Fiction Writing Friday: Spell Components

Originally posted 2015-10-23 20:00:47.

“I did not wish to disturb you, master, but it is time to rise.” I speak sweetly to you in the soft voice you insist I use when addressing you. Naturally I do not argue, I never argue. I am your apprentice after all, and only once before have you laid a hand to me…and I deserved it. Father always said my tongue would get me into trouble.

You awake slowly, bleary of eye and of mind after last evenings revelries. Alcohol, opiates, marijuana, and concubines…so many concubines. Concubines that indulge in your every whim…concubines of all skin types, and races, heights and hair types. But worry not, I know your type all too well, tan skin, lightly curling…no…wavey hair, waist length is preferable. Oh, and lithe. We cannot forget that, it is how you described me when first we met. When first you kissed me….when first you struck me…when first I learned my tongue really could get me into trouble.

You groan and wipe the thick sleep from your eyes, when you stretch and yawn your silken robe, woven with intricate golden and silver runes opens widely across your broad chest. My eyes linger momentarily across your chorded musculature, admire the scars both self inflicted and aquisitions of combat. You make no attempt to pull your robe closed as you approach me and retrieve your fresh coffee and iPad with the days news ready and waiting for your inspection.

As you turn to leave I see you eyes linger across my blouse, and the soft cleaveage therein. I pretend not to notice at first, but as you pass I cannot help but inhale deeply your scent and the scents from last evening. The dominent sweat smell of male, the lightly musky scent of the concubines and the dozenz of purfumes used between them. Then when I thought the mixed aromas could be no more of a heady I catch the scent I had been looking for…the sickly sweet stench of decay….then more…blood….interesting.

Perhaps the time has come.

I make my way to your small office, attached to a much larger laboratory down the hall. It has only been minutes, but the coffee is mostly gone, and you have already changed into your fine vestments. A pair of black slacks and Italian leather shoes, $1500 a pair, I remember you bragged once while drunk. A clean, deeply purple dress shirt and black tie, silver and gold runes ever present along the seams of each piece of clothing, With but a glance to your left you summon your familiar…or at least you tell me you do…we do not all have eyes of the dead like you, able to see the invisible beasts around us…nor do we all wield the power of a true Necromancer, and have the ability to bend the dead and dying things of this world your will.

“As you see, master,” I begin. “The attack on on the airforce base was not only successful, it was perfectly executed. Three of our Vordroch are beyond even your considerable necromantic mending abilities (you grunt), but it was a small price to pay for the dozen A-10 Warthogs and surplus of Vulcan ammunition we acquired, the troops stationed there have been turned, so our ranks are up by a number of 720 overnight.” Your fingers begin to trace symbols, all arcane, on your iPad and it seems that you have lost interest. “Oh!” I exclaim suddenly, knowing I will snap you from your concentration. Immediately you stand and stalk over to me causeing loud metalic slap to sound off the marble floor…runes on your soles. “The taking of California, Washington, Oregon, and New Mexico is compl..” I don’t finish the thought, as your hand moves with lightening speed across my face, and you send me reeling. I hit the ground hard, and spit out a pathetic squeak as I look up at you, tears welling in my brown eyes. “Master I…” and I am cut off as $750 worth of Italian leather slams into my ribs and shove my breath out in a heave. I gasp and sit there stunned and weeping.

You turn as if to walk away, mumbling something about how I should know not to interrupt you while you are studying, or playing Angry Birds, or whatever the fuck it was that you were doing.

You command me to stand, and I do. You wheel on me again and I flinch away, but dont evade quickly enough. Your lips, full and sweet press hard against my own, and I struggle briefly to get away. I cannot…you carry the strength of the dead within you bones…a power that I cannot fathom. A power that I cannot fight.

Before I realize it my cloths are torn away and leave only bare-tan skin behind. You kiss me more, pushing harder, and now I reciprocate. I shove you back and smile, but the chase is on now an again you hold me tight and begin to kiss me all over. The headiness returns in a flash, the scent of death..sweat…sex…and blood. Oh, how we have been waiting for this day.

I let out a throaty growl as you lift me to you hips and wrap my legs around you. You smile, thinking you are about to attain the unattainable…and how right you are.

Your right hand closes over my left breast, much harder than a gentleman should, and yet it is you whom wince, not I. You blink, stunned at the sharp pain that pulses through your palm and fingertips like electricity. “400,000 men fell against our men yesterday,” I say softly. “and 400,000 then raised in your name…under our banner” you wince, not paying attention as panic truly begins to set in. “You tamed the swine of war, and command the hell that pours from their lips” I purr into your ear huskily. Our cheeks brush and the electricity flashes at the touch. Your skin begins to peel from your right cheek, curling like a dying leaf….you scream…..I giggle.

“Hush, young master,” I coo, “all is going as planned. The death and rebirth of millions is nothing to scream about.” I knew the screams were from pain. The summoning of the dead, particularly your favorite concubines, allowed you to access powers no mortal has ever known.You scream more, your sounds of agony, an ecstacity to my ears. “And after lastnight…the redhead,” I smile wickedly, and blink, my fawn brown eyes now black…my mass of curling hair a nest of oozing thorns and spikes “That girl loved you, and she was a virgin….a perfect component that you made better by murdering her during her first go at it. Then,” my wicked smile splits into a wide, black lipped and sharp toothed smile. “you raised her from the dead and finished fucking her.” I cannot help but find the utmost amusement in this, as your look of shock and pain turns to nausea and fear. “The great one could not have planned this any better…praise his glory…” and at those words your screams become an ear piercing shriek as your bones being to battle against you. Muscles strain and flesh pops as your body pulls itself apart. Your legs step high, as if marching in place, and your flesh-sleaves are left behind in a pulpy mass. Your hand still grips my breast, but suddenly yanks away leaving goblets of meat behind.

There is a wet squelch and now at you feet lay lengths of coiled and colored intestines that are of no more use. I smile again, sweetly. “My dear, it is almost time..” I practially squeal to him…not you…him.

With a lurch you are forced to step back. Skeletal hands make a mad grasp for your nose, eyes, and throats…..with a satisfying tear all of your once beautiful face is removed, replaced with the beautiful visage of my true Master Kalendaros, the Lord of Undeath.

“A perfect spell, my love…” I blush as I speak to him, the reason for putting up with that mortal fool for the last decade has finally come to fruition..

“Hello, my love,” His voice rumbles, the sound of a gravel mound shifting. “you have done well, I could be no happier….”

I smile and grab his hand tightly, leading him to the harem room. “Of course you could,” I wink and smile as I open the door and lead my Lord into the concubines chamber.

I smiled wide, he smiles wider…and then the screaming begins.