Secret Origins Of The Wizard: My Antediluvian Baby free porn video

This story is conceived as one of many possible origins for the Spells-R- Us wizard. Bill Hart created both the wizard and the Spells-R-Us universe, and only he can ever state with any definitive authority what is "true" about the wizard. This story is merely written as a fun exercise to explore the world of Spells-R-Us. It deliberately contradicts other "what if" tales in an effort to firmly establish the non-canonical nature of this and other unofficial Spells-R-Us stories. This may be archived/posted anywhere: Just give credit where credit is due, thanks! Secret Origins of the Wizard: My Antediluvian Baby By Pretzelgirl "And as the elders of our time choose to remain blind, Let us rejoice and let us sing and dance and ring in the new!" --Donovan (1968) Part I 1187 AD The Town Square Languedoc, France "B-b-but you people liked me!" exclaimed the wizard, as he nervously backed away from the crowd. The angry throng murmured like a kettle of hot water just about to boil over. Farmers with pitchforks marched beside housewives with dull knives and shopkeepers armed with torches. "Your magic is unnatural!" shouted one man. "But I-I-I ..." stammered the wizard. "I brought you rain. I made your livestock fertile. I healed your children." "You commune with the devil!" cried a woman. "No!" argued the wizard. "I did so much for you. I tried to be such a good part of this community. I made this village prosperous..." "You made our town unholy!" yelled a man. A preternatural sense of intuition had always served the wizard well. Fila used to call it luck. The wizard now knew better; it had saved his life more than once. And right now, it told him to run! He tossed a handful of non-magical smoke dust toward the crowd and dashed off down the winding, dirt roads of the medieval town. Had they bothered to notice, the townspeople would've marveled at the old man's speed. He'd always had quick legs. His fleetness of foot had proven just as valuable in his current career as it had in his previous one. Breathing heavily, the wizard heard the mob behind him begin to give chase. If only they hadn't accosted him just outside his shop he could've drawn on the wealth of magical trinkets he kept in stock and more easily made his escape. He made a mental note to exercise greater caution in the future when it came to leaving the store. Without glancing back, the wizard sensed the crowd now had only a mere, general idea of his whereabouts. Soon the smoke cloud would clear. He deftly ducked off the main road and down an overgrown side path that curled slowly back to the main part of town. The path wound straight to the back door of his shop, so he could double back on the mob, collect some belongings, and make a clean getaway. He'd learned the lesson well many times in the past -- always have an escape route planned ahead of time! Reaching the store, he indulged in a quick backward glance. The crowd had not followed. He slipped through the rear entrance and quickly surveyed his surroundings. He couldn't possibly save everything. If only he still had that portable hole. But he'd lost it centuries ago, when the Vandals visited Rome. A teleportation ritual could save everything, but it would take too much time. Someday he would have to master the spell well enough to execute it with nothing more than a wave of his hand. The ability to teleport an entire building and all it's contents would've proved invaluable at this moment. Sighing once, he hurriedly packed a knapsack: a few wands, a portable rack of alchemical vials, and three or four handwritten spellbooks. He quickly stuffed a pocket in his robe with several amulets and rings. Taking a long last look at the shop, he hesitantly grabbed another handful of non-magical smoke dust to stash in his other pocket. That had certainly come in handy today! He then slowly unrolled a beautiful, ornate Persian rug onto the shop's dirt floor. Gingerly seating himself in what he judged to be the exact center, he whispered a command word ... and was suddenly airborne, out the door, and into the sky. The wizard dared to glance downwards. The crowd far below had spotted him, but they could only wave angry fists and hurl helpless profanities into the air. He smiled in relief. True, he had gotten unforgivably sloppy! He would have to learn to be more careful down the road. But once again, his quick wits (and "luck") had managed to win the day. Tossing a smug glance below, the wizard noticed a strange figure among the villagers. Even this high up, his keen senses could sharply pick out most of the townsfolk. But a tall, gaunt man in black robes appeared disturbingly unfamiliar. The wizard cursed himself for not having brought a spyglass, but he simply hadn't had the time. Silently urging the carpet to climb higher, faster, he sensed something bad was about to befall him. The sky turned black. The sound of rushing