777thdegree: (You are now on the shitlist)
The castle keep is cold and dank - no one has lived here, worked here, for years. Not since the night Morgana came to steal The Rising and instead made off with his life. But he's here anyway, his breath frosting in the chill autumn air.

"So, it comes to this, apprentice." The words might be familiar and possibly friendly, but this is not at all a friendly situation. The tone is as cold as winter ice, and despite centuries, familiar.

"Mordred." The black knight stands where Merlin fell, a slim shadowy figure who looks nothing at all like his father.

"You were always such a bright boy." Mordred, son of Morgana, sneers. "Mother always said so. She was so disappointed you never understood your true potential." They are phrases that he's heard before, once upon a time in a land lost a long, long time ago.

"Still hiding behind your mother, Mordred?" Balthazar asks tiredly. "Haven't you thought of any new insults? Or have you really come back from the dead just to recycle those hackneyed phrases?" It hasn't escaped him that this must been a dream - he saw the castle keep fall into ruin centuries ago, and he knows where those ruins lay buried.

Mordred smiles, a thin sharp smile that reminds Balthazar that even though Mordred is annoying, and entirely too in love with the dramatic, he's also something else. Entirely evil.

"I do wonder, Balthazar, how mother is getting on with Veronica. All those centuries alone... I doubt there's much left of your little friend." Balthazar doesn't even think, cannot think around the anger and fear. Of course he's wondered, and worried. He has for centuries. And this rat has the gall to even speak her name...

There's a laugh, wild and strong and entirely unpleasant, and Balthazar is alone in the castle keep, as the autumn wind howls past the open doorway.
777thdegree: (Merlins Circle)
He did it he did it he did it. It takes all the self-control Balthazar has not to dance a jig when Dave finally trusts what he can do and sets that thrice-damned dragon on fire. And it's a very good thing he does too - the boy doesn't seem to have any instinct (so far) regarding finishing a kill, and no one wants to see what a truly pissed-off dragon can do. He does regret not putting Horvath back into the Grimhold when he had the chance, but Sun Lok killing Dave seemed to be a worse option than Horvath on the loose, without a Grimhold.

He had counted, heavily, on Dave's inquisitive nature. He remembers the boy who couldn't keep his hands to himself. No way could someone with that much curiosity and love for learning could keep his hands off something like Merlin's ring once he'd gotten a taste of what it can do.

Underhanded, perhaps. But necessary. He really doesn't have time ot explain it all. Maybe Dave will forgive him later. He tries not to think about it too much as he drives to the old subway turnaround Dave is using as a laboratory. He has to reassure his Phantom that he isn't going to disappear for ten years again before following Dave down the twisting staircase.

Again, he has to keep himself from grinning like an idiot at the sight of the Tesla coils. He remembers Nikola's delight at producing plasma from normal, everyday objects - something that'd only been done by sorcerers reliably before then. That Merlinian had been a very good friend. He'd almost thought, when Nikola was younger, that he might be the Prime... but the dragon ring hadn't so much as twitched.

But that was then. This is now, and it's time to get to work. First, time to not-so-metaphorically remind Dave just how much he has to learn, just in case the kid feels like getting cocky.
"Oh! I just remembered," It's a lie, but thankfully Dave doesn't seem to be picking up on it. "I didn't have a chance to give this to you earlier. Your Encantus." He grins sunnily at Dave as he holds out a minature book, only big enough for a doll to use (or a fairy, but let's not get into that).
"I remember it... being bigger?" Dave hazards, and Balthazar pulls on his best poker face.
"Pocket edition." There is, oddly, a feeling of deja-vu to the moment, as he begins unfolding the book, each unfolded layer doubling the book's size. Soon, he has a book roughly the right size to drop into Dave's waiting arms.

And then, to add insult to injury, he makes sure all the right pages are included as well, making the book ten times as thick.
"The Encantus is our textbook - the art and science and history of sorcery, including our recent history as well. See?" He points to a picture of a screaming, panicking Dave, "There you are!"

