Tag: magic

Her Eyes

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Every city has an Oracle.
Every Oracle has a secret to hide.
The bartender with the bandage over her face told us some things should not be known.
“What color are your eyes?” asked Joe.
I elbowed him in the ribs. He laughed.
She put down the rag she was polishing the bar with and pointed to a jar on a shelf.
Blue. Her eyes had been blue.
“What color are they now?” Joe asked.
She sighed, reaching across the bar and putting her hand to Joe’s face.
“Whatever these are,” she said, and Joe screamed, his empty eyesockets bleeding.

Healer

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I am a healer.
I heal the worn-down, the lame, and damaged.
If you have an ice sculpture that has lost an arm, a wing, or has melted beyond recognition, I can restore it to its former grandeur.
The water speaks to me, and with my frozen operating theater and trusty staff, we can bring it back from the brink.
It all started when I was young, filling ice cube trays day and night, obsessed with water as it went from liquid to solid.
Now, I gather their spirits and the treasured beauty is back.
Some ice for your drink?

Invulnerable

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Lord Bragdor’s armor stands in the Hall Of Heroes, as shiny as the day he was speared through the face in a jousting tournament.
“It was enchanted with an invulnerability spell,” said the Hall’s custodian, The Blue Wizard. “But, his visor was loose and his opponent very lucky.”
“Wouldn’t the lance have been knocked aside by the spell?” asked his apprentice Morstrawl.
“If the invulnerability had been meant for Lord Bragdor, yes,” said Blue. “But due to my misreading the spellbook, it was the armor that was invulnerable.”
The apprentice nodded, realizing why he had never had to polish it.

Silenced

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Behold, the Great Magician Mysterio!
“With a snap of my fingers, you are silenced,” said the man in the bright red cloak.
And he did. He took off a red glove and held his hand in front of my nose.
Snap
“Go ahead,” he said. “Say something.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said: “Elephant.”
“Did you say something?” he mocked. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
He danced around me, snapping his fingers in my face. And then, he stopped.
He snapped his fingers a few times, and then right by his ear.
“I am deaf!” he shouted.

The Alchemist

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The world is turning to bright yellow glass.
The Alchemist. I have to see her.
She has the pills I need.
Her blend of phase-anchoring nanobots and cellular dimensional disruptor isotopes aren’t cheap.
What’s your task?
Reach across time for an artifact?
Disrupt the future for a prophesy.
Bring me a Weaver Crystal, she says. Red.
Ah. Materials collection.
Easy.
I reach through space to The Hive, my hand brushing across Clusterdrones from cave to cave.
I break off a shard and hand it to the Alchemist.
Orange will do, she mutters, and my lead-weave pouch is full once again.

The Lenses

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At the rank of Mage Ultimor, the wizard will grind a Diabolical Lens.
Infused with ancient spells, this looking-glass deciphers messages from The Beyond.
The messages are often mundane, but occasionally an interesting and useful command makes it through the torrent.
Most mages grow bored with the filtering process. Others remain at their scrying table, peering into the hazy glass circle, lips trembling.
When he was an apprentice, his duty was to smash his master’s lens.
Voltmaster never took on an apprentice, so he never escaped the lure of the lens.
Surging with power, his eyes glow with distant rage.

Sturgiss

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We followed Sturgiss the Necromancer, that demon graverobber criminal!
His destination? The accursed Voltmaster.
His watchtower rises from a clearing in Gloomwood.
We goblins know to give this abomination of stone a wide berth.
On the roof, Sturgiss arranges steel rods.
Clouds, ready for harvest.
I shout to the sky: “We demand the return of Lord Grondol’s body!”
Sturgiss screams his response: “You may fight the jackals for Grondol’s unused remains.”
Inside, Voltmaster throws a switch. The tower explodes with light and power.
“This is just trickery!” I shout, but my goblin soldiers run.
Grondol, your desecration is my dishonor.

Wands

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The White Mage volunteered at the local school as the band instructor. A welcome break from experiments with potions and wands.
He put away his projects, picked up his baton, and headed out the door to make the trip to the school.
Servants follow the children of the nobility into the recital hall, bearing instruments of all sizes.
They find their seats while the Mage tapped his baton on the lectern for attention.
Fireballs flew out the end, incinerating the strings section.
“No wonder why that wand wouldn’t hold a charge,” he said, servants attacking the flames with water buckets.

Servant

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We need more sticks for wands.
Kiss your fingertips, touch the gate, and walk into the cemetery.
Without the kiss, the cemetery’s residents will be insulted.
With the kiss, you will have a safe journey to the Tree Of Souls.
Gather the loose branches. Do not take from the tree itself – that is certain destruction.
These powerful twigs will make excellent wands for necromancy, magic of the dead.
My best ones come from here in fact. Powerful enough to raise the dead and make them obedient servants.
Such as yourself.
Now, be a good zombie, and get me those twigs.

The Magic Pants

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Miss Kathy reaches into her pockets and pulls out five bucks. “My pants,” she says, “are magical.”
Sure enough, any time she needs something, all she has to do is reach into her pocket.
She always pulls out what she needs, when she needs it.
Ketchup packets, keys, a spare cell phone battery, money – especially money.
She’s been tempted to tear them apart to see where the stuff comes from, but she doesn’t want to kill the magic pants like the golden goose.
Besides, they fit really good, and that’s truly magical when it comes to a pair of pants.