Wednesday, October 14, 2009
An essence
7:09 PM | Posted by
Warwriter Widow
Grimaulkin took the whiskey bottle and set it on the table in the base’s magic room. It looked like any old empty bottle, but to Grim it was special – it had an essence. Harris’ essence.
It wasn’t much, it wouldn’t be enough to bind him, but it would be enough to influence him. To bind him he needed a lot more, or blood. He didn’t want to bind him anyway, just get him to loosen up, to let down his guard.
Grim climbed the stairs and went to one of the back rooms. Whoever had used this room already cleaned out most of the really good magic books. There was one dark magic tome, and that was for novices. Luckily he had done these spells enough times that he had memorized them, every syllable, every motion.
There was no room for a real summoning circle here, so he used the bed as his altar. He drew his dagger, his personal atheme, and walked around the bed, saying, “I consecrate this circle, that none shall enter here, none shall leave here, until my ritual is completed. So mote it be.” He repeated it again, and completed the circle.
He sat on the bed, with the whiskey bottle in the middle of the circle he had drawn. Although he couldn’t see the line of it, he could sense it. He took the bottle by the bottom with both hands and closed his eyes. He opened himself up, feeling power course through him. He opened his eyes – they glowed green. He could see the small bit of saliva on the mouth of the bottle. He put his hand over the area, and he could see the smoke of darkness flow from his palm to the bottle.
He could do one of two things: He could absorb the essence and have a part of him for a temporary amount of time, predicting Harris’ moves and actions, feeling through him for a short time; or he could seal the essence on the bottle and make a fetish, something to use to influence him.
To absorb the essence wouldn’t last long, and he wouldn’t get what he really wanted. He let the smoke flow from him and touch the mouth of the bottle, wrap around it and on top of the area Harris had touched. There, it was sealed.
He took his athame and slashed the circle open. He felt the chill of the gathering of spirits outside come rushing in. He shrugged them off, grabbed the bottle by the neck, and brought it back out to the main room. He opened a drawer and found what he wanted. He stuck a red candle in the mouth of the bottle, and smiled.
“Let the spelling begin,” he whispered.
It wasn’t much, it wouldn’t be enough to bind him, but it would be enough to influence him. To bind him he needed a lot more, or blood. He didn’t want to bind him anyway, just get him to loosen up, to let down his guard.
Grim climbed the stairs and went to one of the back rooms. Whoever had used this room already cleaned out most of the really good magic books. There was one dark magic tome, and that was for novices. Luckily he had done these spells enough times that he had memorized them, every syllable, every motion.
There was no room for a real summoning circle here, so he used the bed as his altar. He drew his dagger, his personal atheme, and walked around the bed, saying, “I consecrate this circle, that none shall enter here, none shall leave here, until my ritual is completed. So mote it be.” He repeated it again, and completed the circle.
He sat on the bed, with the whiskey bottle in the middle of the circle he had drawn. Although he couldn’t see the line of it, he could sense it. He took the bottle by the bottom with both hands and closed his eyes. He opened himself up, feeling power course through him. He opened his eyes – they glowed green. He could see the small bit of saliva on the mouth of the bottle. He put his hand over the area, and he could see the smoke of darkness flow from his palm to the bottle.
He could do one of two things: He could absorb the essence and have a part of him for a temporary amount of time, predicting Harris’ moves and actions, feeling through him for a short time; or he could seal the essence on the bottle and make a fetish, something to use to influence him.
To absorb the essence wouldn’t last long, and he wouldn’t get what he really wanted. He let the smoke flow from him and touch the mouth of the bottle, wrap around it and on top of the area Harris had touched. There, it was sealed.
He took his athame and slashed the circle open. He felt the chill of the gathering of spirits outside come rushing in. He shrugged them off, grabbed the bottle by the neck, and brought it back out to the main room. He opened a drawer and found what he wanted. He stuck a red candle in the mouth of the bottle, and smiled.
“Let the spelling begin,” he whispered.
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