Thursday, October 31, 2013

Happy Halloween

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

A Werewolf Transforms

Tigran's transformation begins with a foaming mouth.

Then faster than the eye can perceive, he begins to transform.

In this form, his name is RedWolf.

The Predator gets Preyed Upon

The next morning we heard the sound of deep snoring coming from the pen. Tigran, now in a dog form, was sleeping with his jaws clamped on the limp form of a weasel—yes, it was a long, muscular, snake-like brown creature. Its mouth hung open, revealing long, white teeth. When he heard us approaching, Tigran shook the dead creature once again, I suppose in an attempt to show us his kill.
“How could such a small creature be so deadly?” my host asked.
“My dear foolish Forrest,” I began. “Why not?”
“It seems so wrong,” Forrest said. “I always thought that animals killed because they had to eat. This thing killed for sport. It never ate much of anything. It just enjoyed murdering things. People do that, not animals. Besides, weasels are supposed to kill rats. We have so many of them. Why not murder all of them?”
I had to laugh. “Fool! Humans are animals! As animals are savage, so are we. The only thing that changes this is human culture. It teaches us that killing for sport is wrong—not that this stops wanton killing, but at least it keeps the bulk of people in check. Do you not observe how human children are so savage? If they could, they would inflict great harm on their peers. They do quite often. When I was a skinny scrap of a boy I was bullied mercilessly. Day in and day out, children from my village beat me, inflicted upon me cruel verbal abuse, and caused me to live in perpetual fear. Animals are made of the same stuff as we are. Some animals, like some humans, are not vicious. Some, like the worst of our kind, are monstrous.”
Tigran began to crunch on the creature’s head. I pet his soft fur, and he dropped the headless corpse at my feet, perhaps inviting me to eat of the kill. I found it to be rather pungent. It was no doubt a male.

Friday, August 9, 2013

Was it a Spirit, a Monster, or a Sorcerer?

Ah, yes. Sometimes these rural simpletons bore me. Concerning the slaughter of birds and bunnies, these are my findings: The following day we accompanied Forrest to the fortified steel cages were he had cleverly placed the stricken rabbits. They were strong cages, but the sight that presented itself was one of horror. My werewolf companion began to slather with a mix of anger, and I suppose hunger.
One of the rabbits was flayed and headless near the outer cage door. Another was headless within the cage, while another was high up on a shelf where the unfortunate late pigeons used to perch. Its liver lay next to the mangled body. None of the animals had been consumed properly, proving that it was a killing for malicious reasons alone.
“What sort of magic is this?” Forrest screamed in frustration before vomiting. “How is it that the cage door is securely locked, yet the rabbits are dead?”
I looked and saw that indeed, the cage was soundly locked, but I smelled no sorcery. Then I saw it. “Observe,” I said. “The creature crawled through the feeder and into the cage. It had to be long and quite skinny.”
“How did it get the large rabbits out of the cage?” he asked.
“Hmm…” I mused to myself. “Perhaps it broke their bones.”
Tigran roared and began to roll in the carrion. I was not in the mood to think about the subtleties of animal husbandry. “I will ask my minion to guard the animals,” I offered, pointing to Tigran.
Forrest shook his head. “That monster will eat the rest of them—I’m sure of that.”
“That is my offer. He will refrain from eating the rabbits, ducks, and chickens. I will allow him to eat one large Wal-Mart shopper before the night comes. Although it is certain to contain much of the dreaded cholesterol, he can digest it well,” I assured him.
“Well, okay, then. Just make sure it is an evil person,” he grumbled. I smiled and patted the werewolf’s red fur. It made a series of purring roars.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

The Case of the Heinous Slaughter

I have explained to you before that I am living at the residence of a self-styled farmer by the name of KB Forrest. He owns well over 100 acres of land infested with every manner of varmint. He admits this, yet refuses to find a more habitable location. This morning he went to feed animals, which he keeps for some sort of sadistic pleasure. He has furry rabbits, pigeons with tails like peacocks, and some with feathers sprouting in topknots from their heads. There are strange quail, ducks, chickens, peacocks, pheasants, and all manner of rare creatures that seem to have been bred by a madman.
In any case, when he returned to the house, I was foraging for a morning meal with my fledgling Tigran, who was tearing up a bag he found. I do not know what it contained. I noticed that the man, Forrest, looked dejected and unhappy. Being a good guest, I asked why? He said that although he had fortified the large cages thoroughly, something had magically entered one of them and had killed all of his beloved pigeons. The apparition, as he called it, had done other unspeakable damage. He asked for my help.
I followed him with Tigran loping alongside me. I saw a profusion of colorful feathers strewn about. It made Tigran hungry, but I cautioned him to refrain. A flayed skull of a bird was the first flesh I saw. Next, what was once a graceful white bird lay with its belly torn open and the ribs cleaned of flesh. A mound of bird legs and heads were in a corner, but mostly they had been simply killed and thrown to the side.
The most grotesque sight was the rabbits. They had been white with dark ears and a profusion of fur around the necks. He called them “lion heads.” Three of them had been attacked, but not killed. Two had missing eyes. All had been mauled about the face and were bloodied. I even saw one struggling to breathe.
“Why do you not put them to death so as to stop their suffering?” I asked. But I should have known that squeamish man would refuse, saying that he would try to save them. “Would you like me to kill them, then?” I offered, knowing that he was simply delicate.
“How could the creature have gotten in? There are no holes in the wire,” he asked, avoiding my question. “I have sealed off any means of entry!” he cried.
“I will investigate,” I said, thinking that if any evil were perpetrated in my area, I would not allow it unless it was my own. Sorcerers are quite territorial. I will investigate and tell you my findings.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Back From Xwaresmia--The Sorcerer Gaumata

I have spent time in Xwaresmia trying to sort out my priorities. I really think I have to put together a book of spells and curses. The other thing that has vexed me is that my associate, Tigran, who is a demon, is proving difficult to train. I did not realize that he was as young as he was when I took him on as an acolyte. He is powerful, but in need of a strong hand. 
I have included these proofs: see the picture labeled “werewolf,” above.  In it you see him transforming. Note his moon-like eyes. Yet he forgets to finish the transformation and it appears ridiculous. The next photo shows him sprouting an eye from the side of his face. He had four eyes, some of which roved aimlessly. It was quite gruesome, but he was asleep. When he awoke, his face returned to normal. 
I think he has potential, however, so I will not give up. I feel that I may become attached to him, and this is not at all desirable. I must focus on the task of finding a suitable post to occupy. There is no longer an emperor of any stature in this unfortunate world, and I do not wish to occupy the throne of a weakling. The world has changed for the worse. I may retire to the forest, but I still covet power.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Psamtik's Mother--The Sorcerer Gaumata

The work done for the day, Matwa went to Psamtik, the pharaoh-to-be’s quarters. The wretch’s mother had called him. Psamtik was asleep in his mother’s arms. He slept naked and his mother looked fondly at his skinny, angular body. His shiny shaved head showed off many bumps and irregularities. He had had an erection in his sleep and she stroked it down gently. Matwa stood a while and finally cleared his throat, causing Psamtik to stir and grit his teeth, making an awful grinding sound. The woman looked up and smiled proudly as she slipped out of the bed.

