Merlin 3:13 “Whoracle”
The phoenix tosses and shakes its head, stretching shoulders and arching back, withdrawn in sorts from ways to communicate such that a familiar does, insomuch preening itself I n search for what had made it ill. Searching in the wool-like under-feathers for what it imagines be a bug or serpent, impetuously, but not fatuitous. Thru empathy, they help Troy onto its back, calmly it subsides as he leans into the special saddle and into the new night air, and they travel emissaries unto Ana.
Nick: “Will they be well?”
Merlin: “By morn, one will heal the other. We have bigger problems; we have to leave before this demon hunter’s servants come, help me burn the bodies.”
Nick: “We mustn’t do that.”
Merlin: “The truth of this slaughter will have the hunters looking for the nearest wizard, whatever else would you do?”
Nick: “Burn the sigils. Burning bodies so many leaves a warrant on the world other than men, burning their paraphernalia makes it seem feudal, might could put the blame on them unto each other.”
Merlin: “Then we shall leave the truth on the wind.”
Nick: “You burn the tents and flags, I’ll deface their symbol.”
Quickly Merlin ignites the few tents without regard for immolating some of the corpses, Nick severs a head of one of the dead and hides the decapitation with a shield, with an axe he damages another shield’s emblem and hoists it onto a pike adjacent. It is soon they depart and thereby standing watch all the while is a witch named Ostara in her new possession of new intrigue watching them leave unabridged.
Merlin: “How are things between you and your lover?”
Nick: “I know that you know.”
Merlin: “What is it that I know?”
Nick: “She is now with child as the day become longer, new days for the world to shine.”
Merlin: “How is that?”
Nick: “Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…”
Merlin: “No, blatherskite, how did you know my knowing?”
Nick: “The gods in ill-fettered humor have set me on men, it is a natural business my knowing how she carries the moon.”
Merlin: “Should it not be so reckless to hazard guessing.”
Nick: “Yes, and I had druthers to never know such things until I had land and maybe even title.”
Merlin: “Shut it.”
Nick: “In courtesy, with farm and ranch, I’d pick an obscure title…”
Merlin: “No, seriously halt and quiet.”
Merlin walks from the left side of his companion to behind him on the right, closer to the road’s edge on the footsteps they have recently crossed. Nick looks over his own left shoulder, away from Merlin of sight, as he looks over his right shoulder to where Merlin tarried in question of silent trees, vanished is the young old wizard with Nick in mid-word.
Merlin rushes into the forest searching for a sound of plausible mental source, an emanating vacuous welling of darkness and light farther than he can see. A ruminant disturbing thought that cannot be assuaged by conjured breeze as smoke from eyes nor dismissed by hindsight and foresight of physical ventures, for in his curiosity it is imminently magic distant in both ways of location and disconcert.
Ostara looks on dead Ulric, the veins of her eyes coursing with fiery currents of roses and lavender, her magic hieing thru his thoughts before he in soul takes them to Valhalla, or shalt elsewhere theretofore, hewing thru his sacred recollections for recent memories. She finds his thoughts disheveled even at treasured extraction, finding in surd the vision of Merlin and others, her death-scry abandoned at the sight of the phoenix she assumes to be unreal, discounted as a decedent failing mind.
She rises to her feet and walks around the field, entering the abattoir and exiting, picking a sword from the ground as she passes the disrespected sign of the soldiery, dragging blade on bodies as she watches them pose for death under the weeping moon, her imagination carries tidings of goodness for what their lives shall have been. The fires of insignias burn to be recognized and passionately detoured, as her mind dances with a vigorous tempo it brings her candor nigh jolly, amidst the fallen she stands with arms openly embracing a hex of time and power. The air breathes shadow and lights surreal bend in the passages of time induced, as her feet lift closely from the forces of earth her affects rise and wave, her dress wanders like the tides, her necklaces and pendant adrift, and the power of reincarnation serves to her. The reign of living gives without restraint the manna of the slain unto the least wounded, even into the dead, here unbalanced is the force of death that some are more gone and others restricted to life.
Time passing faster for her, increasingly vulnerable afloat and seeing only the withering vision of a blacked-out world, as the forces of dark light in the shape of needles, fighting her projection of magic near her, she casts all spells aside, groggy and disturbed men find themselves with apprehensions of death.
Ostara: “A taste of death, a benevolent death, and for the others, their light discovers darkness.”
Reidlos: “Why have we not gone to Valhalla, Freyja?”
Ostara: “You are not dead, I am Ostara of the Disir, and to you I have given life that you may serve me.”
Reidlos: “But I am well and was never hurt.”
Ostara: “Then you are alive as you are dead.”
She begins walking and snaps her fingers, her elbow bent while holding her left hand near her shoulder, the dude falls dead, and she stops and turns immediately to speak of vitriol and condescension.