air was replaced with echoing silence. The wizard fell. Conscious throughout the entire plummet, the wizard felt every bit of the violent crashing of his body colliding through roof and striking a hard dirt floor below. Struggling to keep aware of his surroundings, he opened his eyes but still saw nothing but darkness. Sounds intruded. Distant voices. A singular stentorian voice of authority. No words yet. But soon it came ... the slam of a wooden door and the heavy, commanding footsteps of a lone figure. "I've taken care of the rabble," announced the voice. "Rank hath its privilege, even in these dark, backwards times." The wizard struggled to rise but found his legs too weak, his knees too quivering. "By order of the Papal Inquisition, I have commanded them to stand back and allow me to interrogate the Fallen One personally. They have returned to their mud huts and miserable, short lives. We can speak ... alone." The voice came closer, and the wizard felt his knapsack ripped away rather forcefully. "After all these years," said the voice. "You still think like a mortal, carrying a backpack of magically-powered mechanical trickery. Objects, baubels, toys. You really are too much attached to the world of men." Blinking painfully, the wizard struggled to focus into the slowly lifting dark fog around him. "A mage ought to rely on his own internal power," the voice continued. "Not these pathetic trinkets. You're too sentimental when it comes to physical objects." A face finally swam into view. A wave of memories washed over the wizard, replacing the physical aches of an injured body with the hollow dull pain of a broken heart. "You," said the wizard weakly. "After all these years, why won't you leave me alone?" * * * "The continent of Atlantis was an island which lay before the great flood in the area we now call the Atlantic Ocean. So great an area of land, that from her western shores those beautiful sailors journeyed to the South and North Americas with ease, in their ships with painted sails." --Donovan (1968) Part II 9412 BC The Waterfront District Poseidonopolis, Atlantis "You make a good-looking woman," Fila smirked, punctuating her remark with a wink. The thief carefully adjusted his wig and sighed in mock protest. "You know how much I hate to go drag," he laughed. "But in this case, it's absolutely necessary." "Oh, you like it," Fila laughed. "Every caper we pull, you find some excuse to get all dolled up like that! You're lucky we don't live in the colonies. Some place like Knossos or Troy, they'd ostracize you for such perversions." "Fila, m'love," said the thief, bowing low with a flourish that ended with a kiss to her outstretched hand. "Your beauty, brains, and brilliance in crime are only outclassed by your na?vety when it comes to the masculine sex." Fila frowned silently, her delicate nose wrinkled in a playful smirk. "Every man secretly wants to be transformed like this," grinned the thief. "They may swear the opposite, but never believe them! All men lust after women because they possess what we don't ... but wish to the gods that we did! Men love feminine beauty out of envy, pure and simple." "You're insane," groaned Fila. "But if you can get that gemstone, I won't complain." "Have I ever let you down before?" winked the thief. "No," Fila groaned, "Your arrogance and insufferability are only outmatched by your uncanny ability to somehow achieve the impossible." "You mean my skill," said the thief with a wink. "I mean your luck," replied Fila with a sigh. "Just wait for me at the waterfront," the thief said. "I'd send you in, but the guards already know your face..." "Because I did all the work," Fila groaned. "I spent two weeks casing this place!" "And your efforts will all pay off," said the thief. "But lovely though you are, you're simply not as nimble, dexterous, and..." "Lucky as you are?" Fila interrupted. The thief, in blonde wig, carefully padded women's robes, and delicate perfumes, grinned and kissed Fila passionately on the mouth. "I was going to add 'humble,'" he said. She blushed. "Make sure you come back to me in one piece you girlish rogue," she said. "I've got a bad feeling about this mission, and I'd hate to have to lead a life of crime all alone. Despite your inflated ego and penchant for women's clothing, I've grown rather fond of you after all these years together." "I promise," he began. "That when you see me next, I will be in perfect health -- not an arrow shall pierce me, nor a bruise, scrape, nor scratch injure my perfect skin ere we meet again, my lovely lady!" * * * The thief cursed himself and continued to race across the rooftops, panting heavily as he jumped from building to building. Had they bothered to notice, the Imperial Guards would've marveled at his preternatural fleetness of foot. But Imperial Guardsmen are not known for their sense of wonder. And there were easily enough of them to make up for thief's uncanny speed. What