Monthly Archives: March 2016

Whiskey and Maeve Chapter 18

Gomez felt blood swell in his stomach pushing up into his esophagus. His vision started to blur, but he could easily make out who it was that stabbed him. His grand-daughter’s killer, with the same smirk on his face Sam had brought out of Gomez’ mind. Gomez’ stinger whipped forward, the attacker snatched it in his hand.

 

“Still strong enough for that? I am impressed.” He slowly dragged his sword from the hilt with his free hand, Gomez’ blood still fresh on it, dried blood covering the rest of it. “Elizabeth here should have killed you in moments. Your blood purity must have saved you from a quick death.” He flicked the sword with his wrist, severing Gomez’ stinger.

 

Gomez let out a deep sigh, blood filled his mouth. Losing what was left of his strength he fell to the side, losing consciousness as his head hit the concrete.

 

*

 

His eyes opened, he was back on his feet. The pain in his back and the blood in his lungs were gone. He was still in the warehouse, his body was at his feet.

 

“Ug…” He tried to speak but air no longer passed into or out of him.

“Be calm my child, you will learn to speak again in time.” A soothing voice spoke to him

“Huh?” He managed to say some how.

“See you’re already getting there.” He noticed that the Vampyres were still here. “Do not worry, they cannot see you.”

“Reaper?” He was able to whisper.

“Much more than that.” The Vampyres spoke but he only heard quiet murmuring. “You could hear them if you wanted to, but it wouldn’t do you much good. You cannot get revenge from here.”

 

“Death?” He heard the Vampyre say.

“Damn it.” The voice became harsh.

“You would come for this creature? I can feel you here, come out.”

 

A figure appeared out of smoke, a woman in a blood stained wedding dress.

 

“He is still one of my children, one of the purest of the races.”

“You are too sentimental Death, we are the only pure race that you need. The greatest children of Cain.”

“Of course. But I am not one to send a servant to fetch an idol. Like you did with the Jar.”

“Begone with you then, we will talk at the mansion.” The figure disappeared with another puff of smoke.

 

“Miserable puppet.” The voice returned “Come Gomez, your grand-daughter awaits.”

 

*

“… place the stick right there. Perfect, now step back.” Whiskey did exactly as David directed. Isaac stood against the wall just watching.

 

“Nothing’s happening.”

“Give it a moment.”

“You’ve forgotten something.” Isaac muttered under his breath.

“What did I forget?” Whiskey stepped even further back, knowing that an incorrect spell can have bad consequences.

 

“He’s winding you up, the only thing it might be missing is energy. Normally everyone has enough overflowing energy to power such a spell. It would seem that you don’t but that’s okay too, it’s probably because you were just handling an active wand.”

“So what do I do about it?”

“Put your arm out, face your palm towards the center of the ritual circle.” She did as she was told. “Now focus on something that flares on your emotions. A memory, a person, a place anything that really gets to you. It doesn’t matter what it is, Anger, Love, Sadness or all of the above.”

 

“I’m thinking… about something.” She held back the tears, thinking about when the nurse told her about her mother.

“Something stronger!” She thought about about the piece of paper with her inheritance on it, she clenched her free hand. “Now think about that wand.”

 

Whiskey opened her eyes, the ritual circle was gone. The components she had laid out were also gone. Only a wand remained, it was extremely similar to the one she had held before. This one was distinctly hers though, she had chosen a branch that could be held in a way that she could pretend it was a handgun.

 

David walked over and picked up the wand. “This is a fine specimen, definitely not bad, especially for your first artifact creation.”

“How exactly could I mess that up? I was just putting items in a circle.”

“It’s about the thoughts that went into it.” Isaac piped in. “That’s why we had you choose every part of it and not just tell you to put something together.”

“Artifacts require true mental effort, you can’t mass produce these, every single one must have your attention. And the quality of each is directly representative of how much thought goes into them.” After clarifying David handed Whiskey her wand.