Oddly, while Dave does seem impressed that there's a picture of him from their recent scuffle in Chinatown, he doesn't seem shocked that it's a picture of him in meltdown mode. This is not encouraging.

Balthazar wastes no time, pushing the coils back towards the walls and ignoring Dave's protests as he does so. He needs room for this, and he'd prefer not exploding the coils.
"In order to put Horvath back into the Grimhold, we must first turn you into a sorcerer." He lectures, as if this was his primary goal all along. "Step back." The instruction is more for the coils and cages than Dave, but it applies to the apprentice as well. At least the boy was clever enough to put all his instruments on wheels?
"I really was doing somethi..." Dave starts, and Balthazar wheels on him, a lean, wild-haired figure without his swirling coat on.
"Eyes open. Mouth closed." He snaps abruptly, not wanting to go into further argument. He's done more overt magic in the last few hours than he has in the last few decades (not, of course, counting the one spent in an urn). And this next bit, so necessary when training an apprentice, is going to take a lot of effort. With Dave suddenly silent and momentarily subdued, he puts all of his will to the next task, taking both his own energy and that around him (light, heat, the currents that run under his feet and over his head through the city's infrastructure) to re-align the stone underneath him, and to channel that power right into the stones themselves.

The room erupts into green flame.

Well no, not really, but in a perfect circle around him, with a diameter of nearly three grown men, a line of tall green flames appears, the light bright against his closed eyelids. From memory, he etches the symbols of the ring into the stones, forming each of the domains inside the ring of fire.

He opens his eyes. Dave looks shocked. Good.

"This is the Merlin's Circle. It will focus your energy, help you master new spells. It is where you will learn the art. Step inside it, you leave everything else behind. Once you enter, there is no going back." He intones solemnly.

"So I should pee first?" Balthazar wonders if it is permissible to beat ones apprentices before they actually become apprentices. He'll have to see if those Tesla coils work, later. He settles for just glaring at Dave until the boy settles and nods, picking his way over the flaming inscriptions to stand in the center circle.

Dave is taller than nim. By just a hair. This is going to make things difficult - while he certainly became taller than Merlin, he can remember years that the grey-haired sorcerer towered over him, and the sight of that man in a rage kept him from doing some spectacularly stupid things as an apprentice. It's just difficult to be that impressive without overt effort when he's just a smidge shorter. Oh well - better this situation than Horvath trying to kill the boy ten years ago.
"I am Balthazar Blake, sorcerer of the Seven hundreth and seventy-seventh degree. And you are my apprentice." It's a shortened version of the full formal announcement, but it gets the job done. Now all he has to do is train the boy, somehow let him know about being the Prime Merlinian, help the boy kill Morgana, rescue Veronica, and deal with Horvath.

...

Suddenly he feels very tired. And, oddly, he really wants a cinnamon roll. He'll have to remember to pick up some dinner later.
777thdegree: (Default)
Ten years. Ten years without days to mark the time, the seconds stretching to infinity when they don't have any context. He contemplates everything he's learned, everything he hopes is happening. Surely Dave has a new master by now - someone must have noticed the young boy with the dragon ring. He hopes Dave had the good sense to hide the Grimhold. Anything two powerful sorcerers were fighting over so violently is worth keeping hidden. He really hopes Dave's writing ability improves at some point in the next ten years.

For some reason, he really wants a cinnamon roll.

Every once in a great while he gets the sense that Horvath is near, but that is the only real point of reference other than Dave's papers in the tiny little world he has trapped them in. It's reassuring - if Horvath is here, he can't be causing trouble somewhere else.

He can hear a voice. A voice he knows, from somewhere outside his prison.
"Our ten years are up, Balthazar." And suddenly, he cannot remember which one of them fell into the urn first... and he suspects it wasn't him. That voice is full of cheerful confidence, and that just isn't a good thing. "When I get the Grimhold from young David, I'll tell him you said 'hello'."