had gone wrong? He and Fila had planned this heist so perfectly. The traps, the picked locks, the disguises ... yet still they were onto him. Somebody must've tipped off the guards. The thief would still enjoy the last laugh. He was faster ... and luckier, he was forced to admit, than anyone in Poseidonopolis. Hades, if truth be told he was the luckiest man in all of Atlantis! And thanks to Fila's careful reconnaissance, he knew not only where he was now going -- but also where he had already been. When the guards first gave chase down the museum halls, he knew just where to turn. He had memorized every twist, every turn of the marble corridors. His escape route was planned long in advance. Into the carefully pre-unlocked "storage room," where he snatched the Empress Diadem ... then dash out the third floor window, shinny up the drain pipe, and scamper away safely on the roof. If only there hadn't been guardsmen waiting up here for him, too. It seemed as though the whole city had been alerted to his presence! Leaping across a particularly wide chasm between rooftops, the thief paused for a sigh. The waterfront was close now. He could smell the salt in the air and hear the chatter of nearby seabirds. He glanced at the gemstone in his hand -- the Empress Diadem was nothing more than a clear glassy oval attached to a thin white ribbon, meant to be worn about the forehead. It hadn't looked like much when he first swiped it, but now the stone had a faint white glow about it. It was reputed to have magical powers to bring out the natural beauty, charm, and charisma of whomever wore it. He smiled, imagining how radiant Fila would look wearing this. She was a natural beauty to begin with! A swift whizzing past his left ear snapped the thief's attention back to the situation at hand. Arrows! They were actually shooting at him now. He carefully but quickly measured the leap to the next roof and jumped. Soon he would have to take to the streets below. Still running across the rooftop with guardsmen close behind, he glanced over the edge scanning the waterfront for Fila. Ah! There she was, standing nonchalantly near a hay cart just beyond the next building. Perfect, beautiful, lovely always reliable Fila. May the gods bless her! Another volley of arrows cut through the air about the thief, clattering against the next building. He'd have to lose his pursuers before meeting up with Fila. Again, he carefully measured the leap to the next building. Before he could jump, a third volley of arrows shot past and one narrowly grazed his ankle sketching a thin line of blood on the thief's leg. Cursing under his breath, the thief crouched to quickly survey the damage when he heard a cry of concern from the streets below. Shifting his attention to the waterfront he beheld the unimaginable. A throng of panicking onlookers clustered about Fila, who clutched a bloody arrow protruding from her throat. Her eyes were wide with fear. She gurgled an incomprehensible cry, perhaps a warning to the thief. Then she collapsed to the ground. Only a fresh round of arrows and the impending heavy footsteps of Imperial Guardsmen snapped the thief out of his shock and grief. He swiftly leaped from the rooftop to the next building. But something went wrong again. Had his misjudged his speed, the angle, the roof's strength? For as soon as his feet touched the roof of the next building, the clay ceiling below him collapsed and the thief fell in a cloud of dust into a dark room below. Wincing with pain, the thief felt about in the darkness for the diadem. His fingers ran along the dirt floor and found two small rocks with sharp, jagged edges. Damn! After all this work, Fila was dying ... the Empress Diadem had shattered in the fall... and where in hades was he now? Did it even matter? Fila was dead. The gem was destroyed. And ... somehow the thief knew he was about to be captured. Out of the clouded darkness, the sharp silhouettes of a group of tall men emerged surrounding the fallen thief. "Stand back!" yelled the thief, clumsily struggling to rise to his feet. "I've got a knife." "No you don't," said a calm, baritone voice. "And you may stand down. We are not your enemies." The thief glanced furtively at the hole in the ceiling where he'd fallen through. "The Imperial Guardsmen will not search this building," said the voice from the shadows. "Rank hath its privilege after all." "Who are you?" asked the thief. "We are the Twelve," said the voice. "And we have been waiting for you." The thief frowned for a moment, sensing something was amiss. "There's only eleven of you," he finally said. Despite the shadows, the thief could almost see the dark speaker smile. "Very good," said the voice. "However counting you, we are twelve." "I don't count myself among you," said the thief cautiously. "Perhaps some explanations are in order," said the voice. "Please have a seat. Solon, bring us fire. Zeno, tend to the roof." Instantaneously, the