Chapter 2: Gearing up

If there are any typos or things that seem forced, please comment! Also, just a heads up, I decided to make this a somewhat serious story with a plot line. There'll still be some humor, but it'll take the back seat to the main story line.

"What a nice old lady." Samuel noted, going to his Mini Cooper and dragging out what little he could salvage from his master's lair. They admittedly did not end on the best of terms after Samuel had abruptly severed the master-student relationship with a particularly large knife. He had only been trained for a few scant months and barely knew any fundamentals of magic or the world of magic itself, but he had no regrets about his actions whatsoever.

He acknowledged that he was not a sinless man since he had broken a fair number of laws during his months of training under his master, but even he had his lines. Things such as tax evasion by not declaring extra income in the form of ancient pirate gold, illegal border crossing without a passport, and a handful of naval laws since their ship was not built to code were just a few things he had done. He felt guilty committing them, but he did it nonetheless for the sake of his dreams. Of course, first, second, third, or any degree of murder was outside the question for him as was being an accomplice or bystander to said murder.

His mind wandered as he thought to the fallout from his actions. He bore the responsibility and fled to a small town, but what of everyone else? How was Ann doing now? Were the pirates’ souls able to find rest?

"Focus. No need crying over spilt milk..." He murmured while going through his things, getting the more depressing thoughts of his current state of affairs out of his head. He knew very little about magic, and if he wanted a snowball’s chance in hell of standing up to his master or the other forces out to get him, he had to learn how to fight and master as much about magic as he could before he was found. Those were both things that were wholly alien to a small bookish realist like him, but he was not one to give up.

“Magic book… Check.” He muttered, grabbing a strange leather-bound book and carrying it into his home. His old master had referred to it as the Necronomicon, but that was not an accurate description. His old master didn’t say just what his old profession was, but Samuel knew that history was not a strong suit of his.

The Necronomicon was a term invented by the late H.P. Lovecraft for fictional stories of the Cthulhu mythos while the book in front of him preceded H.P. Lovecraft’s time. The languages were primarily European with several Slavic tongues that intrigued him immensely. The first few pages were written in English, French, Russian, and other modern tongues that even utilized modern grammar structures. The further one read, however, the older the languages became. There were even passages in ancient Sumerian and tongues that were long dead, yet the pages were crisp and words were in perfect order, as though the book were made just a day before.

His old master was able to read the book fluently even though he had to take Samuel as an apprentice to translate old 15th century texts to find the pirate’s gold. He explained that rituals of sacrifice were required to translate the texts, and that the god of death himself gave the knowledge to read the stronger one’s own magic became. Supposedly, casters could brute force themselves into higher tier magics by manually translating the texts and using advanced rituals, but his master did not seem to be the intelligent sort to do such things. Instead, he hired poor saps like Samuel to do that for him.

“I need a desk.” He thought, placing the book on the ground and returning to his car. Since he left in a rush, he only had a duffle bag’s worth of clothes, his passport, and basic necessities of a man on the run. The only thing that stood out was the black powder revolver he recently purchased, all 6 chambers loaded with lead balls and ready to fire. He gave up his old revolver to Ann when he left as a memento for her to feel safe, so he was stuck using the random gun he bought in a hunting store. Now that his life was in danger he wanted to get a modern day firearm, but he was still waiting to be approved for a firearm permit. Until then, he had to make do with black powder weapons that required no permit for purchase.

“Alright. Tomorrow, I’ll go to town, introduce myself, and look around for a furniture store. Maybe even get a part time job so I don’t look too suspicious.” He thought, grabbing another chest full of gold and a shovel. Like a dog with his favorite toy or the previous owner of the gold, he buried it in the yard in a shallow hole 3 feet deep. When his savings were properly buried, he grabbed a sleeping bag from his car and laid on the floor, sleeping with one eye open before waking up with a sore back in the morning.

He cracked his neck before walking outside, the sun shining down on him as he took a stroll through town, idly studying the buildings and what he could buy. For the most part, the town was incredibly small, having only a skeleton crew of workers around to maintain it. The only things he really took note of was the gun store, the grocery store, and the furniture store. Luckily for him, the gun store was looking for part timers working 8 hours a day 5 days a week, giving him a chance to get a job and maintain his cover. The grocery store had a nice selection of foods, and the furniture store had fine sets with modest prices. The only real flaw about the town in Samuel’s eyes was the fact that there were no pawn shops he could sell his gold to. Taking in a deep breath, he walked into the gun store first to apply for the job, only to regret everything as he realized he had no resume.