“Matwa, how are the arrangements for his ascension progressing? I feel that the priesthood is not very enthusiastic about my son’s coronation, and I want to know that the army will be loyal.” She paced silently. “At least we have you, Matwa. I’m sure you can control the other priests.”
Matwa nodded, “Yes Your Grace, I will do my best. Every thing is going as planned.”

{WARNING} Contains scenes of extreme violence that may be offensive to some readers. Fire—dreams of Fire—visions of Fire. Where do they come from? Aryazate doesn’t know why, but he fears the power secretly growing in him. Am I a demon, or a sorcerer? Kavada, the blacksmith, seems to be the only one he can trust, but even he doesn’t know the extent of Aryazate’s secrets. What would he say if he found out that the beautiful maiden Aryazate, is really a young man forced by circumstances to conceal this truth, which day by day becomes more evident? Just when he thinks Kavada is ready to hear the truth, Aryazate’s worst nightmares become reality. The Head-Mage Monushir accuses him of sorcery and has him imprisoned. What will this trial reveal? Is the truth so horrible that Aryazate will welcome torture and death by fire—by the same fire that haunts his dreams?

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

The Pharaoh's Useless Brains--The Sorcerer Gaumata

The priests moved the body of the Pharaoh to the royal embalmers. They had been prepared for this momentous event for a long time. Richly decorated canopic jars stood ready to receive the royal internal organs. The heart, being the seat of intelligence, would remain in the body. A large stone sarcophagus was set up in the room. This was not to be the final resting place, but the container that would hold the body while it cured and dried before mummification. It was full of natron over one layer of pure salt.

The priests were in attendance as the embalmers prepared the royal body and they began chanting the spells that were necessary for this stage. Taking a needle-thin, sharp knife, the senior embalmer made a deft jab at the navel of the body. He cut upwards, carefully avoiding the membrane separating the internal organs and the muscle. He made three more cuts until he could expose the cavity. Then taking another knife, he carefully pierced the membrane, and without ever injuring an organ, he began to cut away each one, then handed the organ over to an assistant who stood close by, holding an almost flat reed basket. Two men were holding the basket now as he skillfully cut the intestines out and began to scoop them into a large reed cone and then transferred the shimmering mass into their waiting basket. 

When this was done, the priests could see the Pharaoh’s backbone through his collapsed abdomen. One assistant held the mouth of the Pharaoh open as the master made several expert cuts that freed the esophagus and lungs. The lungs were removed by carefully cutting through the upper part of the abdomen and pulling them through the small incision. The cavity was washed now with palm wine and pounded spices. The assistant wiped the blood often from both the body and from the master’s hands and arms. The brain was removed through the nose using a long, hooked instrument. The master embalmer removed it expertly, although it was usually a messy procedure. It was placed in the reed basket with the rags, because it was not considered to be of any value to the Pharaoh in the afterworld.

Finally, the body was lifted carefully and placed in the sarcophagus. The abdominal cavity was filled with pure bruised myrrh, cassia, and other aromatic substances and then sewed up. The mouth was also filled with the mixture of materials, but it was skillfully pushed into place so that it bore a calm expression. Natron was poured over the body now, so that it could dry out in preparation for mummification. It was late in the night when they finally finished and the exhausted men set out for their quarters.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Psamtik the Scarecrow--The Sorcerer Gaumata

Psamtik sat on the minor throne he had occupied before the death of his father, the Pharaoh. His scrawny shoulders shook with indignation as the priests explained to him for the tenth time that he had to wait for the ceremony before he could ascend the pharaoh’s throne. His face was thin and his nose hawkish. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his lips were so thin that his steward had to paint them to make them more visible.

Matwa watched Ankhare as he looked at the young man in disgust. Matwa could see that Psamtik’s claw-like hand was clutching the arm of his throne and he watched as a blue vein pulsed in the skinny neck under a gold neckband. One time Ankhare had told Matwa that he would never have such a poor specimen even clean pots for his troops, but this scarecrow who seemed to be certain that he was already a god, would be the Pharaoh. Matwa felt a sharp twinge of doubt and he looked away. He was going to have to accept it, but his mind continued to doubt. Could they, the priests, transform this weakling into a god? Didn’t they need better material to work with?

“It is now time, Prince Psamtik,” Matwa began, “for you to come to the room where your father, god of the underworld now...”

“No, no, no!” Psamtik interrupted, “I want to lie down now for my nap! I always do! Just because the old Pharaoh died does not mean that I have to change my schedule.” Psamtik’s eyes were red and his thin lips set in determination.

Matwa looked helplessly at Ankhare, as if for help, but the general was studying the ground and blushing furiously in shame. Kawaba, Psamtik’s mother, stood up and took the young man’s hand without further arguments and began to lead him from the room. He stood quite tall, as almost all of the Pharaoh’s children did, but as he left, they saw his backbone clearly. His shoulder blades protruded like the tucked in wings of a pelican.

Matwa knew what Kawaba was doing. He’d actually seen the disgusting thing before, since Psamtik was unashamed. Kawaba would lie down on the bed after settling her son in. She would lift her sash and when he opened his mouth wide to take in most of her sagging breast, she always winced. He would suck vigorously, although she was as dry as a mummy’s tit in late summer. He always did this when he felt insecure. Matwa groaned as he imagined the young pharaoh-to-be with his eyes shut—those eyes that looked like balls with a thin membrane stretched over them— while he made loud sucking noises. He looked away in disgust and began to study the cracks in the stone floor.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

The Pharaoh--The Sorcerer Gaumata

The following was related to me by a trusted follower, who I killed later. I include this so that you will have some idea as to the situation in Egypt as King Cambyses made his plans to invade:

The body of the Pharaoh Ahmose lay on a stone slab. He was dressed splendidly. Even his crown was propped into place. His arms lay crossed on his chest in the manner of a mummy and the two scepters glinted in the sunlight. Attendants walked noiselessly through the room as a phalanx of shaved-headed priests dressed in pure white stood looking at the body, as if it would get up at any moment and address them. The Pharaoh had finally entered the underworld, where he would rule forever. The heat of the day was intense. Matwa, the head priest, knew that he must give the order that the body of the god-king be taken to the royal embalmers. He hesitated because his heart was heavy with thoughts of the state of Egypt.
The great Pharaoh Ahmose was truly the god on earth and now he was Osiris and would rule the underworld. None of the priests surrounding the dead pharaoh showed any emotion, for this was a time of grave peril for the king. His body had to be prepared and this might take up to six weeks. The tomb was well prepared—it had been for the last thirty years. A priest used a fly whisk to make sure no insect landed on the king.
No, it wasn’t the fact that the pharaoh had gone to the underworld that bothered Matwa, but that he had left no real successor. The son who had been groomed for the throne of Upper and Lower Egypt was now dead. He preceded his father in death, thanks to the Greeks. Pharaoh Ahmose had been keen on strengthening his ties with the Greeks, but Ahmose III had died in a shipwreck on his way to Greece on an expedition.
Now they were left only with the sickly and effeminate Psamtik III. The priesthood opposed his ascension, but his mother was far more powerful than the other queens and it would be impossible to change the course of events now. Matwa had been in favor of a lesser ranked son, Ankhare, who was serving as the army commander. He was virile and steadfast. Psamtik, on the other hand...