room burst into dazzling light. The thief squinted and saw a meticulously built fire pit now in the center of the room, a blaze happily cackling within. The shadowy figures were now more apparent: tall, gaunt looking older men in dark blue robes. One of them gestured at the gaping hole in the adobe ceiling. Like a cut in a man's skin, the wound in the ceiling healed itself, jagged broken ends growing closer together and finally connecting, leaving only the faint scar of some minor discoloration above. "Who are you people?" asked the thief. "I told you," said one of the men. "We are the Twelve. We are the secret lords and masters of Atlantis ... and someday, of the world." "You're sorcerers," whispered the thief. The man laughed. "No, we are not mere sorcerers. We are immortals. Ancient prophecy, a thousand years older than civilization itself, spoke of us. One by one, immortals with power over the very nature of reality would be born. Our destiny is to unite and guide the future of mankind. I am the eldest and slowly, over the course of many ages, I have quietly labored to find and unite my brethren. Each of us has learned to focus our power in a specific area of expertise. Together, we augment one another, canceling out each other's individual flaws and limitations. Together as eleven -- and now twelve -- we are infinitely more powerful, more awesome, more mighty and majestic than any mere sorcerer could ever dream of becoming. Now, after all these untold centuries of waiting, we are finally complete with your number. You shall join us. We will train you to use the innate abilities you are scarcely yet aware of. In time, you will become an unquestioned master in your field of power." "Wait," said the thief. "Let me get this straight. You somehow ... lured me here?" "We did not lure you specifically," said the elder. "We simply set suitable bait, a trap that only a fellow immortal would fall into and be able to escape relatively unscathed. You were never in any real danger. Those bumbling Imperial Guardsmen could not have seriously injured you unless you let them." The thief felt his heart pounding in his ears. The hot, sharp taste of anger filled his mouth. "You're responsible!" he shouted. "You killed Fila!" "Who?" "The woman I love!" The elder frowned, looking perplexed for the first time. "Don't you understand what I've been telling you?" asked the elder gently. "You are immortal. You will never die. Everyone around you will grow old. They will succumb to disease, to violence, to age ... to the corruptions that surround us. But you are different. You have eternal life. And with our help, you can also have nearly unlimited power. Join us and help us guide the destiny of mankind." "No!" yelled the thief, trying to back away. The immortals had already quietly circled themselves around him, surrounding him and blocking any avenue of escape. "The woman you love, she would have died anyhow," continued the elder. "I regret that agents in our employ caused you grief. But you cannot hold this minor infraction against us. Please, look past it and try to see the bold dreams of a brighter tomorrow that we promise. We seek to help you - - not hurt you. We are visionaries -- not villains." "I don't want anything to do with you murderers," cried the thief, struggling to hold back tears. "This world is coming to an end," said the elder. "We cannot force you to join us. But if you refuse our offer ... well, you risk even greater pain. All of Atlantis is poised to self-destruct. I have foreseen it. The great city Poseidonopolis herself has only a thin veneer of strength remaining. She is a mighty tree that has rotted from within. Existing society is poised to be swept away. The emperor on his mighty oricalcum throne can do nothing to prevent it. The priests in their temples and oracles cannot save themselves. Everything around you is crumbling, even as we speak. We stand, poised on the edge of a brave, new world. An age in which we -- with you as a member -- we, the Twelve, the Immortals shall usher in a new world of unified enlightened rule." His hands clenched with white-knuckled rage, the thief stood silently contemplating the elder. The two men eyed one another but did not speak for a long pause. Finally the thief broke the silence. "You said you won't force me to join you." "No," answered the elder. "I want your cooperation. I need your cooperation very badly. But I am a patient man. I have already waited many centuries for you. I can wait as long as it takes. You will change your mind in time." "Then you have your answer," said the thief. He took a step towards the elder, praying the man would allow him to pass. "I have not lied to you," said the elder, allowing the thief to pass unmolested from the circle of immortals. "But if you pass through that door, you will only experience more heartbreak. More pain. More loss. Everyone you know in Atlantis will die." "But I won't," said