to the rules to make your life as a writer easier. Gravity doesn’t get to change its rules. Well, it shouldn’t. I am sure some physicists will have a conversation with the universe creator someday about the deus ex machina of light which is both energy and matter.

The full post is here:

WRITING EXERCISE: Create one power or take one from a work in progress (WIP), just one power, for a fantasy, sci-fi, or superhero world. Define a limitation, cost, and two rules. Write a flash of 50-1000 words based on it.

***

Ancestral warrior. Limitation – most powerful in the ancestral lands, close to normal outside of the lands. Cost – obligation to protect all those of the tribe from those lands. Rules – (1) Lineage/blood-line only. (2) Peak physical, but not natural spell caster.

Look for the story Ancestral Warrior to be published Sunday 1/5/2020. You may recognize the protagonist if you have been following this blog for a while. This is where Honestly meets its Atlantis Wardens beginnings.

Flash: Dumped

Erin Penn

Image courtesy of KROMKRATHOG at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Rating: Mature

My neck hurt. My chin rested on my chest; I must have fallen asleep in a chair. A stupid plastic molded one, no cushioning at all. Oh, I needed a backrub. I rolled my shoulders and find my hand tied behind my back. My eyes burst open.

The room is lit by a bare lightbulb held aloft at the end of a ceramic elephant’s trunk not three feet in front from my downward looking eyes, flaming agony through my skull and frying my pupils. I snap my eyes close and roll my head around. God and goddess, I hurt. My mouth feels like a thousand cotton balls had been stuffed into it, after they had been used to clean ear wax.

I cautiously reopen my eyes. The room’s white walls reflect every bit of the luminescence rating the bulb is generating. The shadeless lamp set directly on the highly polished reflective white floor is plugged into coverless wall socket.

I squint against the pain and look anywhere but the eyeball searing light. My chair is surrounded by a mound of white granulates; considering my crowd, I am betting salt. A circle of salt. Why the fuck am I in a circle of salt?

And drenched. I realized I am soaking wet and freezing when I start shivering. That is when the drip line starts tapping my shoulder. I snap my head around, cracking several vertebra for some mild relief. A pole with a clear bag of, I squint again to read, dextrose solution is behind my back on the left side. Suddenly I want to itch under the tape I feel stuck on my arm, and I bounce between the itch, the throbbing ache of my shoulders, the burning flame shoved in my skull, and the absolute urgency to stretch, to escape sleep or drug or whatever has happened to me. My full bladder is very, very far down on the list of things to fix. I shake my head and lean back.

Above are inset light fixtures found in office and industrial buildings everywhere, but they don’t have the long bulbs yet and the wires are sticking out either side like the installation isn’t complete. The strong paint scent, adding to the headache, tells the other half of the story indicating the room is either being remodeled or … newly built. It feels new, like it had never been anything before and not sure about becoming a prison with its first use. Poor thing. I’m facing an empty wall and the sullen room echoes like empty rooms do with the lamp’s electric hum. On my left is a doorway with no door. On my right, behind where I can fully rotate my head is blue painter’s tape over some black plastic. Potentially a window. I wonder if I can scoot the chair over.

The salt circle is worrisome. Is it to keep something in or something out? Barely visible against the white-veined floor, I see something else. I rub my bare feet against the cool surface and decide the floor is real marble, not vinyl. Powder tickles my feet. Crunching my head down as far as it can go, I try to see the floor directly under the chair. I thought I had saw some … yep, chalk lines inside the circle. With me in the circle. Really, what the f’ing hell?

It’s not like I’m magic. Sure some of my friends do the hand-wavy thing – and get results when they do – and I’ve dated a couple, but aside from being an albino and a damn good crystal cutter and jewelry maker, I’m nothing special.

There is a second group of lines with some sort of runes outside the immediate chair circle now that I know what to look for. I stare at the wall and think I see stuff there too. Definitely stuff on the ceiling.

What happened last night … I was at a party for the Fourth of July, thrown by Fergus and Summerfrog. Everyone in town and about half the state dropped by including … oh, no he didn’t.

“Bloody Hell!” That thrice-cursed wizard did not roofie me.

Goddess, why did I ever date the fucker?

Speaking of fucking, I shifted in the chair. Nope, nothing feeling sore or raw other than really wanting some cushioning beyond whatever caused a small crinkle, and the arms free, and the headache gone, and everything else. But nothing wrong down there. Considering his size, one of his best traits making me forgive and forget things I shouldn’t have, I would be feeling all kinds of stretched.