Ostara: “Kneel or there will be Hel and no joys with Odin for you!”
Merlin watches with adverse curiosity and lulled ambition. She has such wroth that requires a moment for composure, the downfall of privative thoughts is her struggle to do so. She puts her index fingers together and separates them in a flushing motion indicative of a lain rope to ground, inference response as such a type the soldiers stand shoulder to shoulder as she paces forth.
Two vampires, who have approached of the moment dusk allows safe passage in the nesting shadows of evening trees, hold their boundary in the distance watching her, she strumpets her ranks, passing afore those showing expressions varying at each one, with thoughts regaling and their intimations sordidly nonplus the vampires watch. They hear the sounds of many feet carrying whispers, which motivate them to draw chain necklaces from their chests, two vampires with the body of men disconnect the chain clasps, carefully they speechlessly parse many circlets thereon tethered, and they gauge the intrinsic values of each. One holds a ring in his fingertips as he ponders, the other shows one lifted in his palm, the other again nods disapproval and holds the ring in fingers’ grasp, meeting approval the second blood-feeder finally claims his favorite after listening to the hunters by hither, in the shadows in the sundry of conflict.
The two vampires retreat several confident steps while cautiously keeping sight of Ostara. The running feet are more demon hunters, they move with predation and slow in stalking night, the fires Merlin had set still burn like lamps of tent wick and oil of the decedent, at forest edge hazarding guess to situation they see the body of Ulric, the flames glowing on his face whilst the shadows dance beside him. The five hunters run determinate to only so breathe and kill the dozen Ostara has reprieved.
Ostara: “Only I can kill you now.”
Ostara’s minions embrace the choice to fight as gods, some yell and one even thruout howls as they take up arms, but she departs walking thru a campfire that rages, and as she does the flames climb, the fury grows. She has however lied, the soldiers of resurrection are mortal and so one learns when decapitated and thus by all. Watching, just as he is, the vampires wait in surveillance and making wagers in the weight of orphans and sardonically debating the aspects of cleanliness of said bastards.
Niles: “Four midis wager she hereby abandons.”
Roderick: “Four clean?”
Niles: “Fie, of course, I ain’t been cemetarian in centuries.”
Roderick: “We might’ve to occupy that slaughterhouse in too long.”
Niles looks to Roderick pointing at the smallish plebian stone barn and tower, and over their eyes the viewing of battle and cynical cringes at the sight of a vicious blow, thereof the extremity of one sword plows thru the face of arisen soldier revoking thusly life. Ostara sneaks behind a demon hunter much to haute dismay, a trembling fear stands not well to her stare, as the hunter presents a rune and fiery magic incantation incomplete the hex he casts she turns afoul and remunerates untoward fatal immolation, leaning over her groveling victim with power in her hands and fire in eyes. Three hunters remaining in seeing her so close decide to flee, one of three spills a purse of broken starlight glass that webs crooked lightning illumination into the air blindingly, their escape soon lauded by Merlin and the vampires and Ostara contemptuous looks to her minions with resentful disappointment as it subsides.
Ostara: “I expect more forthwith; why are there no bloody horses?”
Reidlos: “Scattered, madam Ostara, flit while we slept.”
Ostara: “Good, you have survived, but without inference to have suicide for not dying in combat.”
Reidlos: “We all fear you here, including those mages.”
Ostara: “If I wanted your opinion…I would…excuse me, we have uninvited guests.”
Roderick: “Go – now.”
The vampires scramble into the underbrush the way that evades only as they can in the style of well. It is not of them she hearkens concern, Reidlos kneels and holds his hands in fear to her as she walks passed him, his confused eyes watch her walk again into the fires. She appears corporeal afore Merlin, her stature sways akimbo in the wiles of all healthy women with confidence erotic, her only confusion being what words he will air.
Merlin: “You are pure anodyne, were I Delphic I would have tithing, which pales in your beauty.”
Ostara: “Feeble derision, contemptuous, mocking even for also I care to hear no part to your vacancy at dawn.”
Merlin: “Lithe and supple forever miss me; it would be unnatural had you not.”
Ostara: “Do shut your pie hole.”
She begins to strut and he begins to walk precautionary, from head to toe she waves the folds in her dress the locks of her hair the meaning of her presence.
Ostara: “Having to show so little interest in anything, languid and spiritless, indifferent, yet hereby you stand.”
Merlin: “I like to watch.”
Ostara: “You are mellifluous as always.”
Merlin: “Preponderantly waiting, force prevailing.”
Ostara: “Protuberant more likes.”
Merlin: “I saw your minions redivivus.”
Ostara: “Redolent of rumors, do you not have your own undying kith?”
Merlin: “We are restive, Midgardian armies, precious metals…old friends.”
