Bloodfed Magic - Later The Magic of the Haladin

[Squeaks]

A particular warning in made by the theosophist known as Arandulin, whose complex understanding of magical energies was enormous, despite his own refusal to tamper with much of it’s use. He was said to be a purist who learned how the Elves channelled, a form of magic he himself mastered, despite his humanity. Even with this form of gentler manipulation, he took care of the lure of power, for it draws humans into it’s glory far more than it does the Eldest races. His account of a Bloodfed ritual is chilling, and his interruption almost cost him his life, possibly his soul.

“In the Fourth Isle of Kadasandra, there was a presence, brooding and swirling; to those that had the necessary gifts, it swirled through the skies in a cloud of red, veined with black tendrils. So vast was it’s impact that murederous activities were raised far beyond the norm. The Fourth Isle contains the Ivory Spear, watchplace of the Elohim in times past, and it’s nature was explicit to humans. We could not begin to understand the subtle nature of it’s inhuman presence, yet it was of comfort to most, and there was established the hospices of the Pale Lady, the Tiered gardens of Ithil and the Moot of the Weeping Widow. Here also was an office of the Nameless Watch and there was a sanctified Hallow of Mournsong, said to have contained most of the relics of his Temple.

We were moved to action on the request of the EMperor Tielren, in the year 717, as his Court had been plagued by demands of large numbers of the populace, the Universities of the City and of most Orders of Religions and mystic were unnerved by the startling power of this unwanted presence.
I was chosen to partake in the purging of the disease within the Capital City, and I took with me a number of others; A priest of Mournsong, three of his Temple Guards, members of six other religious and Mystical Orders - fifteen of us in all. My faith in our abilities was notably nervous, but those with me were well-versed in displays of power.

THE search for this seed of evil was all consuming, and  Grey Lord of Labyrys was almost exhausted to death by the time he found a path for us. We had no choice but to continue without his partaking, but his abilities in a more forceful path were limited at best. At the last we were joined by the High Priestess of the Weeping Widow, whose dreams had been vivid and compelling - she certainly looked dreadfully shaken and deathly pale. She never volunteered their nature, but, at the end, we could not ask any more of her than she gave.

THE Fourth Isle is a grand part of our Capital, and it is the largest Isle save for the Seventh, in which the Imperial Court holds it’s magificent presence. Here, the Priest of Labyrys was able to discern the strongest layers of the illness we sought to end. There was an estate, the name of which I cannot give, but an eminent noble family had their House therein. This was a blow to all of us, as were we wrong, there would have been terrible implications; were we right, then they were unignorable, yet still of an undesirable impact.

WE all felt the warmth of blossoming power, and none doubted our search was in vain. As we approached the gates, armed men sought to bar our way, blades drawn, their eyes hard and unyeilding. We had no other choice, and they were slain by deceit, the Guards of Mournsong ripping through them in seconds as their Priest hit their minds with despairing visions. He visibly flinched as he did so, and said one word: ‘Bloodfed’. We knew then that in their slaying, there would be a strengthening of whatever awaited us.
MORE guards emerged, wearing the livery of this noble lineage. They were swept aside like dust before the power we wielded. None now had any doubts, and none held back in their assault.

WE swept through the estate, and the gates to the main House opened before, of their own accord. We dismantled the wards that had been placed to harm us, and entered, Ley power flaring, a shield provided by the Weeping Widow herself. Her Priestess looked terrified, as did a few; the Priest of Mournsong simply glared, fury upon his features, and his Temple Guards gathered closer around him. I held back much of my own power, and I simply withdrew myself from my surroundings, fearing the taint that lurked through these walls.

THE Ildiri Channeller, Isterial, led us then, and he opened door after door, unravelling wards, washing clean the blood from where it lay pooled to disrupt our own passage. These wells of blood are significant in such places, as they contain the manifest ability to be used to scrye or even to lance power through them, to strike those nearby. His power simply washed them away, purifying them with the touch of clean waters.
OUR path lay downwards, as it ever seems to do with evil things. Stairs led to a basement that was awash with symbols, with ritual implements of horrific taint. These, we had to leave, as our presence was felt, and there was power building by the minute to refuse us or destroy us. I had never seen such things - few had, but there were those that had in our midst.

ENTERING a lower basement, we saw wells of blood, lined with channels, ebtween which the fluids moved like running water. Above us were corpses, many of them, and they showed terrible wounds, and faces were filled with pain and terror. As we passed beneath them, their eyes opened, and they began to babble, building to a screaming pitch before the priest of Moursong exploded with his god’s power - all was quiet for just a few seconds, before the firt assault was upon us.