He can sense movement. He must be close to being released, but the urn hasn't released it's hold on him, his world just a shadowy cavern with no sign of an exit. But there's movement, and the sound of something sliding...
"Cheerio, Balthazar." Desperately he tries to force his way out of his prison, because while Horvath getting his hands on the Grimhold is bad, Horvath getting his hands on Dave is disastrous. He very much doubts Horvath will stay ignorant of what Dave really is for long.

Suddenly, laboriously, he's pulling himself free from the urn, the wind whipping past his face and through his hair... That thought registers fully a moment later (he's still pulling himself together, after all), and he realizes the strange sensation of falling is not from being released from the urn, it's from falling. The cement sidewalk is approaching at an alarming rate, and he's still stuck half-inside the urn. Immortality spell or not, hitting that sidewalk is not going to do good things to his state of health. With a desperate lunge, he snags a window ledge as it flies past, wrenching his arms and causing his rings to dig painfully into his fingers. Suddenly free, he looks down to see the urn smash into tiny irreparable pieces, just a few floors down.

It takes more effort than it should, clambering back up onto the window ledge and forcing the window. He's been forced into inactivity for far too long. And he's fairly sure that the poor young man he's interrupted is going to develop a complex that will severely hamper his hopes for his own children in the future. Ah, well. There's more important things in life.

Still feeling dazed from the fall and the sudden re-emergence into the normal flow of life, he hurries down to the ground floor and out into the street, casting a glance at the crowd growing around the broken urn. It's magic is done now, there's no harm in the shards, so he leaves it. He has to hurry - if the Prime Merlinian is lost, everything is lost.

He really should have made sure Horvath went in second. How, he's not sure, but he really should have. At the time there didn't seem to be much of a choice. His last memory before the urn was seeing Dave retreating, the Grimhold in his arms and Merlin's ring on his finger, and that seemed good enough.

His car. He should get his car and... no. Too slow, who knows what traffic is like now, and he still has to find where the Phantom has gotten off to - it should still be impounded, if it was taken legally, but if it was stolen there may be a longer search. There's the subway, but that could take even longer. He has no fare on him for a taxi, and he doesn't even know if the boy is still in New York - that could get expensive quickly.

Then he smiles, staring down the street and up. The Chrysler building stands gleaming in its own light, the eagle statues at all four corners staring fiercely into the night. Never mind. He has a better idea.

New York City hasn't changed that much in ten years - one running man doesn't elicit much reaction from those he encounters - he could pass as just another person late for a bus or a train or an appointment, yet another soul in this enormous city. No one has bothered to modify the wards on the Chrystler building either, which is somewhat disappointing and disconcerting - surely news of his disappearance has spread, surely if the New York Merlinians are training the boy they've increased their security. But the doors to the towering skyscraper open easily under his hands. Never mind that. He has an eagle to catch.
777thdegree: (Default)
There is still so much excitement about the new millennium. Everything is new, and different, and Balthazar has to forcibly keep himself from rolling his eyes every time he hears it. There is nothing new here - he is still waiting, still hoping that the next miracle child he hears about will be the one that will save the world. Sometimes he wonders, late at night, if he hasn't missed Merlin's heir, some time years ago, during the plagues or the world wars, perhaps. Maybe the child was in Hiroshima. Maybe she was in London during the bombing. Maybe he was from one of the Native American nations, fallen prey to measles.

He cannot afford to think like that. Sometimes he has a ghost of a thought, brought on by the flash of something shiny or the smell of a bakery in the morning, that there's something he's forgetting. Something important. But then the moment passes, and he melds with the New York City crowds, just one more of the herd sweeping through the city streets, marking time.

