The Black Mage

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

This is more of an "excerpt" from a story that doesn't exist. I never wrote more about this story, although depending on feedback, I might explore further. It is slightly gruesome, just a warning.

His muscles wouldnt respond. Locked in darkness. He knew struggling would do nothing, for it was with no ordinary chains he was bound with. His magic couldnt overcome whatever was holding him down, so he just stood there, motionless, waiting for the master of this place. Every second felt like an hour, every minute an eternity. There were no windows, nothing to allow him the privelege of knowing how long he'd been here. It could've been two days, or two years. The same magic that held him down allowed his body to survive without food, rest, or the need to relieve himself. His mind was the only thing he could control. Sure, he could talk, but with no one to hear him, what was the use? He'd spent his first few hours (days?) screaming, hoping anyone would answer him. But no, nothing. Without his book of spells to study from, his supply of magic was nigh on empty. He was hopeless, alone.

Finally, after a countless number of eternities, there was a small sliver of light. The sliver grew and grew until it was large enough for a man. A chair was revealed in the light. Slowly, a man in dark robes walked around the chair and sat down, his hood pulled down to cover his face.

He knew who the man was. The Black Mage.

He stared at the man, and the man simply sat there.

And sat.

And sat.

The man's voice, barely above a whisper, said, "Simply tell me the location, and all will be over. You will be free again."

He simply stood there, and stared, refusing to answer. The Black Mage propped one elbow on the arm of the chair. "Defiance will earn you nothing, and my patience grows thin."

He finally spoke, his voice raspy from disuse. "Never," he spat. He could see the man's fist clench.

"Come now, dear fellow. I know that you know their whereabouts. This is your final chance. Tell me. .. Now."

He summoned all his magical energies and cast the final two spells he would ever cast. The first, a distraction. A simple spell, one that every novice spellcaster learns. A simple firework spell, that exploded right before the Black Mage's face, blinding him for just a second, but just long enough for him to see what he needed to. The banner of the High King. His last spell, a message. Telepathically written, sent flying through stone and mortar, straight to his preistess, to let her know the Black Mage's location.

He knew his end was coming. He stared into the face of the Black Mage, who's hood had fallen back when the first spell went off. He saw the miniscule sign of a silent spell-cast, the slight twitch of his cheek muscle. His body erupted in flames, searing flesh and muscle from his bones. But a quick death was not allowed him. He felt each and every particle of his skin, each of his organs, every molecule of his being, drown in fire, until there was only bones left. The Black Mage slowly stood, gathered the bones, and stored them in a pocket in his robes, magically enhanced to carry objects larger than a greatsword. "Tsk tsk. I had hoped better from you. Ah well, your remains will serve me still. Rest in peace, rebellous scum."


Submitted: March 28, 2012

© Copyright 2022 bluedrewbie. All rights reserved.

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