Ostara: “Be keen and ruminant on their reasons, Merlin, you have an obsession with morality.”
Merlin: “Sapient wisdom, were success not subjective.”
Ostara: “Stygian misanthropic obsidian view has dulled your sharpness.”
Merlin: “Better than timorous subjugation bereft of wisdom.”
Ostara: “You are truly deprived; fear is vitality, listless empires fatigue without it.”
Merlin: “That is called hunger.”
Ostara: “Of which I have. It is time we duel.”
Ostara pulls a slender wand from her cleavage and turns pointing it at him, but he is vanished. Thru the trees, she exits as the revived watch her approach in stride, calling to them in commanding tone.
Ostara: “Take keep of extra weapons, we make for the morgue in Abraxas …and be quick about it.”
Her words calm and callous as she leads the trail, they gather secondary weapons and depart down the second road, Merlin watching them depart the scene views the vampires cautiously exiting the castle-house, he stays hidden as they watch her lead her little army, asking them questions by her interest.
Niles walks into the field of the slain aside the dwindling fires, holding his hand over his eyes as if to complain about the moonlight. Roderick moves to a dead man, he cuts the corpse’s wrist and waits for blood to spill tho at instance it does not, Niles rummages for clues and wares. Roderick pushes his hand on the body’s chest and still no blood pours, he takes his knife anon to cut throat, the blood barely trickles so he puts his knee to chest no less than assuming a back wound has blood let, this all in such as Niles approaches and tosses a cup to his cohort over body. The wooden cup he fills and passes to his ally, secondly in switch the other wooden cup.
Niles sips while standing and sour distaste becomes apparent, his face distrusts the cup certainly, seeing so the other sips and sanguine comfort he samples naught. They toss their mugs aside in the same and look at the body.
Niles: “Feed him, interrogate him.”
Roderick: “Come hither, hence from death, child of the night.”
Roderick sits on the chest of the body and slits his own wrist spilling blood on the lips to make them red, in this much with worthless force there come no fangs as the mouth fills with blood though nothing else of action.
Roderick: “How does a bleeder escape the eternal breath?”
Niles: “The sorceress likely gives deviance to our polity, I smell another bleeder around here somewhere.”
Earthly sent on course with mysteries egregious wrought, to rent and pull as sent, gravely haunting this native place and drink its life they do in fact find one of the wounded hunter mages and attempt to question post means that resurrect him into their state.
Merlin: “I would not do that!”
The vampires extend their hands adorned with rings to Merlin, the rings glow dark and the engravings light, the powers from the moon empower them.
Merlin: “Nor would I do that.”
Merlin barely lifts his own hand and their rings begin to burn them so, they fretfully and begrudgingly hasten to remove melting fetters from their fingers.
Merlin: “Like your previous appetizer, the dead have no incorporeal magic, no vampire witches without alchemy, so you use rings like those that I or others have made, and lost.”
Niles: “Your bones are no stronger than mine if I reach you.”
Roderick: “Fie, mage, regale us of this slaughter, else no questions are answered upon.”
Merlin: “That one there is the leader of some brimstone mages, who happened on the witch with vengeance, however poorly, all after hereupon a larger slaughter, that I might’ve interred some involvement.”
They look at the many bodies and wonder of the wizard’s strength and assessing him as more than mage, their fear is present and ready to evacuate.
Merlin: “Forgive the foul pun, but don’t you know bad blood when you seek it?”
Roderick: “We’ve been twenty leagues to find a civil servant from our own, this blood, circumstantial.”
Merlin: “Twenty leagues by half.”
Niles: “Nonetheless day or night he is missing.”
Niles picks the cooled rings from ground, turning his head during to keep watch of Merlin, but in straying to the dead hunter Wiccan, looking with grave confusion. As they both adorn their rings anew, a scout from an army carefully spies on them, his army behind him upon the approaching hour of dawn, the vampires look at each other and come to choice without sharing words.
Niles: “What said you of follow the leader?”
Merlin: “Like wolves.”
Roderick: “Ah, ‘but time has set its maggot on their track’.”
Niles: “Well, wizard, it is nearly the top of the morning.”
Roderick: “We hope to leave on good terms, if not we will run notwithstanding.”
Merlin: “You may presently get to the gone.”
Niles: “Here tell you have need of silver, catch.” (He tosses large coin; a faint ringing in the air.)
Roderick: “Keep your wits about you, we passed an army behind us, they’re coming this way.”
Merlin: “How do you know?”
Niles: “One of their scouts is over-there.”
Merlin: “Well enough thank you.”
Four scouts encroaching, communicating with gestures one rushes back to his ranks to report, Merlin foists his hood over his head and his hands into his sleeves, with Roderick and Niles having gone, one of three scouts launch an arrow that by the time it lands Merlin has vanished into the air before ever entering the forest.