He gave up actively travelling centuries ago - there are simply so many people in the world now, the races so intermingled, it is impossible to visit all of the major population centers in a reasonable amount of time. At times he could curse the efficiency of the English Naval forces. Britannia threw her nets wide, and spread his search from just one corner of the globe to any place imaginable. So he keeps up with the times, using the recently popular internet to search news feeds for the weird and unexplained, looking for clues. To mask his presence in New York City, he keeps his shop as a front - a place of curiosities, by appointment only... and he doesn't take appointments. He continually collects new objects when he travels - there are still magical objects around, though most people look right through them these days. Things were different when he was an apprentice. Then people knew about magic, accepted it as an everyday thing, from the hedgerow witches to the king's sorcerer.

Now, all hail the almighty laptop.

Though he has to admit, those things are pretty nifty. He's sure Tesla would have gotten a kick out of them. He's considering buying one for the store, though he suspects it would be unhealthy for him to have an excuse to never leave the store except to find food once in a while.

He's upstairs cleaning, polishing a nasty little enchanted knife he found in Lithuania on his last trip, when he hears the chime over the door ring. For a long moment he sits silent, waiting. No one has wandered in for decades, not since they made one end of this street a dead end, cutting off the flow of traffic. He hasn't invited anyone over. He hasn't heard of any Morganians trying to make a name for themselves.

There's a faint sound, like light feet on the weathered floorboards, and Balthazar can no longer contain his curiosity. Moving cautiously, avoiding the weak joints in the floorboards, he heads for the stairwell to investigate his intruder.

It's a boy. A young boy, maybe nine, maybe ten, all curly hair and wide eyes. And, it turns out, curious fingers - he reaches out to polish a lamp (just as well for the child Balthazar has already banished the genie that lived inside it), and in the process of trying to shift it suddenly sets the piles of stuff (carefully organized, he would say) clattering into disarray. He was going to let it fall, let the boy have a good scare, but he can see the trajectory, he can see where and how the boy is going to fall...

It's a close call, but he catches the urn before it can fall, his hand clapped over the lid to keep it from opening.
"The second emperor of the Han dynasty locked his least favorite wife in this urn for ten years. To the day. It's said if you open it up, the same thing will happen to you." He informs the boy solemnly, appreciating the healthy dose of fear that appears in the child's eyes. It is important that children learn respect for their surroundings. Not everything is an innocent toy - and in this case, he would have missed out on half of his life, had he not been rescued.
He gives the boy points for pluck, managing to ask about a note that blew into his store, an oh-so-important note that almost got him as good as killed. The bright-eyed perkiness is annoying, but the pluck? Not too much of that going around anymore.

But that note. The one that blew into his store by chance.

By coincidence.

He doesn't believe in coincidence.

"I have something I'd like to show you, Dave." He decides, as he heads further into the store. It's been so long since anyone's bothered to do anything besides capitulate or turn tale that he's surprised by the question behind him.
"How did you know my name is Dave?" Challenging. Perky. Annoying.
"Because I can read minds!" He barks sharply, giving the boy his best 'I am a mighty sorcerer so watch it' glare. Oddly, when the perky is muted, he misses it, and thus relents.
"It's on your backpack." There's a sound behind him, and he deeply hopes it's not the boy turning in his tracks to try and see the name written on the top of his backpack, like a puppy chasing its tail.

He's afraid that's exactly what's happening. Not a promising start. He calls the boy over to the counter (once used for sales, now used for Storing More Stuff) without looking too closely at the boy's current pursuits. It's best to maintain a positive outlook when possible.

