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Ancient War



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Old December 19th, 2009, 2:49 am
Dobbin_Weasin  Undisclosed.gif Dobbin_Weasin is offline
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Ancient War

This is my work of original fiction about war between druids and witches. As well as discrimination of magical folk people.
Please enjoy.

Ancient War
Prologue

There were two kinds of magic for all the world was concerned with. The ancient magic formed by the druids and the more newer modern magic formed by the witches. Druids had a natural magical system, which was born with their unique connection to the natural world around them. No staffs, no wands, no incantations that was the druid way the more natural way. The witches however used these new forms of magic with wands, books, incantations to harness the ability at max power.
This crispy October month, where the leaves were turning to reds, browns, and yellows, was broadcasting the beginning birth of The Executive Branch of Magic. This was suppose to be the peace treaty between both druids and witches and wizards. With one branch of power with rules and regulations coming from the druid side, and another branch of power with rules and regulations coming from the witches side. Staying toasty warm everyone had their radios turned up high listening in on the live broadcast.
“We're happy to say that Beckward will be the Representative of the druids....”
The radio was turned off and the old man sitting in his lumpy lounge chair stared at the old woman who turned it off. The old woman had many wrinkles lining her face, her hair was snow white and in a ragged pony tail. Her robes looked just as old as she did. Her blue eyes twinkled a little as she stared at her husband.
“Why did you turn it off?” the old man croaked.
“Because the whole fight of who was the first to come up with magic is dumb, we should be accepting our differences and getting over them,” the woman said, “I lived long enough to know this long age war was ridiculous to begin with, and really they should have been doing something like this to begin with.”
“Doesn't answer my question,” the old man said.

“Because it's almost dinner time and I don't want that dumb radio on while we're eating,” the old woman paused, “I'm going out to get some flowers for the table, I'll be right back.”
The woman walked on the wooden floor of the small little cottage. She opened the wooden door that gave a loud creak. And she was about to set her foot out, but she saw a bundle in the front of her door. She grabbed the bundle and pulled back the blankets. And there was a baby in the bundle. She of course had to expect it, since it was bundled so tightly to keep the darn thing warm. It was the oddest baby she had ever seen. His eyes were a very light blue they seemed to pierce through the evening sky as the sun was setting. He had an ashen black hair that seemed to have this particular shine about it, almost like metal or as if it had metal in it. When moved into the light, the hair would shine like metal. The old woman was taken aback by the bundle and wondered if someone had forgotten him. Then again she hadn't heard any footsteps at the door for the whole entire day.

She saw right next to where the baby was laid was a vanilla envelope. She picked it up and she saw an odd seal at the back of it. Some sort of golden rose. She opened it carefully, trying not to harm the baby in anyway.
It was a note and it read:
Dear Wendalin,
I know you and Harvey have always wanted one of your own. A child. But you were never allowed that gift. Now the gift has been bundled in front of your door.
The old woman had a feeling, at least from the note, that the baby was being treated as a gift rather then a baby. How could anyone drop off a one year old babe in front of someone's door and treat it like a gift. She walked into the house and saw Harvey stare at her.
“What do you have there?” Harvey asked.
“Someone gave us a baby,” Wendalin said.
“Put it back outside,” Harvey said.
“It's cold out there Harvey,” Wendalin said.
“Oh ****, don't tell me we're keeping it,” Harvey said, “Look around here Wendalin Who Wencraft, look this house isn't big enough...and we're fifty years old...fifty, by the time the kid grows up we'll be dead.”
Wendalin looked around the small little cottage. They only really had two rooms for sleeping, one room was used for storage, the family room was small with just one couch and a lounge chair with a very small radio on a table. The kitchen was combined with the dining room and that was slightly crowded too. The walls were dented from being used all the time. But the prospects of having a lively child around made it seem all the much better.

“Don't use my full name,” Wendalin snapped, “And wouldn't it be nice to finally have our dream fulfilled?”
“He hasn't made a single peep,” Harvey said, “How do you know he isn't dead?”
“Harvey he has blinked a couple of times,” Wendalin said.
“Where is he going to sleep?”
“In the room we've put our junk in,”
“You're suggesting we clean it out?”
“Yes,”

Harvey made a bit of a grumble. Under his breath he was having a fuss, but he wasn't going to say anything directly to Wendalin. Instead he sat on his lounge chair as Wendalin walked into the kitchen to check the cauldron for tonights stew. And she was looking to see if she had anything for the baby. Harvey had to admit to himself though. She did look indeed happy. This was also what they wanted. But he feared they would be dead before the baby had time to fully grow up.

Chpt 1

Artemis was watching the old woman fiddle with the curtains. She seemed displeased and he already had the idea she was going to complain. Something he actually didn't want to hear. But he watched her, he was sure she didn't want to hear him say anything either. By now they had a very good understanding of each other. As he was very much like the old lady and she was very much like him.
“Are going to keep the curtains closed all the time?” the old lady asked.
“Yes, I am,” Artemis said.
Artemis watched the old lady look a little displeased. She wanted to say something and it appears as if she were fighting back her tongue.
“Don't you think it would be nice if the students saw their headmaster?” she asked.

“I like the idea of installing instant fear on them, that way they won't bother me ever again,” Artemis said with a casual calmness.
“So you disclose everything about yourself?” the old lady asked.
“I'm a private person,”
“When have you ever been...you shoot your mouth off most of the time,”
“Like you,”
“Are you picking a fight with me Artemis?”
“No, not yet,”
“So you were planning on,”
“Why even question it, I'm your son, by now you know every step my mind will make before I make it....but,”
“But what?”

“You are old and your mind is probably slower then what it use to be,”
Artemis watched a quick glare snapped up from her eyes. It was the casual calmness of the joke that was making her upset. Not the actual words. Artemis let go of an artificial smile on his face. The smile meant nothing, it felt like nothing, it was merely a smile for smile sakes.
“You are my son,” she continued.
“Yes, but you didn't really do anything important,” Artemis paused, “After all I was lying safely in front of your doorstep.”

She had never kept this information from him. And that was what Artemis admired about his mother Wendalin. That she had never once lied to him and would outright tell him the truth. Maybe because she had realized he was the kind of child who could understand. Then again he wasn't a child any more. His parents had watched him grow into an intelligent young man, they had lived for these twenty-one years. They'd probably live for another hundred more so years. Though his father didn't believe so. He doubted his mother would give up on living so soon. She'd wait till he was gray like her.
“I saved you from the cold,” his mother said.
“Well you'd look immoral if you didn't bring me in,” Artemis said.
“My god! Why are we continuing this?”
“I don't know, you tell me,” Artemis said.
“I'm done,”


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