Monday, June 24, 2013

The Madness of King Cambyses

My plan was to make Cambyses mad, as I had his father, Cyrus the Great. It began with his obsession with Egypt, one of the Persian satrapies. 

“What do you think?” Cambyses asked Mihr, his advisor, cocking his head as he studied the map. Mihr opened his mouth, but Cambyses said, “Hmm, yes, I think so too.” He stroked his black beard contemplatively. Mihr did not move. The emperor cocked his head, as if listening and nodding his head slightly. 
Suddenly Cambyses turned and glared at him. Cambyses opened his eyes wide in a look of indescribable hatred and began to stalk towards Mihr. Cambyses began to reach for his dagger, but Mihr reached for his holy kusti string and shook it.

“Your Majesty, I... I have answered your summons!” Mihr said in a trembling voice. The emperor stopped. Mihr’s voice had ended the trance I had placed on him, hoping to have him kill that gnat of an advisor. 

His stance relaxed and he smiled at Mihr, gesturing him eagerly to follow him to the wall map of Egypt. He began to talk excitedly. 

“... my destiny! I can feel it calling to me! I want to go to Egypt to conquer that ancient land. Maybe I’ll even set up a capital there eventually. Mihr, I want to become a real pharaoh. I want you to get all the information that you can on their customs and religious practices.”

“Uh, yes, at once Your Majesty,” Mihr said. 

“First, however, I will begin to treat my magi more like the pharaoh treats his priests. They are landowners and nobles under Pharaoh. In exchange, they will think of me as god on earth.” Cambyses smiled slowly, his eyes taking on a far away look. “A god on earth,” he repeated, seeming to taste the syllables. He turned to Mihr, his eyes bright and intense with his passion. “Mihr, you must help me with this, I need that information! I need to become a god!”

Mihr bowed his head in reverence. “Oh King of Kings, I sense that there is already divinity in you.”

Cambyses’ eyes lit up in triumph. “You are a smart one, Mihr! No wonder my father had so much faith in you. Do you know that my mother was actually an Egyptian princess, the daughter of the great Pharaoh Ahmose, who rules Egypt? Pharaoh Ahmose has been ruling for forty years now. He is old, very old.”

Mihr made a sound of agreement, but the emperor had already turned and was studying the map of Egypt with rapt attention. 
When he returned the next day, I, Gaumata, smiled. I imagined what he was thinking as a guttural voice in a strange language greeted him. There was no one else in the room but Cambyses, who sat upon his throne as straight as the depictions of the pharaoh he had seen. He wore a short skirt of golden material and was holding two strange looking scepters.

The emperor just sat there, looking straight ahead and Mihr looked as though he didn’t know whether to stay or to leave. 
Finally Cambyses spoke. “Pharaoh Ahmose has just died. He came to me in a dream and told me to set out for Egypt to claim my throne.” 

Everyone had already heard about the death of the pharaoh. However, the emperor wanted people to believe that he had seen it in a vision. So Mihr made the appropriate expressions of joy and wonder.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

The Prince and the Girls--The Sorcerer Gaumata

Now Prince Cambyses was assured the position of King of Kings. I had made it possible. What a clever fellow I am! I was becoming quite settled in the palace, inside of his head. The only thing was that I needed somehow to control his sexual urges. It was disgusting the way his body seemed always alert for women. One day, I saw that my training was finally taking root.

A sound from the curtained doorway made Cambyses glance up briefly. Sarada, one of the youngest of Prince Cambyses’ wives came into the room where he sat, head down, as he inspected some of the precious items he had taken from his father’s quarters. She wanted to sit on his lap, as was her custom when she wanted to complain about one of her senior co-wives. 

Cambyses was annoyed, but he allowed her to climb onto his lap as he examined a small, filigreed locket. She was babbling on. Usually he found her as adorable as a newborn filly, but today, an odd rage seemed to well up within him. Her words grated on his senses and this startled him because usually he was able to tune her out completely until she was ready to go to bed with him.

“And so it I was just standing there and she said did I say you could wear my shift? And I said, well, why not, you once used the ring I left on the table that time, and she said well you stole that from me, don’t you remember? And so anyway then...”

Cambyses let his knee go limp and the girl began to slip to the floor. She grabbed him around the neck and tried to kiss him, but he shied away. Abruptly, she pulled back and wiped her lips on her sleeve.

“What is that smell? Maybe you were holding baby Xerxes on your lap? And maybe he pooped on you?”

Cambyses pushed her to the floor violently and glared at her as if she were an enemy. She ran crying from the room and Cambyses called his steward to fix him a hot bath. He just had to bathe and get the awful feel of that woman off of him. How could he bear those women—there were just so many of them swarming in his quarters, in the gardens, everywhere. “If anyone smells it’s them— the dirty evil creatures,” he growled. He stood swaying slightly as his eyes filmed over. He smiled sardonically and began to undress.

That, my friends, was my doing. My personality was beginning to rise in him.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Assassinate the Assassins--The Sorcerer Gaumata

The next day, the victorious assassin squad was near the city when a scout reached Prince Cambyses. “I see the traitors that I was to watch for, Oh Prince! They are still outside the city.”

“Prepare the troops. They are to die, each and every one of them. Do not bring me prisoners. I have been informed that they have plotted to take my life, but nobody knew why they left the city but my informant. They were conspiring with the old Babylonian priesthood to kill me before I could ascend the throne,” Cambyses watched the scout’s eyes widen. His own face was grave, but in his heart he was jubilant, for he knew now that his brother was dead. The plan was going wonderfully. He had Bardiya killed by the assassins, now he would have the troops kill the assassins. His dark secret would die with them.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

My Wickedly Ingenious Plan--The Sorcerer Gaumata

Now it was time to really get to work. I made sure that by the morning, Prince Cambyses had totally forgotten about his foray to the garden Quiet Room. As planned, the princes and magi, as well as some other nobles close to the dead king, Cyrus the Great, assembled to witness the demolition of the Quiet Room. Many tears were shed as the building was beaten down until only a pile of limestone lay in its place. There was much to do. The magi would oversee the transition of the throne, not that Cambyses agreed with that, but it was the protocol. 

The biggest problem was that succession was far from a settled fact. Some of the magi thought that there should be a period of waiting and finally they won out. I had to make sure that Cambyses won the throne, for he was my vehicle.