the thief, still moving towards the door. "No you won't," agreed the elder. "And if you choose to do so, you may wander the earth for as long as you wish. But our plans cannot come to fruition without your help. Eleven Immortals are powerful - but not omnipotent. Please, reconsider." "Not only do I say no," said the thief. "But let me tell you this - If I'm going to live forever, then I intend to make it my mission to see you and your group never rule the world." "Please, you don't understand..." started the elder. "Doesn't matter," said the thief. "Maybe I'm being petty. Maybe I don't see the big picture. But I don't care. You took away the only thing I ever cared about. You killed Fila. Fuck you!" The thief walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. The elder sighed. "We are patient," he said. "Perhaps in a year or two ... a decade from now ... a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand years ... you may reconsider." * * * "Knowing her fate, Atlantis sent out ships to all corners of the Earth On board were the Twelve: the Poet, the Physician, the Farmer, the Scientist, the Magician, and the other so-called gods of our legends." -- Donovan (1968) Part III 1187 AD The Church of Saint-Nazaire Languedoc, France "I thought you said you'd leave me alone," said the wizard, looking up at his captor. A brittle smile flashed across the inquisitor face. Dull, gray eyes sparkled with life. "But I have left you alone. For many thousands of years, my brethren and I have left you alone. And what have you done with yourself? You escaped the Great Disaster, yet refused to accept your birthright with the rest of us. Rather than wielding your innate power as a ruler, a king, a god you have instead chose to become a simple hedge wizard -- a foolish old man, selling love potions and good luck charms to superstitious peasants." "I was happy," said the wizard. "You were a disappointment," said the elder. "You have failed to live up to your potential. You could have been the greatest of any of us. And yet instead of founding a great nation, establishing a mighty dynasty, or ruling a brave nation from some great fortress, here I find you -- hiding in provincial farming village, living in the mud among these sheep." "What do you want with me this time?" asked the wizard. "The same thing as before," said the elder. "Stop running away. Join us. We immortals can teach you things you cannot begin to dream of. We can give you true power. Over the ensuing thousands of years, we have grown immensely in strength. We are very nearly unstoppable. We can teach you the secrets of our power. Come -- take your rightful place at our table." "You didn't have the power to save Poseidonopolis," said the wizard. "If you had the power, you could've saved Atlantis. You could've stopped the earthquakes, the volcanoes, the tidal waves. You could've prevented catastrophe. You could've at least warned all those people to flee -- helped them to evacuate their sinking island!" "So could you," said the elder with a sinister smile. "You knew. I told you before we abandoned you to your own devices. And surely you believed me. You are one of us -- an immortal with greatly expanded wisdom and vision. Surely even you were not so blind to miss the warning signs. Surely even your raw, untrained powers were able to sense the impending doom. Why did you not warn the Emperor on his proud oricalcum throne? Why did you not prostrate yourself before the priests in the oracle and beg that they listen to your prophecy? Why did you not cry out in the streets, 'The End Is Near"? Why did you flee? ... but leave everyone else to their own devices?" "I tried," spat the wizard. "They wouldn't listen to me. But at least I tried. I warned everyone who would listen. And I'm still trying to help people. To warn them. To save them. I've done all I can these past centuries to tell the tale of Atlantis and what happened there -- that it might never be forgotten, lost, turned into nothing but a distant, forgotten legend." "But they don't listen, do they?" laughed the elder. "And they did not listen to you those many thousands of years ago either, did they?" "I won't let Atlantis become a myth," said the wizard. "But it is a myth," smiled the elder. "Just as we twelve are nothing but myths -- legends that walk the land one day and vanish in the blink of an eye, hidden in shadows for a hundred years until it next suits our purpose to emerge." "But I'm not hiding," said the wizard. "I'm out here actively trying to help people. That's why I live here, in this village. That's why I've used my powers to heal sick children, to call rain from the heavens, to make crops and lifestock healthy and fertile. I've done all I can to help the people around me." "And yet they turned on you, so easily," smiled the elder. "Clearly, you haven't made much of an impact with them." The wizard stood silent. "People are sheep," replied the elder. "They