Friday, February 12, 2010
Maulkin Lost
6:18 PM | Posted by
Warwriter Widow
Maulkin moved slowly. It all had to be perfect, choreographed perfectly. If one thing went wrong, he would be a dead man. He needed total concentration on this one task, and it needed to be done right. There was no room for error.
He had left the comm outside. He had closed the door to the dais room and posted Cobra there, ordering him to not open it no matter what he heard inside or what happened outside – even if the building was burning down.
He began the spell in the other area of the room, out of her earshot. He refused to think that he amazed himself that he remembered the words and their pronunciations correctly, he concentrated entirely on the spell, on its function and action. He said the words, made the motions, added the necessary ingredients as they were called for. Then he bathed the dagger in the paste he had made with the herbs and fluids, with everything from common every-day sage to Dragon’s blood to eagle’s brains. The last important ingredient was added – a drop of Grimaulkin’s blood.
He took the dagger out of the paste. It didn’t seem to glow or anything that he noticed. He continued with the spell as he walked over to the dais, where his demoness lay sleeping. He had added some sleeping medication to her last sacrifice, and hoped that would give him enough of an edge.
Maulkin stood over her sleeping form. In a loud voice, he commanded, “STIGO!” and thrust the dagger into her back.
The scream that erupted from her was absolutely not human, and sounded like a thousand throats howled the noise. He pulled out the dagger, dripping with black blood, and thrust again. At this, though, she had turned over, and put her hand up to catch his downward motion. She was far stronger than him, and caught his wrist.
“HOW DARE YOU!” she screamed, and slithered up.
He chanted again, and she stared open-mouthed at him, suddenly frozen. Two things went through her mind – she had taught him that paralyzing spell months ago! He had asked for it twice already, how could he remember? And the second thing: since when was she susceptible to mortal magic?
The dagger scratched her arm, and she pulled it away. She bled along the floor, and the wound didn’t close. The knife made her mortal!
Using her confusion for that moment, he then switched spells – the spell to take her power and life force. How dare he—
She lashed out at him, to try and distract him. He ignored her swipe across his chest, tearing through armor as if it was paper, slashing through muscle. He continued the chant, ignoring the pain and the injury. She moved to strike him again, but found she couldn’t move. The paralyzing spell already affected her.
Maulkin stopped the spell and watched as she froze. He took the dagger, raised it high, and stabbed it down at her chest. Blood spurted as if from a fountain. She was too paralyzed to scream.
He kept stabbing, blood kept spurting, until it was a thick pool of black ink on the floor, and her skin turned white. He tore out her eyes, and stared at them for a minute. Caught up in the blood lust, he bit into them and swallowed.
Then he threw down his cloak to sop up the blood. He started cutting her into pieces, and sat in the blood. Spearing a piece at a time and muttering an ancient Aztec spell, he consumed her.
As he did, he felt her power course through him, and all the spells that she knew passed through his head. All the languages, all the strength and power, flowed into and through him, taking his mind with it.
He had left the comm outside. He had closed the door to the dais room and posted Cobra there, ordering him to not open it no matter what he heard inside or what happened outside – even if the building was burning down.
He began the spell in the other area of the room, out of her earshot. He refused to think that he amazed himself that he remembered the words and their pronunciations correctly, he concentrated entirely on the spell, on its function and action. He said the words, made the motions, added the necessary ingredients as they were called for. Then he bathed the dagger in the paste he had made with the herbs and fluids, with everything from common every-day sage to Dragon’s blood to eagle’s brains. The last important ingredient was added – a drop of Grimaulkin’s blood.
He took the dagger out of the paste. It didn’t seem to glow or anything that he noticed. He continued with the spell as he walked over to the dais, where his demoness lay sleeping. He had added some sleeping medication to her last sacrifice, and hoped that would give him enough of an edge.
Maulkin stood over her sleeping form. In a loud voice, he commanded, “STIGO!” and thrust the dagger into her back.
The scream that erupted from her was absolutely not human, and sounded like a thousand throats howled the noise. He pulled out the dagger, dripping with black blood, and thrust again. At this, though, she had turned over, and put her hand up to catch his downward motion. She was far stronger than him, and caught his wrist.
“HOW DARE YOU!” she screamed, and slithered up.
He chanted again, and she stared open-mouthed at him, suddenly frozen. Two things went through her mind – she had taught him that paralyzing spell months ago! He had asked for it twice already, how could he remember? And the second thing: since when was she susceptible to mortal magic?
The dagger scratched her arm, and she pulled it away. She bled along the floor, and the wound didn’t close. The knife made her mortal!
Using her confusion for that moment, he then switched spells – the spell to take her power and life force. How dare he—
She lashed out at him, to try and distract him. He ignored her swipe across his chest, tearing through armor as if it was paper, slashing through muscle. He continued the chant, ignoring the pain and the injury. She moved to strike him again, but found she couldn’t move. The paralyzing spell already affected her.
Maulkin stopped the spell and watched as she froze. He took the dagger, raised it high, and stabbed it down at her chest. Blood spurted as if from a fountain. She was too paralyzed to scream.
He kept stabbing, blood kept spurting, until it was a thick pool of black ink on the floor, and her skin turned white. He tore out her eyes, and stared at them for a minute. Caught up in the blood lust, he bit into them and swallowed.
Then he threw down his cloak to sop up the blood. He started cutting her into pieces, and sat in the blood. Spearing a piece at a time and muttering an ancient Aztec spell, he consumed her.
As he did, he felt her power course through him, and all the spells that she knew passed through his head. All the languages, all the strength and power, flowed into and through him, taking his mind with it.
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