Cambyses and his brother were expected to deal with the problems that were plaguing the empire with the king’s passing. Many of the upstart kingdoms saw this as a time to rebel. Prince Bardiya was set to go to the far off kingdom of Susa to the east. Cambyses knew that he should return to Babylon, where he had been ruling, if only to quell the rumors, but he did not think it was safe to leave the capital at such a time. And there was the problem of settling the question of succession for once and for all.

Prince Bardiya was setting out for Susa, where he would quell the rebellion before returning for the decision of the magi.  Bardiya didn’t even know if he wanted to rule at all. What I got from the mind of Cambyses was that all his brother wanted was to hunt all day. 

I made a plan and let it enter my victim’s mind. His rage and fear that he would lose the throne made him a more than willing participant. He called together a secret meeting with a few of his most adept assassins. They would follow Bardiya as he made his way to Susa, but while the royal party slept, they would attack and kill the prince. They were to hide his remains along with those of his party. Even horses would have to be killed and hidden in the vast series of craggy cliffs and ravines.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

The Stolen "Gift"--The Sorcerer Gaumata

The night before the demolition, he decided to break in. I floated above him reading his thoughts as he moved quietly in the dark. Prince Cambyses was stealthy in the darkness of the royal gardens. He knew the area quite well, having killed many imaginary foes in the winding, flowery paths as a youth. It was very dark, providing the cover he would need. So far, he had only met one guard, for most of them were posted on the outside of the gardens and grounds. His father, Cyrus, never wanted them in his private area. He slunk toward the Quiet Room with no guilt in his heart at all. He had never loved his father. Hell, he rarely ever spoke to him. Instead of seeking advice from his true son, the old coot would rather go to the magi. Now he would see what riches were stored there, for he thought it was a thing of greed that his father wanted them to bury the jewels along with himself. He had found the key after searching through his father’s personal things.

The door opened easily and he slipped in. He lit the small candle that he had in his pocket. The room had no windows, but the roof of it was open in places, making it smell fresh. The twinkling stars above were enchanting. He could see why his father had loved this place so. He stopped his musings and got to work. He would check methodically and find whatever was in here before it was destroyed. Nobody would ever know. Looking around, he found that it was a spartan place, aside from its natural beauty. There were rare flowering bushes inside the walls. They were able to get sun from the open roof and yet they were protected from the winds by the walls. He checked under and around these bushes. The floor was simply earth except for the marble blocks used in paths. These all seemed to be undisturbed and grass grew between them. He decided that no recent digging had taken place.

He saw that there was a stone throne in a dark corner, but little else. It must be the place of the wealth, he thought, grunting with impatience. He ran over and sure enough, the throne had a lid on it—the perfect hiding place for the jewels. He moved the heavy stone cover and reached in, but could feel nothing. Laying his chest on the throne seat, he reached as far down as he could, thrusting his hand in as deeply as it would extend. There was something soft and mushy at the bottom of that hole. He quickly pulled out his hand and gagged as he held it stiffly in front of him. He dared not shake it, but began to wipe it on the stone floor. The smell seemed to have hands that caressed his face, although he struggled against it. It was thick and he felt it work its way up his nostrils. He felt it pry his lips apart and slip past the rows of clenched teeth. His lungs were full now, as if the stench were a solid thing.

“It won’t ever go away,” he muttered in panic. He ran out of the room and stuck his hand into a nearby pool. He began to wash and wash, but the substance was viscous and it lingered, slimy against his skin. The smell lingered, too. He pulled up a clump of grass and used the roots and dirt to scrub at his hand, but it slid back and forth in the slime. He scuttled toward his apartments and washed again, attempting to rub off the slippery sludge that clung to it. Finally, in desperation, he doused himself with strong perfumes and then he changed out of his sweaty clothes and went to bed.

Thus, I had found the perfect opportunity to enter Cambyses’s mind. It was so simple in that one moment of shock. The fear of the king’s curse helped instill terror into the heart of the prince. From now on it would be simple. I made a place for myself in the mind of the prince and prepared for the next step in my plan. “It was just too easy,” I said aloud as I rubbed my hands together in an ecstasy that threatened to boil over.

Friday, June 14, 2013

The Tale of Two Princes--The Sorcerer Gaumata

Oh bother! I will have to explain a bit about the political situation in Persia at the time, which was about 530 BCE as you calculate time. The King of Kings, Cyrus the Great, was dead. He had two sons, Cambyses and Bardiya. It seemed no clear thing which prince would rule, so the magi were to decide. I needed to work on this, for the next king would be my vessel. 

Having found what I thought was a competent helper I left my body and examined them in turn. I saw that Bardiya was a guileless simpleton. He actually had very little ambition for the throne, but it seemed that he was the favorite of the magi. I think it was because they believed they could control him. Now, for me to be successful in possessing someone, I must discover that person’s greatest fear, or in some cases, guilt.

Cambyses was ambitious and ruthless. I decided to make him the next king. I would accomplish this by having him murder his own brother. First I had to get into his head. If you recall, Cyrus the Great had a splendid building in the middle of his great garden. It was called the Quiet Room. As far as anyone else knew, it was a place of meditation. We all know, however, that he used this room to relieve himself of the human waste products he never let anybody know he had.

I explained previously that Cyrus took great pride in being beyond mortal—a god on earth. A Greek visitor noted that the king was indeed a god, for he had no bodily needs. This Quiet Room had been prepared for the king by his royal builder, who was the only one who knew of its function, until Cyrus had him killed. Now after the death of Cyrus, his ghost was anxious. He appeared to Mihr, his advisor, and told him that the room must be demolished totally, without anyone ever entering it. He made these wishes known to the court.

Prince Bardiya agreed immediately, but Cambyses, thinking that it was the place of hoarded treasure, wanted to take first whatever he found there. The magi prevailed, and Cambyses was sorely disappointed and angry. He decided to raid the place secretly.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

So Little Time, So Many Enemies to Kill!! The Sorcerer Gaumata

I was happy now with both Rustem and Cyrus the Great dead. I had punished them for deforming my lovely body. But I was not completely satisfied. It was enough to make me rub my hands together in a kind of ecstasy. It had all gone so well. Very well, except for the fact that his original goal had not been accomplished. But they were all dead now. The King of Kings, Cyrus the Great, lay in a tomb rotting. The sorcerers Rustem and his twice-cursed sorceress wife Anahita were nothing but old shits of the buzzards that had consumed their flesh.

There was much to do yet. The next on my list was whoever would succeed Cyrus and become the next King of Kings. That would be relatively easy, but a few things stood in my way. Two of them were the children of Rustem and Anahita. I spat in disgust. I had to deal with them. And it wasn’t easy. Possessing someone was something I reveled in, but it wasn’t like I could possess two people at once. With so much work to do, I’d have to do some head hopping. It might make me easier to catch, though.

Well, for now, I would find a very good place to stash my body while I visited—and I would have to find a more trustworthy servant than the one I had just killed. That wretch! He had done a bad job of caring for my body. It smelled, and the limbs had become stiff. Although he left my fingernails grow absurdly long, he had allowed a mouse to chew on my toenails, which were chewed bloody. That hurt like hell even now. Do you still feel sorry for him? Do you still think I was too harsh? Perhaps you would do the same, so do not be so judgmental.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Ha Ha!!! I Have Secured a New Servant!! Can You Guess That it is a Werewolf?

Oh ingenious! What a clever disguise. This creature is a werewolf by the name of "RedWolf." It will serve me and nobody will be able to guess what it is. Beware! It is a babe-magnet, but above all, it will never attract attention for what it really is. I can send it to my enemies. It will mewl by the door like a lost puppy, but then it will strike. Ha! I am a genius! 

Dead at Last

Cyrus the Great knew that he was a great warrior even at his advancing age. He hated to have the killing of a woman on his list of accomplishments. He felt compassion, but then suddenly rage. The thing in his head (me)—the thing that kept trying to tell him what to do and what to feel—he felt helpless to stop the power that rushed into his muscles now. He felt as strong as a young man, and he had to kill the bitch that dared to approach him swinging her little club. She was a disgusting woman, but he would deal with her now, although her filth would be polluting.

Suddenly she charged at him and they were so close that Cyrus could see the small bubbles in her saliva as she cried out. He was too close now to swing his sword. The woman was upon him in an instant, stabbing at his gut with a short sword. Cyrus was himself again suddenly. The pain was sudden and he saw a white streak before his eyes. He was afraid now. It would happen and he could do nothing to stop it. All of a sudden, he felt himself lose control of his bowels. All the treasures that they had been hoarding during this wretched trip were suddenly let loose and he could feel it in his pants. So this was how it would be, he thought miserably. 

I almost regretted leaving him, but I knew I had to push out of his mind before death took him. I did not wish to die with him, which is what would have happened. Now I tarried not. I rushed to the place where my body had hid for so long. At my arrival, my servant, the one who had been caring for my body, jumped back in alarm. I opened red-rimmed eyes and stared at him in hatred, for he knew my secrets. He had bathed my naked body for all these years. I looked around to see the miserable place and I was disgusted. He had become sloppy. My body smelled and my hair was matted. Even my fingernails were long and curling—yellowed with age.

With one hand, I grabbed his face and he screamed. I used those horny, yellow nails to gouge slices into his cheeks. Then dragging him toward my face even as he struggled, I bit his neck in a frenzy and drank of his hot blood, for my body was starved and my soul, furious.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Cyrus the Great Meets the Queen of the Massagetae--The Sorcerer Gaumata

The barbarians were so close that it surprised Cyrus, who was now only thirty feet from his tent and already swinging his finely crafted sword at the heads of the wild-looking people. In his mind, he pictured the relief he would have carved into the mountain. He would have them portray him as a god-like hero borne aloft a Simurg bird with the sun symbol beneath him. Rows and rows of the vanquished barbarians would be pictured with their hands tied, being led to pay their homage to him. He would have to make sure that their costumes were depicted accurately. The Scythians and their pointed hats, the Massagetae with their calf-length robes, and those strange cloaks on the Scythian warriors! What were they made from? There were those among them with fierce masks on their faces. They were painted in eerie earth tones, but the impact was fantastic. As he mused, he continued to fight confidently, seeing that he was flanked by his able royal bodyguards. Not that he was afraid to fight like any other soldier, but his importance was naturally a consideration. His arm was beginning to ache.

Soon he was face-to-face with Queen Apuyani. You may be surprised to hear that a king, what to speak of a queen, would be fighting in a battle. Yes, in those days, kings were required to fight alongside the troops. If a queen wished to hold onto power, she too had to fight.

Many people suddenly stopped and the din of the melee seemed to dim around that spot. Cyrus was sure this woman was the queen, because of her regal bearing. He felt guilt now. She had appealed to him and assured him that her country was obedient to the throne, yet he had had killed her entire army, including her son. His face softened with a look of regret as Queen Apuyani approached, teeth bared in a mask of rage.

I knew it was time to take over before he stepped away from the fight.  The king’s eyes fogged over and he appeared to become furious. Swinging his sword as if imbued with demonic power, he dashed at the queen. His heavy sword hit her club with such intensity that she almost dropped it. The queen’s charger backed up and then flung himself forward. This sudden movement caught Cyrus off guard. The queen pulled a half-sword from its scabbard as they closed in.

Friday, June 7, 2013

Massacre of the Massagetae--The Sorcerer Gaumata's Journal

By this time, Cyrus the Great was getting a reputation for being a bit zany—ha! After all, I was in his head. When he called his army together to move against the Massagetae, his advisors, especially the now adult Mihr, were against the campaign. It would be a disaster, they told him, but he cared not. So they left for the long journey. 

I have told you that Cyrus wanted to keep up the fantasy of his being god-like. People believed that he never defecated or even passed urine. Now, as the trip dragged on, he found it harder and harder to arrange a situation where he could relieve himself unseen. He became very constipated. This was my plan, of course.

The day arrived when we were very close to our destination. Our scouts reported that in the absence of the Queen, who had gone to secure allies, the foolish prince had tried to usurp the kingdom. Now the army of the Massagetae was in disarray. Cyrus ordered an attack, and most of the army was destroyed. This was very good, he thought, but he had not considered Queen Apuyani, who was to return with her allies.

The night after the massacre of the Massagetae army there was feasting and merriment in the Persian camp. By the time the soldiers had retired for the night, they were quite drunk.
The dawn was just breaking when Cyrus heard the war cries and lunged from his bed. He dressed hurriedly, for there was no way that he would appear in disarray. His guards would hold them off. He needed to urinate, but there was nothing that could be done about that now. His headache throbbed and he thought about his comfortable garden Quiet Room where he could sit in peace and silence.

His charger was saddled and pawing the ground when Cyrus appeared from his tent. The soldier holding the reins looked pale and panicky.

“It’s the Massagetae, Your Highness, and they have allies, their kin, the Paralatae Scythians. Our army is much larger, but they have attacked without warning,” the soldier’s voice broke as if he were a teenaged boy.

Cyrus was annoyed, but he felt a twang of sympathy for the young man, who could be among the dead when this was over. Taking the reins, he reassured him, “they are only barbarians without the slightest idea of how to conduct an attack. Let’s send them to their barbarian afterworld without delay so they can enjoy their reward!”

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Der Werwolf--A New Book by KB Forrest

Dark forest full of secrets call to her ancient blood. Can lovely Usha resist their seductive allure?

Professor Usha Baron embarks on sabbatical with hope, even after almost losing her tenure battle. Returning to her ancestral village deep in Germany’s Black Forest, she will finally continue the work her disgraced father had begun. He’d been laughed out of academia because of his firm belief in the existence of werewolves. Usha knew her father well. He was a peerless scientist, not the foolish madman his colleagues claimed he was. His work proved that there was a scientific explanation for this rare disorder, which he claimed ran even in his family line. Usha is determined to find rational answers, but dark castles and deep forests trigger a call in her ancient blood that cannot be explained by reason.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Back to Cyrus the Great and My Plan to Kill Him

When we left off, I was telling you about how I planned to exact my revenge on Cyrus the Great. I had stayed with him, learning the art of ruling while I exerted my will. Sometimes this was quite difficult, as the man was strong. People began to notice his odd behavior, especially the way he treated his wives. Previously, Cyrus had been a man who loved women, but now he was erratic, often spurning them violently. Of course, that was when I was in residence. I took to leaving when I believed he wanted to mate, for I despise that activity, as you well know. I would return to my body from time to time so that its limbs did not whither. 