FROM doors about us, the Bloodfed attacked. Our equal in number, these drones attacked. Power surged amongst us, and I saw a Temple Guard of the Mournsong penetrated by tendrils of black veined blood, solidifying inside him, to swiftly tear him apart. A scream sounded to my left, and I felt a life extinguished. Then our own power was brought to bear. I myself gathered the COlour of light, and it blazed from me, swiftly blanketing us in a wash of welcome life. A Bloodfed attacked me. His power I unravelled as it came, then sent a lance of daylight through him, a spear of the Dawn’s Light that pierced his form. He spun away, and the room’s shadows were blown apart. Holding my hand high, I summoned ever greater waves of Yellow, and the Bloodfed who still stood were blinded. Their lives ended on the ends of the Mournsong Guards, or in the wrath of that god, as he took their vile power from them, leaving them shrivelled without it’s embrace.

NOTHING was said, but there were four less of us as we left this room behind. Two more died on the way to the Crucible of the Sect, but we had faced all but the Inner Circle. The final doors were threaded with Malech, a metal that held Magic well, and these were set to hold fast. A great deal of strength held these shut, and I was ready to see much of our power wasted in their breaching. The Ildiri then revealed the power of water over such things, and he raised great towers of clean waters, one above each hand, and sent them against the doors, They literally crumpled, their magics nullified by the touch of this ancient Law that the Ildiri held true.

BEYOND waited the Crucible, and five figures stood, their heads cowled, swathes of power running through them. Around them there were many corpses, freshly slain - at least twenty living people cowered at the end of the room, and it was swiftly apparent that these would have died had we wasted time of gaining entry. As it was, we were barely adequate in our matching of these five men; with the deaths of twenty more souls, we would have been annihilated.

LITTLE time was wasted, and the five Bloodfed unleashed a vast and lethal wash of raw power against us. The Ildiri drew up a curtain of water, but this was drained in mere seconds, the Channeller obliterated; his sacrifice saved the rest of us, as we brought various means to play. Sadly, I had to unfetter my hidden arts in this battle of magics, and it was cruel, for I was one of those rare things; a Sorceror, master of the Grey. To the best, I was an anomaly, to the worst I was a dangerous anomaly, to be purged from this world.
WE threw Ley about us in massive displays of power, and they were met equally, but both sides battled. Places in our defences were breached, and places in theirs, and lives winked out. At the end of this terrifying abuse of Ley, we stood, watching each other through baleful eyes. Only one of the Bloodfed stood, and the blood of his fellows slowly flowed up his legs and arms, to be drawn into his own well of strength.
OF our group, I still stood, and alongside were the Priest of Mournsong, the High Priestess of the Weeping Widow and The Myrmaen of Basibia. All others lay about us, twisted by death.

THE man bfore us radiated power, and we recognised him from the very Imperial Court itself. The Mournsong coalesced around him in bands of dull hue, their twirling circles leeching his power, exorcising it’s taint. I saw the Priest buckle, falling to his knees with strain, then I saw his eyes turn red, and a leer crpet across his face. Luckily, the Myrmaen had seen this, too, and her blade ended his life before the taint could fully take hold. The Lord attacked as we lost the Priest, but he had lost much in the attempted Exorcism. He struck with everything he had, and he would have swept us away, but we had the Weeping Widow on our side, and seh steeped to take the brunt of the blow. Her death was terrible, but it gave us what we needed. The Myrmaen moved so swiftly I could not even catch her passing, and I knew her intent.

HERE I unleashed the Grey, taking the powers of gods as my own. The powers of Exorcism were combined with revelation; first the Lord was struck bya leeching embrace, drawing some of his power, beofre the realisation of what awaited him after death staggered him. As he bent, the Myrmaen was upon him, and her blade, made of hues of light, sank into his chest. His mouth gaped, desperately trying to draw in breath, but his lungs were torn through, and he collapsed to his knees. I held back then, unwilling to intervene in the natural order of things. The Myrmaen withdrew her blade, and he slowly died, his life extinguished bit by bit, as the terrible fate he had drawn upon himself claimed him.

THE Myrmaen did not show any emotion, as she turned from him, and I expected her to attempt my ending, but she never revealed anything of that last succession of events, and my nature was never revealed by her. I do admit I wish so deeply to give names to these people, but I am bound not to by oaths I would never dare break. I am allowed to recount the terrors we faced, to warn of such things, but I can scarce remember myself, let alone tell everything that needs to be said. A simple fact needs to be understood; Bloodfed magic is wild, and it is never fully under the control of those who would seek to master it. Such things are an illusion, yet people will always seek this power, even knowing so, as their arrogance is so astounding and their ignorance more so. Once you have stolen from the living, your own soul is forfeit in return. This is a fact undeniable to reason, yet some will always deny the simplest and most compelling truths.

FROM this day I sought to never use my power again, and I succeeded in the main, but there were always events that forced my hand, and I fear for my own soul, as much as I am horrified by the claiming of the Bloodfed’s. We are two sides of a coin, yet the coin is ever the same, shared by both.

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sorry about typos

[Willowran]

Jesus, Squeaky. Why haven't you put rowling out of buisness yet?