won't listen to you -- not back in Atlantic, and not even today. Join with us. We shall rule over them. We can teach you much about your powers, your abilities, your native birthright. Much has changed in the centuries since Poseidonopolis sank beneath the waves. We have mastered power over nature to such a degree that even I am surprised at our accomplishments, our mighty achievements." "I dunno," said the wizard. "Seems to me the world is still pretty full of hungry, poor, frightened, lonely people." "Don't be garrulous," snapped the elder. "There will always be hungry, poor, frightened, lonely people. It is the human condition. We are something greater. We shall shape and retrain these poor, lonely creatures. It is our responsibility to rule over them. The major cities of the world are poised for a great enlightenment in the coming few centuries. You shall see! The globe itself will be united in a single new world order. Even now, we immortals are laying the groundwork for a better future. For us ... and for all these miserable little ants scurrying about us. It is both our duty and our destiny." "So you still need me?" said the wizard. The elder nodded. "My answer is still the same," said the wizard. "After all these thousands of years, you still lay blame with us for the death of your woman," said the elder. "That is unfair, immature, and grossly short-sighted. We did not kill her. By now, she would've died of natural causes long, long ago. And this juvenile grudge of yours causes you to pass up an incredible opportunity. You wound yourself -- and us -- because of a childish desire for spite." "My answer is still the same," said the wizard. "I didn't imagine otherwise," sighed the elder. "Though I had hoped the centuries might have help you mature somewhat." "If you knew my answer, then why?" asked the wizard. "Why destroy my home and turn all these people against me? I was welcomed here. I was part of the community." "You live forever and they don't," said the elder. "Sooner or later, they ask questions. They start snooping. They discover you're far more than you claim to be. Not just a harmless old coot. They wonder why you never die. Everyone else does, but this brittle old man in a ratty old robe keeps on living -- why? You risk exposing us." "You deserve it," said the wizard. "Our plans still require a great deal of secrecy," continued the elder. "You, operating so brazenly, out in the public like this. No, it can no longer be tolerated. If you will not join us, we must regrettably imprison you." "What?" shrieked the wizard. "I'm sorry," said the elder. "You've had your chances. You could have joined with us and become master of a specific field of magical power. Now should you change your mind and choose to genuinely join with us, we will naturally release you. But in the meantime I cannot allow your stupid mischief to jeopardize everything I've worked to build." Stupid mischief, thought the wizard angrily. He was the one who actually lived among the common people and worked everyday to grant their wishes and improve their lots in life. Not these ivory towered cabalists. After all this time, to have his work dismissed so callously ... it brought back memories of the elder's cold reaction to Fila's death. The immortals didn't really care about anything but their own power. People like them should never wield power. Hands clenched with rage, the wizard glared at the elder who continued speaking. "We have carefully constructed a prison for you. A cell made of a special oricalcum alloy. Oh, yes -- we wisely preserved some of Atlantis' trademark metal in anticipation of just such a possible use. You will find the jail cell is capable of restraining even a rogue immortal. None of your trickery will help you escape. You will be quite comfortable, of course. And you will not be harmed. But you may not roam freely through the world any longer." The solemn-face elder posed somber over the prone wizard. "One last time," he said. "I implore you to join us. There is no other sensible option. Your trickery is now useless." Trickery? The wizard's clenched hands sought out his pockets. There it was - a handful of non-magical smoke dust. Would it be enough? The wizard bowed his head, clutched the smoke dust in his hand, and uttered a quick silent prayer to the long forgotten gods of ancient Atlantis. With preternatural speed, the wizard whipped out his hand and thrust the smoke dust into the air. The elder coughed, clearly caught off guard. Wasting no time, the wizard dove through a stained glass window, producing a rain of tiny, colored shards of glass. Rolling as he landed on the soft ground outside, the wizard clambered to his feet and scampered away. He ran to the back of the church, through a nearby graveyard, hopped a fence, and quickly disappeared into the French countryside. They would follow, he knew. But perhaps they had finally given him a clear enough idea of how to