“Oh, a new face in town. Here to visit family or just passing through?” A gruff man asked, polishing a rifle while smoking a cigarette. He had eyes of steel that seemed to see through Samuel’s very core as he took in a deep puff of smoke. His body was slightly crippled, with his left leg missing below the shin and his right hand missing the ring and pinky fingers, but they did nothing to detract from the menacing look in his eye. If anything, it made him more imposing. In the corner was a chubby golden retriever gnawing on a large bone with the word Porkchop written on his dog tag.

“Oh, I just moved here. I’m Samuel Drahar.” Samuel muttered nervously.

“Seems like Lauren finally got herself a customer.” The man said with a toothy grin, his menacing aura fading away as he extended a hand. “Name’s Henry Jackson.” Samuel took his hand, feeling a number of calluses from years of firearm use engraved into the man’s rough hands.

“Nice to meet you sir!” He said, feeling ashamed of his soft and callus-free hands as they released each other.

“Likewise.” Henry said. “So your last name’s Drahar?” He asked.

“Yeah. My father moved to the US from Poland and changed his last name to Drahar since his original surname was too tough for most people to spell and pronounce.”

“Oh? What was it if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Dąbrowski.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Henry said. “Day-brew-skee.”

“Well… I’m more used to Drahar anyway.” Samuel muttered, unwilling to correct the man’s pronunciation and risk his wrath.

“So you looking to buy?”

“Actually, I saw your job posting on the window and wanted to apply.” Samuel said. “And, well, I can’t really buy any guns yet. I’m still waiting for a permit.” He admitted as Henry looked down at the revolver strapped to his waist without speaking a word. Samuel raised his hands submissively, not wanting to irk the man as he stumbled out a few words. “Oh, uh, this is a black powder revolver. It’s completely legal, but I can take it off if it makes you uncomfortable.” He said quickly as Henry grinned and let out a low chortle.

“Son, don’t worry none about that.” He said, reaching to his own waist and taking out a revolver of his own, the sheer bulk of his weapon exceeding Samuel’s by leaps and bounds. “44 magnum. Armor piercing rounds. I think I scare you more than you scare me.” Samuel laughed nervously, his joke hitting the nail on the head as Henry joined in his laughter to hide his fear.

“It’s a very nice gun. Any reason why you chose a 44 magnum?” He asked. Based on what little he knew about firearms, 44 magnum was large and recoil made aiming tough for anyone. Henry was a big guy, but he was also an older man in his late 60s. His wrists would be in agony after firing that beast once.

“Different weapons for different jobs.” Henry answered. “10mm for thugs, 44 magnum for grizzlies, boars, and coyotes.” He explained before crossing his arms. “So you wanna work in a gun store without knowing how to use a gun?” He asked, sending Samuel’s mind into turmoil as he shrunk down once more.

“Sorry… I’ll just go… I wanted… Learn how to shoot… Thought working at a gun store was… Sorry, I’ll leave…” He muttered while slinking to the door.

“Attention!” Henry bellowed, causing Samuel to instinctively go rigid and place his hands by his side. “Son, chin up. Guns are your god given American RIGHT. What kinda man would I be if I didn’t teach a fellow American how to shoot?” He asked. Samuel didn’t answer, still reeling when Henry shouted RIGHT at him.

“A terrible one, that’s what! Come on, we’re going to the range.” He ordered, sending Samuel into the gun store’s firing range and grabbing several guns to join him. He was slow and patient as he taught Samuel the basics of firearms and proper firing stance before going into maintenance. It took him a while, but he eventually learned how to strip down a basic pump action shotgun and a double barrel shotgun for cleaning before Henry gave him his approval. By then, it was midday and the sun was beginning to set.

“Good work son.” He said while patting Samuel on the back. He winced in pain as Henry reached into his pocket and handed him a grimy key. “You start tomorrow at 10 AM.” He ordered, causing Samuel to nod and give his thanks to the burly gun owner for the lesson and the job.

“Don’t worry none.” He said with a wave of his hand. “Besides, we need a young buck like you.” He added as Samuel raised an eyebrow.

“Young buck?” He asked.

“Well, like I said earlier, we’ve been getting problems with hogs, coyotes, grizzlies, all kinds of pests. Dang things keep getting into the city and mauling people when they visit. Used to do it myself, but my arthritis is starting to get in the way.” He said with a sigh, rubbing his thigh with a grimace. Samuel went through his mind, remembering how his master would regularly purchase meat for use in rituals. He didn’t have the stomach to sacrifice people or pets, but pests that attacked people were things he was more than happy to sacrifice in a necromantic ritual.

“Are there limits on how much we can hunt?” He asked.

“Nope. Dang things reproduce faster than we can kill, so kill as many as your little heart desires. Heck, we got a bounty for each head you bring in so you can buy ammo to keep doing it.” He said.