Under the counter is a ancient metal box, once gleaming bronze, now an oxidized green. It's almost older than the ring itself, and it is where the ring stays when he's not traveling. He pulls it out and sets it on the counter between himself and Dave, who is looking frightened (healthy sign) and curious (good sign). With a bit of an air of mystery, which is a practiced trait, he's been doing this so long, he opens the box to show the silver dragon with the green stone on his back to the quivering boy. Very carefully he sets the dragon on his open palm and offers it to Dave for inspection.
"This is very special." He informs Dave in a soft voice. If the dragon doesn't respond, Dave will never know how special. "And if it likes you, you can keep it."
Dave's shaking his head. He's gaping like a fish out of water. But he is staring at the ring like it might actually hurt him to look away.
"I'd better not. My teacher said I couldn't be gone for long, she knows I'm here." It's an atrocious lie - inventive, but the boy should never play poker.
"You're a bad liar, Dave." The boy's eyes widen precipitously. "That's good." But Dave doesn't seem to think so, suddenly becoming exponentially more antsy. Slowly, he turns to head for the door - now, bolting wouldn't have helped his chances of escape, mind, but it's hardly the act of someone who truly wants to leave.
Balthazar helps him decide. The doors firmly close and latch on their own, leaving the boy little choice but to turn and face the little dragon Balthazar is still holding out for him.

Dave's much smaller hand reaches up and takes the dragon from the sorcerer who has been guarding it for centuries.

For a long, breathless moment, Balthazar believes he's hit another dead end. The boy stares at the dragon, but the dragon doesn't respond at all. He's about to ask for it back, when the impossible occurs.

The dragon shakes itself hard, like a wet dog, curls up over the top of the boy's hand, and settles, like a roosting bird, around Dave's pointer finger, assuming a shape he hasn't seen since Merlin died.

It's like a swift kick to the gut and the relief of coming under the heaviest load imaginable all at once. He's found the boy. Soon this will all be over. He can train the boy, and together they can defeat Morgana... and then? Perhaps. Perhaps everything.

He tries to remember how reassuring Merlin was, when he came to collect the second son of a minor noble family all those ages ago. Tries to mimic it, as he reassures the nervous boy that this is in fact a good thing. Tries to impress upon him the importance of Staying Still And Not Touching Anything while he goes to fetch an Encantus for the boy (for Dave, he has to remember to call him Dave).

He finds out, at least, that he failed miserably at that last bit. When he comes back, it's only just in time to prevent a long time foe and longer time best friend from murdering Dave where he stands. Furious, he smacks Horvath into the rafters and pins him there.
"What happened," He tries not to snarl (and fails at this too), "to not touching anything?" Somehow, the boy freed the Grimhold that he had buried deep within one of the walls.
"Not very sporting of you, Balthazar." Horvath calls down, somehow managing to sound urbane and sinister, even when pinned to the rafters.
"Be quiet!" He spits, then turns to address Dave, trying to reassure the boy (Dave!) again, "It's not you, he's been like that for a thousand years. I'll explain later. I need the Grimhold. Where's that doll?" It took almost everything he had to imprison Horvath once - to do it twice, with someone very precious to protect, is something he'd like to accomplish as fast as possible, before it can get out of hand.

He's reaching for the doll that Dave has pointed to mutely when he realizes that yes, it's already way out of control. Somehow Horvath manages to send him flying, and he can hear the crash of Horvath re-discovering the law of gravity. After that? Chaos. Two sorcerers who have been evenly matched since their first days of training - one more in practice, one more rested, both intent on seizing the Grimhold before the other. It's a very near thing - his plasma bolt misses horribly in the confines of the store, drawn off course by the objects contained within, and Horvath always has had a nasty way with fire. Balthazar manages to tackle Horvath before the Morganian can do more than threaten Dave, but there's so little room here. Horvath has his hand on Dave's ankle, trying to draw him in, to grab the Grimhold, not knowing he already has his hands on the greater treasure.

So Balthazar does the only thing he can think of. He sees the urn, knocked over, beside them as they wrestle on the floor.
"Leave, Dave! Leave now!" He howls, and in a final push grabs Horvath's hand loose from Dave's ankle and, hoping that somehow this won't send everything astray, shoves their hands into the open maw of the urn.

And all is darkness. And some really atrocious book reports.

Profile

777thdegree: (Default)
777thdegree

November 2011

S M T W T F S
   12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
27282930   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 7th, 2025 10:32 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios