Return Of Magic: The Rogue Teuton, Section 1: The Tome Of Severius The Roman free porn video
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is what I hope to be the beginning of a
series of stories. Be patient, and I will get it done. If
you want to egg me on for whatever reason, then review the
story and say something on the order of "Hurry up and
finish the story you idiot!" Though I would appreciate if
no one called me an idiot or some such. ;)
And now, Return of Magic: The Rogue Teuton, Section 1.
Preface: Of the Orders of Magic
Magic has existed throughout the history of mankind,
prominent until very recently. The early shaman possessed
this power exclusively, but as their power declined and the
kings of men rose, their powers spread. For all could
possess these powers.
By the rise of civilization, three orders existed. The
first, were spellcasters. The weakest of the ancient
orders, each individual possessed powers in only one area,
for instance in medicine, in battle, in alchemy, or in the
ways and courses of nature. One's powers were determined by
choice. They were indistinguishable from common folk as far
as appearance went, but always had several scrolls, which
contained their order's teachings and lessons.
Then there were the wizards and witches, also known as the
sorcerers and sorceresses. They could come to possess any
combination of powers, the limit only being how fast they
could learn. Their order was closely knit, with the various
members of the order taking direction from the Great
Wizard, who passed the various decrees through High Wizards
to their constituents. They could come to possess great
power, though it is more practical than fundamental.
Distinguished by flowing robes, tall conical hats, and
great, strong staffs, many also possessed an enchanted
sword.
The most powerful order, however, is that of the Micesriks,
who are the oldest of the orders, and only the shamans
predate them. Their powers are more fundamental, dealing
not with the magic, but with the natural forces that are
used to cast the spells. Their ability to manipulate the
very power from which all the orders draw their powers, the
Natural Power, often in later centuries called the life-
force, sets them apart, and in the case of a duel between a
Micesrik Magi, the Magi always comes out triumphant. The
Micesriks were guided by a council of thirteen Masters, the
Chairs of Micesrik. They guided the order, lent advice and
council upon it's members. Distinguished by their simple
robes and vests, as well as by their great swords,
unbreakable, each with a colored jewel where the blade
meets the hilt.
However, the three orders were not immune to the winds of
time. In the 1200's B.C.E., a time recounted in the
Christian Bible as the Exodus, the shape of the world was
forever changed. A great Micesrik Master suddenly turned to
evil and hate to achieve his ends. He stole the throne of
Egypt, forcing a young Magi with the name of Moze to lead
all those who would not submit to the Evil Master's rule.
The escape was narrow and harrowing.
The Evil Master assembled an army to invade Palestine,
Syria, and eventually Assyria. The world was his object.
And to his advantage, a war among the orders was beginning.
After several battles, the four armies, those of the
spellcasters, the wizards, the Micesriks, and the Evil
Master and his evil order of darkness, confronted each
other in northern Palestine, in a battle long forgotten by
history, the Battle of the Four Orders. The Micesriks came
out victorious, but a return to the golden ages of the
years before was not to happen.
The Evil Master, though he was later slain on the island of
Thera in the Aegean, had sown distrust in the hearts of
men. The Micesriks were forced to hide from the world, and
it was not easy for the other two orders to act either.
Thus, magic began to disappear from the annals of history.
The rise and martyrdom of the prophet Jesus, who possessed
some knowledge of the powers of the various orders, led to
the revitalization of the spellcasters. In time they would
come to form the orders of the Knights Templar, a group of
warrior-prophets, and Hospitlar, a group of healer-
warriors. The Teutonic Knights would also arise, the
remnants of the warrior spellcasters, determined to
preserve their heritage. And, though for a millennium from
350 C.E. to 1350 C.E., these orders were prominent, they
guarded their magic jealously. It was not well known that
these men possessed great power. The wizards and Micesrik
Magi remained in hiding throughout this period.
The wizards remained quiet through this period, and so did
the Micesriks, with two exceptions. In the fifth century,
in Britain, as Rome left the island, and the various German
tribes began to invade, the Master Merlin, through a local
noble of Roman education named Arthur, for a time
established a stable kingdom in this chaotic world. His
visibility, however, was his downfall.
Wizards and spellcasters from all around the world came to
destroy him, while Micesriks congregated in Europe to
counterbalance the growth of the European orders. The
result would later come back to haunt the various orders,
especially the Micesriks. The immediate result, however was
the concentration of the three orders in northern Europe,
with only small numbers elsewhere.
Once Merlin was slain, Arthur, noble, wise, and cunning
though he was, could not hold his kingdom together. And, in
battle facing the forces of his bastard son Modred, was
slain, and thus the kingdom came to an end. The second
exception was the rise of the Mikesrik Magi Nostradamus, a
prophet of renowned abilities. However, neither could
excite the interest that would be required for the truth of
what were by this time known only as legends to the world
and to history.
The Micesrik, once the most powerful and influential of the
orders, began a long decline, while the other orders were
able to hold their ground. Through the centuries leading up
to the twentieth century, only during the lifetime of the
Master Penin of Portugal was the Micesrik order stabilized.
By 1900 C.E., the order had shrunk to 100,000 of all
powers, and only 10,000 of any true power. The remainder
consisted of half-trained servants and friends.
The twentieth century would be one of tragedy for all the
orders. By this time, they were exclusively concentrated in
Europe, though they had spread east over the years. It all
began with the young Teutonic Knight Rudolf Haus, a German.
In battle in the First World War, he met a young Austrian
by the name of Adolf Hitler. He came to know of the history
of the orders, to tragic consequence. He inherited the
Teutonic Knight's hatred of the Micesriks, as well as their
desire to control the other spellcaster orders. The wizards
were unknown to both of them.
When Hitler rose to power, alongside his attempt to destroy
the Jews, he began to gain control of the spellcaster
orders, and by the Second World War, through any convenient
means, had gained control over them. He then turned his
attention to the Micesriks. When the German armies came
through, any Magi or Masters found were slain with
overwhelming strength. The half-Magi and Magi students were
sent east to the concentration camps. By the time the war
ended, the spellcasters were seriously weakened, and were
held accountable by the other orders for many crimes.
The wizards, having remained hidden throughout the contest,
were left as the most influential order, and were fast
becoming accustomed to this. The Micesriks, all their
students and half-Magi murdered in the Holocaust, their
members decimated, brought down to under 500, fled Europe,
some to the Middle East, where the violence there would
kill many of them, to China and Russia, where Communist
regimes would slowly cause the extinction of those lines of
the order that went there, and a precious few to America,
where they survived to 1980, when the last Micesrik,
Benjamin Samuel, a Master, died. The spellcasters had
attempted to assist the Micesriks, but their efforts were
half-hearted, especially on the part of the Teutonic
Knights. This, coupled with the constant interference on
the part of the wizards, led to their extinction, or so it
seemed.
The greatest of the prophet Micesriks lived in the first
century of the common era. His name was Severius, and was
but a Magi. However, despite the fact that he never
attained the power and wisdom that is required for a
Master, his prophetic powers were greater than any other at
any period in the history of the orders. He foretold of the
disasters of the twentieth century, of the death of the
last Micesrik. However, he also saw that the Micesrik order
would return, and when it did it would usher in the return
of magic to the scene of human events.
The details of his prophecies were contained a large volume
containing not only his prophecies, but the history and
lore of the order, as well as the fundamental concepts of
the life-force. Over the centuries, though there was only
ever the one copy, it was added to as history continued to
develop, and eventually came to encompass the whole history
and teachings of the Micesrik order.
This book was known as the Tome of Severius the Roman. This
book survived the end of the order and would later come to
play an important part in the resurrection of the Micesrik
order at the dawn of the twenty-first century....
Return of Magic:
Chapter 1: The Rogue Teuton
Section 1: The Tome of Severius the Roman
By SsiRuuk25
***Part One***
Larry Faulkner came home, a weary man. Ten hours of hard
work in a car part manufacturing plant did that to one.
However, after three years, he had become conditioned to
the hard work that he was charged with doing. His body,
then, was a fine specimen of the male gender, strong, well
muscled, and able to work constantly for long periods.
Unfortunately, nature had not cared enough about him to
give him an attractive appearance. He was, in fact, quite
ugly, though not overly so. Just ugly enough to dissuade
any possible mates. And so, Larry's life was quite dull and
uneventful. But that was about to change.
Larry walked up to the small table on which he ate, he had
his phone, and where he laid down his mail. The room, a
combination kitchen, dining room, and living room, was ill
lit, and the darkness gave it a gloomy appearance. On top
of the mess was a letter, prominently displayed. Larry sat
down, and opened it, and read it for what must have been
the millionth time. The contents were quite incredible, but
as the truthfulness of them had been demonstrated, and
demonstrated in such a way that left no doubt as to the
truth or lack thereof in what was said. Tonight was the
night that the letter named.
The letter said that he should appear at nine o'clock near
the Thames, in a secluded spot. It was six thirty now.
Three hours and everything would change. He had been told
to bring nothing but the clothes on his back and
identification, as much as could be possibly gotten. When
Larry had questioned the lone figure about that point, he
was told that it would become clear later that night. Larry
had thought about that over and over, but decided it was
probably nothing. He was startled out of his pensive state
by a knock on his door.
'Now who could that be, now,' Larry thought as he got up to
answer to door. When he opened it, he saw Sam Shepard
standing there. Sam had been Larry's friend since he had
started at the plant where they both now worked.
"Hey, Larry, how're you doin'," he said, walking in without
an invitation. Normally, Larry would not have cared, but
tonight was different. Larry stepped in front of Sam.
"Sorry, Sam, I've got plans for t'night."
"Aw, Lar," Sam scowled, gesturing disappointedly with his
whole body. Sam's feelings were always quite clear.
"T'night, ya say? Damnable, it is! Downright damnable."
Sam stepped backward, openly accenting his every word with
some gesture or movement. The smaller man gave every
appearance of reluctance and disappointment.
"What're ya doin' t'night that's more important than the
games. The games, Larry, the games!"
"We play on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it's Wednesday, right
between the two," Larry said referring to the frequent card
games that he, Sam, and a bunch of other guys always
played.
"Yeah, that's true, but Freddy got a bunch of other guys.
It's a tourn'ment, it's for honor! You can't not be there
Lar!"
"I'm sorry, Sam, but this is important. Really so, I'll
play any other night, but I can't t'night."
"Aw, damn fucked fiddlesticks," Sam said, the queer phrase
bringing a smile to Larry's face. Sam always had had a way
with words.
"You sure 'bout that? We could really use you at the
tables," Sam implored.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Larry said, as while he wasn't good, he
was better than a lot of the other guys. "But this is
really important. Tell Freddy that I'll play tomorrow, or
Friday, or whenever, but not tonight. Got it?"
"Yeah, I get it. Freddy won't like it, won't like it one
shit. But, if it's 'mport'nt, then who's to stop ya. I'll
be seeing ya." And with those last words, Sam turned and
left.
"See ya Sam," Larry called, smiling. Sam was a really great
guy, a really good friend, but some things had to be
secret. Larry turned from the door, and walked back into
the kitchen area, where he put together a small dinner,
which he ate alone in the gloom of the dining area.
***
His watch showed nine oh-five, and he been standing there
for fifteen minutes. It was cold, and the fog gave the spot
an eerie appearance. Larry had been fidgeting for the past
ten minutes, impatient. Larry was already beginning not
only to doubt whether they were coming, but whether this
was a good idea in any case. However, it got no further, as
he heard the trotting of horse's hooves through the fog.
And seemingly out of nowhere, there appeared a team of
horses pulling an old-fashioned carriage. The carriage was
closed, so Larry couldn't see who was in it. It pulled to a
stop by his side.
"Larry Faulkner," the carriage's driver proclaimed, as an
inquiry.
"Aye, I'm Larry Faulkner."
"Do you have the identification you were told to bring,"
the strange driver said again, in the same tone. The words
were loud enough to make Larry cringe after having stood in
silence for fifteen minutes.
"Aye, here it is," Larry said, meekly holding out a large
manila envelope.
It then leapt from his fingers and flew right into the
hands of the driver. Every time Larry had seen that happen,
he had been amazed. The driver looked through it, then took
a good, long look at Larry. The envelope flew back to him.
"Get in the carriage, Mr. Faulkner. You will find Sir
Wilson waiting for you," the driver said, turning his gaze
to the roadway in front of him. Larry walked up to the side
of the carriage, opened the door.
The interior was lit by candlelight, the candles safely
stowed in lanterns. The illumination gave a distinguished,
ancient air to the interior. There was only one occupant,
dressed in what appeared to be medieval armor. His gray
hair was cut short, as was his beard. His face was serious,
chiseled into his head. He was obviously strong. Larry
stepped inside, and closed the door. He sat opposite to the
man, presumably Sir Wilson. As he did so, the carriage
started moving, going to a place that Larry wasn't sure of.
"Well, Mr. Faulkner, are you ready for tonight, and every
day here after," Sir Wilson said stolidly.
"Ah, yes, yes sir, I am."
"Good, good," he said, smiling, as if at some private joke.
Those were the last words he spoke during the journey. The
envelope Larry had with him all of a sudden leapt up, and
floated into a compartment, which then locked itself. Larry
was about to protest, but a stern glare from Sir Wilson
dissuaded him.
After several, several hours, the carriage came to a stop.