I saw the chance for final revenge when a messenger arrived announcing disturbances in frontier satrapies. Among them was the kingdom of the Massagetae, fierce ex-nomads who were settled into lands north of Persia. It appeared that it was the Man-Eaters, a related Scythian tribe, which was responsible, but I guided the king to think hostile thoughts against the Massagetae, who were led by a Queen Apuyani, a witch.

I also learned that she was the sister of a witch who had taken in the daughter of the Sorcerer-Mage Rustem—my now dead enemy. I reasoned that Cyrus the Great would be terribly shamed if he were killed in battle by a woman, and I was quite certain that if a woman could do such a thing, a witch would be the one. I forced him to write a letter to the Queen, ordering her to surrender and accept marriage to the king. She answered in anger, prompting Cyrus to collect his army and move in the direction of what would be his final battle.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

The Wannabe Sorcerer Gets His Due--The Sorcerer Gaumata

I thought of what to do next. For example, I considered that he might want to try the fire trick and I would make fire come out of his ass. But he was out of luck. I had been curious, but now I was bored. I was also annoyed to find that Martyn was one of those bullies—the kind I despised. If you remember well, I was a victim of such a bully, but in my time, these mean-spirited boys could literally get away with murder if their target was a poor child. I was the child of a whore. Nobody in my wretched village would ever have intervened on my behalf, so I was forced to endure terrible beatings.

These memories came back in a frightening crash as Martyn glared at Tete de Lun and threatened him. Martyn shook him as if he were a bag of bones then he said, “Make him atone for his sins against me, for I am the great Sorcerer Gaumata!”

My rage was like a dark storm cloud. How dare he use my name! Yes, I would make him atone for his sins against me. Martyn grinned like an empty skull, but only for a moment. He reached and pulled his own hair again and again until there was a bald spot like the sort a much older man would have. Then he began to tear at his clothing, feeling as if fire ants were crawling over him, their leader periodically sending out the order to bite. When they bit in unison, the formic acid felt like a torch upon his skin and he slapped himself again and again as more of his flesh was exposed to the gaping audience. When he was well naked, he began to caper about hysterically screaming and waving his arms over his head. He punched at his cheeks and jumping from the stage, he began to gnaw on the shiny bar until his teeth began to fall out. 

I could no longer bear the pain, having to share it with him as I was in his body. I left him and hovered over his body, unseen before rushing back to my own. I felt light now, as I always do when I have done something evil. Somehow, although I am not drawn to morality at all, I thought I had taught Martyn some valuable lessons. One was that you should never try to dabble in evil when you have no idea of what you may encounter. The second was that being a bully is bad. The third and most important was to never cross the Sorcerer Gaumata. 

Monday, May 27, 2013

He Makes Water--The Sorcerer Gaumata

His train of thought was broken by a slight guffaw. It came from a slight young man, who wore thick glasses and appeared to be alone. Martin glared at him and said, “You dare to laugh? You shouldn’t even be here. You are a mere human among us immortals.”

I saw what he hid in his mind. The young man who laughed had been the object of Martyn’s ridicule for as long as they had been in school together. Martyn hated him because he was awkward and perhaps plain looking. Before his fascination with the occult, Martyn had been what he called a “jock.” He ran with a crowd of likeminded rascals who preyed upon boys like the one he called “Tete de Lun,” because of his severe acne. Those boys ridiculed Tete de Lun because of his interest in esoteric lore. Somehow Martyn became likewise obsessed, but he never showed this side of himself to his jock friends, and he still made fun of Tete de Lun.

Now he was furious that the object of his ridicule was laughing at him and his secret hobby. Now in college, Martyn still maintained the facade of being a jock, even joining a fraternity, while Tete de Lun, also attending the large college was still an outcaste. If you know me, my dear readers, you know that as a child, I was subjected to torture by bullies like Martyn. This turn of events enlivened me.

Now Martyn called out in a loud voice, “Come, oh Tete de Lun. Come and join me in a duel. Since you have dared to laugh, we will see who is the better sorcerer.”

The boy stammered something then turned to leave. Martyn pointed, “Make him come up here. He has laughed. Now see my power!”

Some of the men, who were dressed as monsters of some sort or another, pushed Tete de Lun forward. He ascended the stage with knocking knees, for he was still quite afraid of Martyn.

“Now kind audience,” Martyn intoned, “we shall begin with the simplest of sorcery. Here, you,” he pointed to a woman wearing vampire teeth. Please give me your empty glass.” She passed up a clear glass beer mug stained around the lips with her tawdry red lipstick. He handed the glass to Tete de Lun, who took it with trembling hands. His face had gone pale.

“Now make water! Make water from nothing!” he ordered.
Tete do Lun giggled nervously. “I could in the lab. I am a chemistry major…” Everyone in the room began to laugh, and a few tossed beer and nuts at him. 

“As expected,” Martyn said, taking the glass into his own hands. “Now see the wonder of my power!” Some people laughed, but all watched. “Make water!” he called out.

I was ready. I forced the contents of his bladder out and a puddle began to form around his feet. Martyn looked down at the mess, unable to believe what had happened. This drew the crowd’s attention, and they roared with laughter.

At this, the proprietor, furious at this indignity, ran to the stage. “Get down from there, you ass!”
Martyn almost shrieked. “No, wait! I will show you! Give me a chance!”

The man stepped back only because the audience was screaming for more.
Inside of Martyn’s mind, I saw what he was thinking. He realized that he had used an expression he thought I had misunderstood. He would be more careful. As Tete de Lun tried to run off the stage, Martyn held him by the elbow and shook him. Under his breath he muttered, “Stay put, insect. I’m going to destroy you for what you did.”

Sunday, May 26, 2013

The Fake Sorcerer and His Sorcery

It was dark when they arrived by rolling carriage to the place they called a nightclub. I heard much disturbing noise that passed for music, and it got louder as they approached. A fat man wearing garish black makeup around his eyes seemed to be screening the prospective patrons before they passed on to leave money for entrance. The man wore no shirt, but he decorated his chest and arms with a series of black leather straps, some of which must have been dog collars with spikes. 

Martyn looked at him with obvious distain. I suppose he felt quite proud to be about to make his debut as a master sorcerer. He also seemed proud of his garb, which consisted of a ridiculous long black hooded cape over a black suit and white shirt. His female friend dressed in what she thought passed for a witch’s outfit. She wore a long black dress with a long train lined in purple satin. She also wore a black cape, but the back of it was embroidered with a large, upside down, five pointed star. She was telling people to call her Sabrina.