“Can we keep the meat?”

“Of course, but the mayor would prefer you give him the bones.” Henry said.

“Ah, for proper disposal.” Samuel said with a nod. Can’t just leave bones buried around. That’d be a health hazard.

“Oh, no. He just likes chewing on them.” Samuel blinked several times before smiling and nodding.

“So he makes soup and sucks the marrow out?” He asked, assuming Henry was cutting out a few vital details.

“Nah. He just likes to sit on his bed and gnaw on them all day. He prefers them raw, but don’t let that stop you from enjoying a nice boar barbeque.” Henry answered with a chuckle. “I remember the time that little idiot swallowed an entire rack of ribs on accident. He had to go to the doc and get a needle poked up his butt cause the bone was stuck in there. Little moron whined for days with a swollen ass before doing it again the next week.” He broke out into a burst of laughter while Samuel also joined him, letting out a few forced laughs. He also made a mental note to stay far, far away from town hall and prayed he never met the mayor of Pleasant Oaks.

“Is there a chance you can teach me how to hunt?”

“Course. We can go this Saturday. I’ll teach you how to track things in the forest.” He said as Samuel thanked him.

“Right, is there anywhere I can exchange gold for cash?” He asked. Henry raised an eyebrow.

“Why?” He asked.

“Oh, well, I kinda keep all my assets in gold, and I don’t think the grocery store takes gold.” Henry smiled and patted Samuel on the back like a father would his son.

“I’m liking you more and more Sammie.” He said. Samuel didn’t comment on his new pet name as Henry continued talking. “There ain’t no places around here that’ll take gold, but I’ll take gold for guns and give you some cash back if you’re in a pickle.” He offered as Samuel nodded.

“Oh, uh, in that case, I’ll be back in a minute.” He said, returning to his home and taking out a handful of coins from his chest before locking and burying it once more. He didn’t know how much he had, but he guessed he had just enough to buy some furniture and stock his pantry up.

“Coins eh? I’ve always been a bar guy, but, you do you.” Henry said, doing a few quick tests with the gold to make sure it was real before reaching under the counter and opening a safe. Tossing the gold coins inside, he emerged and handed Samuel a small wad of cash.

“This is a lot. Are you sure you want to give me this much?” Samuel asked, the cash in front of him several thousand dollars’ worth. It took him an entire chest to buy a modest home, and only a few coins got him this much. Henry scoffed in response.

“Son, I ain’t some city slicking cheat. This was how much your gold was. Heck, I think I undershot it in all honesty.” He explained as Samuel bit his lip, feeling slightly guilty about the entire exchange. He didn’t like confrontation, even though he felt he was taking advantage of Henry’s kindness. “Besides, I go outta town once a month to pick up some meds for the old lady. I’ll exchange it for cash while I’m out.” He said as Samuel thanked him and left for the furniture store to purchase a desk, a kitchen table, chairs, and all other things a house needed.

When his furniture was purchased and being sent to his house, he stopped by the grocery store to stock up on supplies and a few slabs of meat to practice necromancy. Unlike Henry, the owners of the grocery store and furniture store were mild mannered folks and let him purchase everything without any issues. They said their hellos, told him how great it was to have a new person in the town, and warned him to carry a shotgun if he ever left town. He thanked them and went home, slightly relieved to know everyone was at the very least nice albeit senile.

When he returned home he found his furniture already waiting for him by the door, forcing him to lug it inside in the night. By the time he was done, he was drenched in sweat and rasping for air, his thin body far from ready for the rigors of heavy exercise. He cooked a simple meal of pasta before crawling to his study to begin reading his magic book.

“Just like college.” He said cheerily, reading through his book and carefully committing all that he could to memory. Luckily for him, the first passage was a simple intro to magic and a basic ritual to bolster one’s own power. He devoured the words, absorbing each one like a sponge to water.

Magic is not a power of the universe. To use magic, one uses the power of the gods to alter reality. The gods are fickle things, granting power based on the caster’s personality, beliefs, goals, and sacrifices to god. Gods grant mortals the capacity of magic that slowly refills over the day. It is akin to a parent handing a child a cup and slowly filling it whenever the cup is emptied. By sacrifice or giving faith to one’s god, they can increase the size of their cup and the rate it is filled, allowing greater and greater power with each successive increase. Upon accepting the power of a god, one has willingly taken part in the Gods’ great game and will be forced to play in their games.

Magic is also highly secretive from the public. Advanced countries with surveillance systems know of magic’s existence but turn a blind eye to the great game under the assumption the side of magic does the same. To willingly break these rules will lead to one being marked for death by the gods. Those to be marked for death will become targets for all magical practitioners and will be forced to fight alone. The reason is that slaying a being marked for death will grant immense power and favor from the god they worship. The only way to avoid the mark of death is to either train the witnesses into the art of magic, erase their memories, or murder them.