fight them. He could still become a master of a domain of magical power. He would become the Lord of Trickery, a Master of Mischief, an unpredictable immortal specializing in the unexpected. Change would be his weapon. And next time they came ... next time, he would be ready. * * * "My antediluvian baby. My antediluvian baby, I want to see you. My antediluvian baby, got to tell me where she gone!" --Donovan (1968) Part IV 2008 AD The Metropolitan Mall Brookdale, USA The door chimed a high-pitched tone only wizards can hear. A stranger in a dark suit entered the shop. He sniffed the air pensively as if expecting wards, abjurations, some type of hidden protection to preclude his entrance. Danni, busy stocking shelves with the latest and greatest in alchemical wares, smiled and started to approach the customer. "Danni!" snapped the Wizard, emerging from the back of the shop. His voice was sharp, stern, and surprisingly serious. "Go inventory the back room." The apprentice frowned, her tiny nose wrinkling perplexedly. She prepared a retort but the wizard interrupted her. "I said now," repeated the Wizard, taking a single step towards the stranger, who remained motionless in the front doorway. "Yes, magus," Danni said. Swearing under her breath, the girl sullenly stomped off to the back room, stealing curious glances all the way. The Wizard waited until Danni was completely out of eavesdropping range. He took another slow, cautious step towards the tall, gaunt stranger. He squinted at the customer momentarily to confirm his worst fears. "After all these years, why won't you leave me alone?" he asked quietly. "Relax," said the elder. "I come in peace." "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," answered the wizard tersely. "Believe what you will," replied the elder. "But we no longer bear any ill will towards you. Our plans have mostly come to fruition. We are now the undisputed behind-the-scenes masters of this world." "Good for you," said the wizard. "We still would welcome you in our inner circle," said the elder, extending a hand. "There is much yet to do that would be ... easier ... with twelve rather than eleven members. Our doors are always open to you." "No," said the wizard. "Have it your way," sighed the elder. "Should you change your mind, rest assured our offer will remain open. I only sought you out today that we might make a truce with you." "No," said the wizard again. "You still wish to fight us," said the elder with a smile. "That's all right. Wage your quiet little war against us. It is of no consequence. But I assure you, we no longer have any war to fight with you. We are content with our power and will not retaliate against you any further. In fact, we ... regret certain actions of the distant past." "Fuck you," the wizard said quietly but with deadly deliberation. The elder smiled, his dull gray eyes twinkling again for a moment. Very slowly, cautiously he reached into a pocket of his expensive, dark Italian-crafted suit. "As a token of goodwill, I present to you a gift," he said. "I'm sure you recognize it." In his outstretched hand, the elder held two small rocks, smoky gray in color. One end of each was neatly rounded and polished. The other end of each was jagged and roughly broken. Without words, the wizard took the stones into his aged, wrinkled hands. He caressed them gingerly but remained silent. "We are ... sorry," said the elder. The wizard remained impassive. The elder smiled, shrugged, and nodded his head politely. "Well ... perhaps in another thousand years," he said, exiting the shop. The wizard stood alone for a long while, staring at the two broken stones in his hands. He slowly turned them over and over, fingering the harsh, sharp edges and the smooth, rounded corners. His eyes gazed past the stones however, watching distant scenes from an era long gone and forgotten. Finally, Danni emerged quietly from the back room. "Uh, magus?" she said hesitantly. "Is everything all right?" The wizard nodded wordlessly. "What's with the rocks?" Danni asked. "Something else for me to inventory?" "No, Danni," the wizard answered quietly. "Just a gift." Danni frowned with concern at her master. He didn't seem his usual mischievous self. "Is everything okay?" she asked, trying to cheer him up. "What's wrong? Losing your marbles in your old age?" "No, Danni," the wizard said softly. "I know, I know," she said with a forced laugh. "When 900 years old you reach, think as quickly you will not, hmmm?" The wizard smiled distantly. "Somewhat older than that, Danni." "Y'know, I can never tell when you're being serious or when you're just playing tricks on me. Sometimes I wonder if you really aren't older than ... than those rocks!" "Not quite that old, Danni" answered the wizard with a tear in his eye. "But close." -- The End -- If you liked this or hated this, please leave a comment. If you enjoyed this, please read and comment on my other stories. Thanks!