 

“… what do I do with it?”

“Focus your soul energy into whatever you want. From an extendable hand to fire balls, from lightning whips to faux animals.” Whiskey threw the wand up and caught it to be the gun shape she wanted. She spun on her heel, putting her other hand on top of the wand. A small ball of light flew out of the wand without a sound, smashing a cup resting on the nearby bench.

 

“That was awesome!” Whiskey jumped up in success, and slumped onto the floor. “…uh, why can’t I move.”

“You are not nearly trained or powerful enough to do something like that without using all of your energy.”

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Maeve and Whiskey Chapter 17

“Artifact creation is another cornerstone to all magics. Magical items were highly sought after, the latest smart-phone before technology was a thing. Each type of magic has its own specialty where Artifacts are concerned, you’ve heard of Voodoo dolls and enchanted swords. There are so many more, from Axe’s that can turn a tree into firewood in a single swing, to amulets that can cure leprosy.”

“Is Excalibur real?” Whiskey derailed the conversation

“Likely, it’s probably been picked up by the Refuge in England though.”

“So the Refuge keep Artifacts?”

 

“They like to keep magic away from the masses, this means Artifacts, especially considering it doesn’t take a magician to use them.”

“The thing the Afreet stole was an Artifact then? What was it?”

“It was the Omoikane Jar.” David answered before Isaac could deflect the question.

“What does it do? I don’t imagine that it just cuts grass.”

“It spreads knowledge. Forcibly.”

“In the wrong hands, well in most hands, it can dominate the will of most people within several square miles.”

 

“How is an artifact like that made?”

“I was getting to that. The Omoikane is named after a God, a Shinto deity in this case. Normally an Artifact’s name is special, it can be the activator, it can explain it’s very origin. In the cases of soul bound artifacts, they choose their own name.”

“So the Jar was created by Omoikane? Or at least by a God calling themselves Omoikane?”

“Well the story that it’s past down with states that early in Japan’s history before the time of the Shogun there was a small Gōzoku, clan, that held one particular Kami in high regard.”

“Omoikane.”

“The god of wisdom and intelligence. One day Omoikane, likely through summoning, walked among the clan in human form. He gave their leader the jar, told him how to use it and then left. The clan never used it, they were a lot smarter than that. Eventually it was lost in rumor, kept within the family until one of the last descendants of the clan found themselves here. They weren’t magically inclined but kept the jar as a family heirloom.”

“The Refuge watches out for magic coming into the area, and generally the whole country. They had someone pick it up putting a non magical replica in its place.”

 

“So sometimes gods come down and just give Artifacts?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes they use an item here on earth and it is permanently changed by it, Thor’s hammer and the like. They can be some of the most powerful items that exist but they would be very tricky to get your hands on and are commonly sought after by the megalomaniacal and tyrannical.”

 

“Right. So how do I make this wand then?”

 

*

“Cleaning crew can be out here in a couple of minutes.” Reese declared, covering the base of his cell phone. The Vampyre had handed over the Omoikane without resistance.

“Or I can have you screaming for Death to come and take you instead. Who’s your boss?”

“I- I can’t!”
“Why can’t you?” Maeve grabbed his arm and pulled it tight. “Nice arm, I think I’ll take it!”

“Blood magic! He put a blood magic curse on me.”

“What?” Reese finished his phone call. He pointed at Maeve to put down his arm.

 

“I can’t tell you anything else about them without being exsanguinated. I wouldn’t die, but I’m sure it would hurt more than anything you can do Shaphist.”

“Wanna’ bet?” He cowered back as far as he could into the gravel mound behind him.

“Leave him, I’d much rather him be able to answer more questions later.”

“The burning in his arteries would stop after a couple of hours.”

 

“Blood magic isn’t very specific…” Reese paused, looking at the Vampyre, blinking several times. “I didn’t ask what your name was did I?”