After a long time, during which my host was feeling increasingly nervous, he approached a spindly man sporting vampire teeth, who seemed to be in charge. Martyn said, “You agreed to give me time if I could do what I said I could.”
The man drew back thin, cracked lips over his yellowed teeth in a grimace that passed as a smile. “If you are going to do some stupid magic tricks, I’ll have the bouncer kick your ass in front of everybody. Got it? Anyway, I want to see proof first. This is a serious place. If I get some ass-clown making me look stupid, we’ll lose our reputation.”

Martyn took in a deep breath and mumbled, “I call upon the powers of the Sorcerer Gaumata. Make fire come from my mouth!”

He blew out and I obliged him by making a small blue flame pass from his lips. The master of the establishment was impressed. “Okay, but make this good,” he said. He rang a loud Tibetan type gong until everyone fell silent. He called for the audience to look at the stage, where Martyn and his witch friend had already ascended.

“We at the club Sorceria are proud to present Martyn, the master sorcerer and Sabrina, an eighth level witch.” He made a ridiculous bow and backed away. All eyes were on Martyn, but I heard some giggling too. It seemed that he had some detractors. 

“After much tribulation, after much deprivation and suffering, I, Martyn, have become a master sorcerer. I have within me the knowledge of the ages—I know what only the ancients knew…”

Friday, May 24, 2013

An Arrogant Would-Be Sorcerer--The Sorcerer Gaumata

As a sorcerer, I get many requests to take on students. The last student I had, met with an unfortunate end. You see, he was an annoying person who believed that simply by being tenacious he could force me to accept him. First he came forward with a fruit basket for me. I turned it into a basket of rotting limbs. He acted as if he were delighted, but I sent him away. Next he came offering me a young woman. I was horrified and immediately disappeared. This only encouraged the fool. Finally, he came with an offer. He said that I could possess his body and use it for whatever purpose I desired, but then I should take him as a disciple. I agreed just to rid myself of the man.

First I will tell you a little about this would-be-disciple. His name was Martyn. Of course, this spelling is ridiculous, but he was a young man, whose parents thought an aberrant spelling of a name would make their little bundle of piss and shit special. He certainly thought he was very special. He had arrogance written all over his face. He was especially in love with his own features. His lips—oh, how he loved those tiny lips with their cupid’s bow and pink color a woman might envy. His nose was well shaped. His eyes were comely enough, except for the fact that being a blond, his eyelashes were almost white, making him appear to be a cow. All in all, he thought that he was the picture of handsome masculinity. I thought not, for you see, the arrogant are ugly. It cannot be hidden under good looks.

I decided to get rid of Martyn by taking up his offer, so I entered his mind. As soon as I did, I realized, to my fury, that he had planned this all along. He wanted to possess me! Not my body. He wanted to possess my sorcerer’s mind. He was part of a young people’s group that thought themselves to be vampires, werewolves, sorcerers, witches, and the like. He believed that he could trap me there, in his mind. One of his female friends, a self-professed witch, had provided him with a spell that was supposed to trap me, making my powers accessible to him. I chuckled low and soft, but decided to go along for the ride, making him think that I was captured.

He apologized to me as he started for his home, where his witch friend was waiting. She ordered me to make a glass levitate. I did it from within him, and they were delighted. Now they dressed in outlandish garb to attend a nightclub where others such as themselves congregated. There he was to stun his audience with “his” newly acquired talents. He wanted them to acknowledge him as a master sorcerer. Tomorrow I will tell you how it went for him, but you may already guess that it did not go as intended.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The Rats Eat the Snakes--Revenge is Sweet--The Sorcerer Gaumata

Let me tell you a little about my plan. I wanted to kill Cyrus, but I needed to enjoy it. It was revenge. Do you remember? He and Rustem had my ears chopped off, which was painful and most of all disfiguring. Now I thought that I must humiliate the so-called great king. The road to that great humiliation was to expose his greatest fear. Ah, yes! I can know a person’s greatest fear, and I exploit that. My dear reader, think of it. What do you fear the most? Do you fear suffocation? Do you fear spiders or cockroaches? Do you fear insanity? Do you fear being exposed for what you really are? Oh yes, I can find that fear in your heart and use it against you. But for now, let me tell you my plans for Cyrus the Great. 

I have explained that he had a fear of being exposed as a normal human. Indeed, being the King of Kings, he had the reputation of being god-like. A Greek visitor once commented that Cyrus the Great was indeed the greatest monarch, for he seemed to have no bodily needs. He never had to void waste. This became his fear. Cyrus feared that someone might find out that he was a normal person who shat like we all do. 
Cyrus had a solitary room people called the “Quiet Room.” 

This room was designed by a skilled craftsman who hid in it a throne that could be converted into a commode when needed. It was a lovely little private house that opened in places to the sky, so that a variety of plants could grow in there too. The king tended to these himself, for no one, not the queens, nor the princes, what to speak of common gardeners, were allowed entrance. Once the building was complete, Cyrus had the craftsman killed, so that his secret would be safe. 

I also wanted him to commit a serious political blunder that would stain his good name in the future. There is nothing more evil than to tarnish a man’s reputation, is there? Ha! My plan was simple. I will explain it tomorrow, for now I am busy. I am not a lazy man. I like to help my host. I caught two monstrous snakes yesterday. Brimming with venom and evil, these snakes had been eating birds and mammals that humans fancy as pets. I paralyzed them with a spell then I got distracted watching two birds fight. I forgot about them, but when I returned the next morning, rats had gotten their revenge by eating them alive. Most amusing.

Monday, May 20, 2013

They Say Possession is 9/10s of the Law--I Possess People--The Sorcerer Gaumata

By the time I had been in the mind of the King of Kings, Cyrus the great, for seven years, I was bored and ready for a change. The brat Mihr had grown to be a young man, but Rustem visited him and in a way, like I did, he possessed the boy. He did this so that he could still advise the king. I found myself paralyzed at times like those, but I quickly learned that he could only speak though Mihr.

I began to impersonate Rustem, so that I would speak through the king’s mouth, but to him, he heard his dear advisor. One day Mihr caught me advising in this manner. What he heard me saying was this:

“Your Lordship must protect the eastern regions of your vast kingdom. We have discovered that the tribe that calls themselves the Massagetae has decided not only to challenge your over- lordship, but they are also instigating rebellion throughout the lesser kingdoms. As I have interpreted your dream, you see that the truth of my words is evident. In addition, you have heard yourself that the evil that will come to you will start in the east. Like the god Mithra, you must sweep in from the east and devastate any state that dares oppose you. In addition, the queen that rules that kingdom would make a fine supplement to your maidservants, if you catch my drift...”

I was, of course, encouraging him to attack one of his satrapies. It was a powerful one, and I hoped that he would end up dead in the scuffle. Mihr flew through the door and began to shake his sacred Kusti rope screaming, “Be gone, demon!” He surely felt my presence.