Xerias, the god of death, spirits, and domination deals primarily in the sacrifice of life and meat. The fresher and higher quality meat, the greater his gifts. To attain power, one must revoke all morality and sacrifice the blood of others to reach the pinnacle of his power. To become a necromancer is to accept an eternity of being a cursed existence hated by all, as a majority of the magics leave one marked for death. This is a grimoire of the dark arts. It will adapt and evolve based on your desires, imparting the knowledge your heart desires and the prices for such power. But be prepared.

Everything has a cost.

Samuel finished reading the intro as his head started to ache, the knowledge boiling in his head as he thought about the implications of this knowledge. The government had known about magic, and they actively ignored it? Why? He had seen firsthand how the use of magic could be used to enrich humanity, and the government actively hid it? It couldn’t be that they wanted to horde power for themselves since the grimoire explicitly said that magic and the government were separate entities that stayed out of each other’s ways. How expansive was magic? Did he know mages in his personal life and they just never spoke about it? Was his life truly as mundane as he thought, or did he have mages lurking all around him his entire life?

“Can’t let this get me down.” He thought, pushing the thoughts of how much he truly knew about the world away as he read the first ritual for necromancy. A simple sacrificial ritual that he could do with some paper, ground beef, and an ink pen. He merely had to draw a pentagram, put ground beef on it, and chant some simple magic words. After that, the meat would begin rotting at an accelerated pace and the life energy would be given to Xerias, who would bestow him magic power in turn. The spell said the gains were minimal and it took several days to several weeks to break everything down, but the low cost of the ritual was a favorite among new necromancers taking their first steps into magic.

“Magic words?” Samuel wondered, flipping through the pages to find a passage of magic inscribed in modern day French. He used a simple phone translator to get a rough idea of what magic words were, writing them down in a separate booklet for later study.

From the grimoire, magic spells were specific sounds that would alert the gods that a follower was reciting a spell. The words themselves were gibberish, originating from no language and were created thousands of years ago. The gods used to have magic spells be simple words in one’s native tongues, but they had an issue with accidental spellcasting in daily life for practitioners, so they switched to gibberish so they wouldn’t have premature detonations. The book also said that he could alter the magic words for spells after casting a spell once. From the book, he noted that spells could also be activated by gestures and different tones of voice.

“Pentagram and meat.” He said, placing everything in order and drawing a perfect pentagram with a ruler and a compass. He made sure to cut a perfect slab of ground beef and place it atop the pentagram before going through the book, slowly reading out the passages of gibberish and nonsense in a hushed tone, his tone similar to a priest giving last rites to the dead. He felt ridiculous doing such a thing, but such thoughts faded away when he finished reciting the passages and the spell activated. Now, he just felt stupid for doing this inside his house.

“Oh god… Blurgh.” He puked on the ground as the smell of rotting meat filled his study, the spell accelerating the rate of decomposition by several factors. Grabbing the paper he sprinted outside and tossed it into the bushes of his back yard while dry heaving. He then opened all the windows and doors in the house while cleaning up the vomit in his study, making a mental note to closely read what a spell does before casting it. He assumed magic would make everything smell nice and clean when he casted a spell since magic defied the laws of reality.

Sadly, necromancy was not a clean and neat magic that fixed everything. Cursing, he went back to his book to find the French text about magic words now written in crisp English, the letters themselves shifting while he had left. Another passage was also translated in the next page that described the process of how to alter the words of a magic spell.

“From now on, I want this spell to activate when I say, inputresco.” He declared mentally, using the Latin word for rot to be his activation word as he grabbed a kitchen knife and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Sterilizing his index finger, he pricked it with the knife before letting the blood drip on the passage of his first ritual. The words on the page twisted and changed as his own blood became the ink in his book, the long dirge he sang for the first ritual now replaced with a single solitary word.

“New checklist of goals. Get a gun, learn how to hunt, make a compost bin with a pentagram underneath so I never do that inside again, and see if I can use the grimoire to translate ancient languages to English.” He thought to himself, making a short term checklist of goals. “Right. I should buy a printer. And a computer.” He added before stretching his arms out and yawning. Checking the time, he found it was already 6 AM, his spell taking up the entirety of the night and leaving him fatigued. Setting his alarm for 8:30 AM, he got into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes while changing his list of goals.

“Note to self. Buy mattress.” He thought before drifting to sleep.

Submitted February 06, 2019 at 11:54PM by Throwwwwwayfasd http://bit.ly/2DeLZbj