Behind me comes footsteps on the marble floor. “Ah, my angel, you are awake.”

The squishy part of me flutters at the smooth deep voice. I crunch my eyes close and shove the unwanted feelings down as far as I can and lock them up tight.

“I fixed your hair.”

I remember now. He had exploded when he saw I dyed my hair black. Just lost it. Fergus made him leave after we started throwing things – me, stuff from the BBQ cooking area, and he, magic. The Tutors’ hated bullies; me versus a level-four wizard wasn’t a fair fight even if I held my own once the turning fork had sunk into his thigh and I grabbed the lighter and lighter fluid.

Things got hazy shortly thereafter.

He stroked my hair from behind. I twisted my head away from the petting, growling, “Don’t touch me.”

I searched my memory for anything else, recognizing the effects of the spell at last. He used it every fight we had from when we started dating at Christmas, aftereffect included forgetting about everything that happened as much as two hours before the casting. It took a while before he used it once too often and caught some Christian time in the forget-window. Christian isn’t a guy who lets things slide and contacted me the next day about a phone call I had never returned because I had been in the middle of something. I had nothing. No memory of the event, although my cell phone recorded three minutes and twenty-four seconds.

Even so it took me nearly a month before I dumped the jerk. Gaslighting X-treme. Christian and I backtracked all kinds of issues before I could admit the problem wasn’t me. Yeah, he had made me that screwed up.

The fuckard had walked around to my front while I was taking stock. Backlit by the lamp, he was as impressive as always. His typical three-piece white suit unlocked the gushy in me. The waistcoat hinting at his perfect abs, the white silk tie in a Windsor just below an Adam’s apple begging to be nibbled, and pressed linen and satin-silk striped white pants hiding the part of him I loved the most. My dry mouth salivated at the thought of sucking him.

I scrunched my eyes closed, dropped my head to my chest, and dug my nails into my palms, fisting my hands behind my back. Not me. Whatever these thought are, they are not mine. My head shook side to side as I try to lose them. Sure, they were my thoughts only last week before I finally broke up with him four nights before the party, but they shouldn’t, couldn’t WON’T be my thought now.

Another spell. Had to be.

I felt rather than saw him crouch before me. His voice laced when concern when he asked, “Are you all right, my dear?” The scent of his aftershave wafted to me as I inhaled through gritted teeth, tightening my stomach and loosening things lower. I loved that scent. Even bought incense to burn when I worked at home so I could remember our good times. We had so many good times.

No. No we hadn’t. Only times I been enchanted to think were good. I thrown those incense sticks down the apartment’s compost chute right before I went to his place to break up the second time.

“No, I’m not.” I lifted my head, refusing to bow before him and drilled my red eyes into his blue ones. “Let me go.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” With a few quick hand movement by him, the zipties holding back my arms released.

My arms swung around of their own volition. Nothing magical there. Holding arms in one position, say tight against person’s torso, mean when the pressure is gone, they rise slightly against missing pressure. Every inch of the automatic movement made me want to scream from the pain lancing across my shoulders and back. I fought vocalizing anything, not wanting to give this fucker, handsome and delicious though he …

No.

I attempt to leap at him but couldn’t move out of the chair. Good thing, because I forgot the IV line. The slight movement my aborted leap moved the catheter. Agony. I couldn’t help moaning this time. My whole body is still shivering.

“Easy, easy.” Removing his monogrammed handkerchief from its pocket, he drops it on the floor and starts wiping away the outer rune circle.

While he does that, I pluck the tape from my arm and carefully remove the plastic tube. Some liquid and blood overflows from the inflamed opening dropping on my white slacks. I don’t recognize the slacks. Nor the shirt, a silk and lace poet shirt.

Looking up after erasing the arc in front of me, his blond eyebrows meet. “Oh, you are going to need a bandage for that. I’ll be right back.” He stood smoothly and flowed around behind. I turn in the chair to watch him move, sighing.

Really … really?

I should have taken Christian up on that necklace he offered to make.

I manage to stand shakily. My legs barely support me, even when I lean on the chair’s back. How long had Marv kept me here? Well, not a moment longer.

I step outside the salt circle.

And immediately fall back into the clear plastic chair. Standing again, I slap the air in front of me and can’t go beyond the salt line. I try shoving the chair out, but it can’t move either. Obviously the runes he erased weren’t enough. And I got the answer of whether the circle kept thing in or out. He reached through it just fine to pet me.

Waiting for him to come back, I finish looking around the room. I see a box of adult diapers in the corner…

(Words 1,743; first published 12/29/2019)