“It’s Thaddius”

“Is that your real name? Actually it doesn’t matter. Thaddius, blood magic can be terrifying and painful, it makes a great deterrent, however, it’s use is limited. When they cursed you, well, made the blood pact, they told you the rules. Can you tell me the rules?”

“They said there was only one rule, talk to anyone not Vampyre about the clan and my blood is forfeit.”

“They gave only one rule to give it more power you see. If they had been more specific it would been less dangerous, such as if they said ‘talk to anyone outside of the clan’ then at a guess you would only lose an arms worth of blood.”

“Do we have a Vampyre that can come in?” Maeve lit up.

 

“Probably, but that doesn’t matter. Words true meanings are inconsequential to blood magic, what matters is the intention. When they said ‘not Vampyre’ in their heads, they thought ‘No one of impure breed’ so only pure soulless as they see themselves. It’s mostly good for them that they use blood magic, magics of the same caliber don’t care that much about genetics.”

“It would accept another of purely soulless ancestry? So I count?”

“No, no, no. You weren’t born soulless. But a real Vampire would count.”

 

“The Vampire’s are dead.” Thaddius said under his breath.

“My housemate is a Vampire, get over yourself.”

“Your housemate is a Vampire? I thought there were only two left?”

“She’s one of the two, Katenka. Daughter of the other, Lizaveta.”

“That’s a little convenient.”

“Not really, soulless all smell horrible to me, Vampire’s seem to be the root of that problem.”

 

*

 

Gomez wasn’t completely truthful with the refuge. He had definitely given them the faces of Vampyre’s he saw, but he didn’t tell them that the Vampyres told him of a meeting place.

 

The Vampyre he first met, had told him of a place where he could go if he changed his mind about joining.

 

Gomez wasn’t stupid, he knew that at this point, going there wasn’t likely to bring him his revenge. But he wanted to face them either way.

 

The place to meet wasn’t too far away from where he first met the Vampyre. It was an abandoned warehouse at the end of the docks. The main door was open letting the sun heat the empty shipping containers on either side of the warehouse. Gomez walked right in, squinting, trying to get his eyes to adapt to the darkness.

 

“Gomez, how nice to see you.” A pale man slithered out of the darkness, his eyes like daggers dipped in blood.

“Didn’t think you’d have it in you to be here, Tom.”

“This is where I live Gomez, it’s much easier than booking out a creepy alley for meetings.” The man walked slowly to the side, keeping his eyes fixed on Gomez.

“No one else is here, I take it?”

 

Tom appeared behind Gomez sharp fingernails held into his throat.

“Why? Do you think that you could take me?”

“Yeah.” Gomez slid something out of his pocket and stabbed Tom in the leg.

“Argh! What in the…” He reeled back in pain “That hurt!”

 

Gomez span around bringing up the knife, swapping hands for a better stance.

“Silver will do that.”

“Ha! You think a mortal like you could defeat me with just that?” The pale man jumped to the side. He landed and looked around as though he had dropped his wallet. “But my speed?”

“Oh, this isn’t just a silver knife. This is an almost perfect replica of Saint Quinn’s soul slayer. You’re not going anywhere.”

 

“You dare?” Tom dove into a sprint, swinging his arms out, scratching at air. Gomez swung the blade through the path of one of his hands. Tom was quick enough to stop his hand just shy of the blades arc. Gomez’ stinger shot from his shoulder, Tom didn’t expect it. The stinger slammed into his stomach filling him with poison. He collapsed to the ground writhing in pain.

 

“That’s a little different to normal scorpion juice Tom. Even if I wasn’t going to cut your head off right now you might not survive the week with it in your veins.”

 

Gomez stopped, hot wetness rushed over his back. He was stabbed. Taking a step forward he gasped. His killer stepped in front of him.

“Well, you were a stronger fighter than your granddaughter. But still, you should have joined us when you had the chance.”

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