Cyrus began to explain the plan to attack the Massagetae to Mihr, but Rustem came to the surface and began to tell him that this was all wrong. The king stared at Mihr as if he were mad, for remember, he believed that Rustem, not I, had been advising him.

He screamed, “What do you tell me? Have you gone mad? Perhaps you are ill, Rustem? Never mind, prepare, for we are going to war. I am convinced that this rebellion must be quelled and I will see to it myself. Do you not remember that the Emperor Astyages, my grandfather, allowed a certain rebellion to get out of hand? Look what happened to him! Ha! The land of the Massagetae will swarm with the royal army and they will be the example I will set for people who oppose me, as you so elegantly stated before that crazy outburst.” Cyrus sat back on his throne gathering his strength. He blinked, and now he saw Mihr, not Rustem.

“Mihr, I am getting old now. My two strong sons, Cambyses II and Bardiya, are eager for me to die so they can rule. If I have to die, it will be in battle, not being tended by the women as I lie in bed. No, I will continue in my glory until the gods see fit to take me. Ah...perhaps the gods don’t even care. They’re probably too busy getting drunk,” he said with a dry chuckle.

“Well, what do you think of this?” he asked. “I will first propose marriage to the Queen Apuyani of the Massagetae. If she accepts the proposal, then there will be no need to waste the time and men that it will take to secure her kingdom. I can simply annex it.”

Mihr nodded dumbly.

“See to it that a messenger is sent immediately with the message and gifts. We should, nevertheless prepare for war. I do not believe that my proposal will be accepted.”

So my plans to kill Cyrus the Great were put into place.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Walking Dead--The Sorcerer Gaumata

The biggest of my problems was that Rustem refused to stay dead. I do not mean like your wretchedly ignorant idea of zombies or walking dead people. I cannot believe that even having survived this long entertainment has not improved. I told you that I am staying at the domicile of a person by the name of Forrest. I stay here only on his insistence, for I need no person. If I needed what this simpleton farmer had to offer, I would possess his body. In any case, he introduced me to the flattened box he calls a TV. By some sort of witchcraft it projects the forms of small humans. We sat upon a sort of throne called a couch, and with a wand-like apparatus, he makes the forms appear. His latest interest is a play called Walking Dead People. He appears to be entertained by it, and drinks a bitter ale in a strange metal cup. I tried it, and felt insulted that he did not heat it to the correct temperature. Rather, he served it cold. I threatened to kill him for this insult, and he poured the concoction into a glass flask and placed it into a box that produced a humming noise accompanied by light. I forced him to drink some before I would sample it, for I feared he had tried to poison me.

As for the flattened forms of the Walking Dead People, it gave me an idea. However, I would not personally do this thing. I wondered if a sorcerer tried to inhabit a body, but found it to be dead. If he could not escape, this walking dead person would happen. If one could force the spirit out of a living body and make it go into a dead body, then one would not have to share the body. This has always been a problem for me, so I am thinking about how this might be best accomplished.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

The Horrors Inflicted Against Me--The Sorcerer Gaumata

If only the women the king kept would all die!
There were times when I dearly wanted to return to my own body. Especially when the king engaged in sex with his many wives. Although I shut my eyes against the awful sights and I tried to plug my ears against the sounds of rutting, it was of no use. Their sweating bodies would slap and squelch together. There were horrendous sucking noises and deep grunts like those made by pigs. And the desperate need to scratch that evil itch between their legs was more than I could stomach! I would lose control of my body. I hated that the most. My pelvis would begin to thrust on its own, as if possessed by a gremlin. The sight of my own reddened, swollen cock made me violently ill, yet I could not stop myself. Sometimes I beat myself about the groin in anguish, but it was as if I had no control over what should be mine. For a sorcerer possessed of so much power, it shamed me to no end that I had to undergo such suffering! But often I was able to assert myself. At these times, Cyrus would be quite cruel, throwing the woman off his bed and glaring at her in hatred. His desire and my repulsion were thus intermittently present, causing his wives to fear him greatly. They never came to his bed willingly anymore. Instead, they dreaded it. The King of Kings knew this and it made him livid with rage. Instead of discouraging him, it made him go about his task with vicious zeal, much to my horror. Time passed slowly as I waited, but I knew that soon I would kill my host and inhabit the body of his robust son, Prince Cambyses.

Friday, May 17, 2013

Rustem the Sorcerer-Mage Returns--The Sorcerer Gaumata

Rustem’s brat entered the king’s private quarters a few minutes later. Cyrus dismissed his retainers. I read in his mind that he felt quite safe alone. He kept two swords at the ready, and he was the best of warriors. That part I admired. Today you never see a world leader head up his troops as the kings of old did. They are cowards of the worst sort. 

I looked through the king’s eyes, but I found myself unable to control him properly, especially when the boy entered the room. There was something different about him, yet it was familiar. Cyrus related his dream and suddenly I was hit by an angry presence in the boy, whose head lolled to the side now. My loins clenched in fear as I felt Rustem’s spirit enter the boy’s body and begin to speak.

How could this be? I had killed the big lout! Like a vengeful ghost, he now haunted me. I was so stunned that I could only crouch in a corner of the king’s mind as he gave his interpretation. He disappeared while the king was still speaking.

“So you say that the interpretation of the magi was spurious then? I thought so, but your interpretation, although it makes sense, is quite distressing. My two sons Cambyses and Bardiya—I have really failed to watch them as closely as I should have. They are quite grown now and like the tree, they will not bend, rather they will splinter. As for my fate, it is certain that nobody, even the greatest monarchs are freed from death. I tell you, Rustem, I have been able to take refuge in your advice that we can only act for the sake of Order in this life. not leave yet...I...need...”

The boy shook his head, and I knew he was back. Mihr looked at the emperor and cringed in his chair. Cyrus smiled at him to reassure him.

“Do not fear, Mihr,” he said and heaved a weary, but satisfied sigh. “I appoint you as my assistant. From now on, we shall breakfast together.”

Mihr blinked. His jaw had dropped open, giving him the look of a startled half-wit. “Assistant?” he repeated dumbly. 

“Yes, yes, I don’t know what I was thinking putting you in the Mage Hall. Your place is here. You are the son of my most trusted friend. Have the servants move your things into the Royal Suite at once. You shall be appointed the Royal Advisor.”

Thus began my travails. For the next seven years I was trapped in the body of Cyrus the Great. I almost lost my own body, because the man was resistant indeed, especially now, with Rustem’s help. Luckily, I was able to take control for long enough to order a trusted man to take care of my body, which was in a near-dead state. The body was losing weight, but slowly, because it was in suspended animation. The man would wash the body and pack it back into the tree trunk, protecting it with soft mosses after washing it and tending to its sores. He even found a solution to the insect and rodent infestations by using fragrant, repellent herbs. Still I dreaded ever having to return to that body. It had aged and grown saggy. My beautiful face was marred by the loss of my delicate ears. I burned with the need for revenge, but I also liked my new royal life of ease and plenty.