Sir Wilson, shook the sleeping form of Larry. Larry awoke
with a start, and saw Sir Wilson looking down at him,
disappointed somehow.
"Sorry I fell asleep, Sir Wilson."
"You should be. If I had meant harm to you, you would not
have been able to even put up a fight," he said in
response, and with that, stepped out of the carriage. Larry
stood up, and followed.
They were no longer near London, not by a long shot. They
were in the open countryside. Larry stood, looking over all
the green hills, many of their bases covered by early
morning fog. It was obviously near sunrise, in the hour of
twilight. Then Larry fixated his glance directly ahead of
him, on the stone circle, one similar to that of
Stonehenge. Except this one was more complete.
"Ah, the ancient spellcaster temple. It has been a long
time since there has been a ceremony here," Sir Wilson
exclaimed, the first emotion Larry had seen from him.
He looked satisfied with things. Around the circle was a
menagerie of other knights, male and female, standing
patiently, waiting. They turned towards the new arrivals.
The driver stepped down, and stood by the carriage. Sir
Wilson walked forward, not stopping even when he gestured
for Larry to follow him. Larry did so.
As he approached the circle, the assembled knights
distributed themselves around the circle, leaving only one
man, not dressed in armor, but instead in robes, ornamented
with several designs and other embroiderings. It was a
splendid set of robes.
"Larry Faulkner, step into the center of the circle," came
the commanding voice of the robed man, a priest evidently.
Larry did as he was told. He stood there for several
moments, wondering what was going to happen. He hadn't been
told too much about the actual ceremony. Then the priest
started reading from an ancient text that he had had
concealed under his robes. Larry couldn't understand it, or
recognize the language, which wasn't saying much.
About ten minutes into the reading, Larry had been standing
there patiently and had only just begun to fidget. But then
something strange started. There was a glow from the stones
that formed the stone circle, the so-called spellcaster
temple. Imperceptible at first, as it grew in intensity,
Larry's attention was focused on this phenomenon. Then it
began to spread inward. This caused Larry to become a bit
uneasy, but he trusted Sir Wilson and the other knights.
The priest had not stopped his reading. The priest's face
was the very look of concentration, and the priest was
obviously spending a great effort on the ceremony. The
glow, now so bright that it might be called a blaze, was
approaching Larry. He still stood there, waiting whatever
came next. The light finally reached him, engulfed him,
penetrated him. And the world went dark for Larry.
***
Larry awoke in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by
stonewalls, lit only by a single torch. One wall contained
a door of iron bars. A knight could be seen standing guard.
Larry himself was lying on a cot. Raising his head, dark
brown hair fell into his eyes, and he swept it aside
without another thought. Feeling weak, Larry attempted to
stand, and promptly fell. This attempt brought several
facts to Larry's attention. First, that he did indeed have
longer hair, and it was colored differently to boot. Next,
his center of balance was greatly different than what he
had been used to. Larry examined himself briefly, as the
knight standing guard saw that Larry was awake, and left,
presumably to fetch some one. Larry found something in his
examination that he never could have expected. He was
female.
The scream Larry issued was louder than one would have
expected could come from her now smaller frame. That was
not to say that the body wasn't strong, as the toned
muscles disproved. The exhaustion and her new form got to
Larry enough that he began to cry, even as he got up again,
still not quite balanced. She was dressed in rudimentary
tunic and pants, with sandals on her feet. She walked up to
the iron door, and began struggling against it, trying to
open it. This was what she was doing when Sir Wilson and a
small group of other knights came into view. Sir Wilson had
the other knights wait just at the edge of what Larry could
see.
"What the 'ell have you done to me," Larry cried out, the
question filled with anger and tears.
"We have done no more to you than we have done to any other
who has joined the order. The gender reversal is necessary
to create the best knights possible. By changing a woman to
a man, their inner aggression is released. By changing a
man to a woman, that very same aggression is tempered with
feminine reason and calm. Thus, all knights are reborn with
a balance of aggression and reason. These are traits the
order values highly. I apologize that we did not tell you
of this," Sir Wilson said, anticipating Larry's next
question, "but that is also normal, as is your initial
confinement. It is all for the best Madam Larisa, which is
your title and your new name respectively. Now get some
sleep. Tomorrow, you shall begin your training."
With that, Sir Wilson turned from Larisa, and left the
cell. The door was closed behind him by another knight.
Larisa sat there, too angry and confused to do or say
anything. The tears continued to fall from her eyes as she
wondered what exactly she had gotten herself into...
To Be Continued...
Virginia
- 25.11.2021
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