I Put a Spell on You (closed)

[MadameBlackwater]

( closed to Devin Argente, contains some rough language)


“I put a spell on you
Because you're mine
You better stop
The things that you're doin'
I said "Watch out!
I ain't lyin', yeah!
I ain't gonna take none of your
Foolin' around
I ain't gonna take none of your
Puttin' me down
I put a spell on you
because you're mine
All right!”

~Creedence Clearwater Revival~


The rich smoke of burning frankincense swirled in the moonlight, her fingers slowly sifted out a circle of red brick dust, the light of the moon reflected off her glasses, a ghastly sight mixed with black makeup.

Joyous anticipation crested her lips as she lit the candles around her. The circle was made, the moon in its place, and the witching hour arriving. She chanted in ancient tongue the ceremonial openings, the candles flared as a dozen felines surrounded her, their eyes glowed the fieriest of reds.

From the darkness a wisp of smoke turned flesh, a man, face painted of death and dressed of black regal stood before her. She bowed deeply and held out a bottle of whiskey for the god before her, his hand gripped it firmly and with the flick of a thumb removed the cork. He smiled slyly as he sniffed the spirits within before tipping the bottle to his lips and drinking deeply the amber liquid.
He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his coat and looked at the priestess for a moment.

“My dear Baron, I ask of thee,” she spoke with total respect.

“What have you called me, the Baron of the Dead, for, you wench,” he asked with spite in his voice.

“I want you to guide me to the Skull of Ghoul’dan,” she replied.

The Baron laughed, “You are a mad bitch to seek such a thing, do you know what powers it possesses? Have you any idea how foolish such a request is? Why should I grant unto you the powers of the damned?”

She stood and looked square into his black eyes, “Because Baron, I will use such power.”

He bellowed out another great laugh, “Very well then wench, give me your hand.”

She reached out her left hand which he grabbed quickly; pulling her from the circle and into his other arm, a look of shock ran across her face as he kissed her deeply, forcing his tongue into her mouth. The taste of whisky burning her tongue for a moment before images ravaged her mind for a matter of seconds.

He dropped her and she could feel that some of her life had been drained.



“Mmm, you’re a fine tasting piece of ass,” he chuckled, “I’ll have to remember that when I come for your soul.”

She sat up and looked at him, an evil smile cresting his skull painted face.

“I’ll grant you the name of a man who is just as mad as you for this journey, I’m sure you can use him,” he said as he began to fade into the night, “till next time bitch,” he said before licking his lips.

A piece of paper floated out of the night and into her lap. On it was a single signature,

Devin Argente

Not as powerful as blood or hair, yet she knew what she was meant to do with it.

From her pocket she retrieved a doll; her fingers slowly folded the paper before sliding it into an unstitched portion of the burlap doll.

The ancient chant of binding flowed from her lips as she stitched close the fate of a man.

[Devin Argente]

Seven bottles? Or fourteen? Gazing dazily over the crossed feet laying on the edge of the rickety table, Devin Argente attempted to count the identically coloured mass of long-necked, green flasks that beset the elevated wooden plate. Their emerald curves would not stop twisting about, causing a tinge of annoyance in the back of the Argente's mind. The vexatious feeling was quickly suppressed by that triumphant, worriless veil Devin had been experiencing over the last few hours. The corners of the small room passed his distorted gaze smoothly. The dim light emanating from a single, central lamp added a trail of colors to his vision as it travelled through the confined quarters.

A roaring belch resounded from behind his comfy cathedra. Vehement laughter erupted seconds afterward, and although an authoritarian Argente would never allow such insolence when on duty, Devin found himself roaring more boisterously than any of the three other characters present. Still recovering from the hilarious assault, the wild-haired man bent over in his chair, grabbing a half-empty bottle and quickly putting it to his lips. The bitter liquid conflagrated his numbed tongue, and he spilt half of the liquor over the already soaked, white blouse that stuck viscidly to his torso. His body imbibed the alcoholic liquid with avidity, knowing that drunkenship was the only safe haven from the numbers, the formulas, the cold reality of pragmatism. It allowed Devin to live, to love, for once. He put the beloved bottle back with its kin, and as he fell back into his chair, a lean shadow bent over the back of his chair. A faint giggle reached his ears.

He looked up and grinned mischievously. Anzala was about his age, give or take a few years. Her soft, tanned features were framed by a waterfall of tawny hair, similar in colour to his, although the Argente's tone was slightly darker. Her eyes were very much unlike Devin's - they were indeed the window to her soul, showing her emotions more clearly than any words ever could. Passion now reigned the flame of her green orbs. Passion that he could now, for once, return in kind. He was faintly aware of the fact that Mazek and Vy, his other two associates, exchanged meaningful glances in the background, before silently taking their leave through the room's only door. It did not matter. Lean Anzala was now the center of his universe. She understood, a lusty look of placation and expectation spreading over her blushing face.

"I see you spoiled yourself again," she said teasingly as she innocuously tugged her fingers against his chest. She bent over even further, bringing his hair agonizingly closed to her chest as her hand travelled over his abdomen and back again. Devin groaned and tried to grab her, but she quickly stood back upright, intent on having fun now that he was intoxicated, and she not so much.

"Well. Come catch me... if you can." The itch in Devin's stomach grew even more powerful. He saw that she had done two steps backwards, forcing him to come out of his comfortable position. He knew what came next, and that it would humiliate him, but he could not care. With effort, he heaved himself from his soft shay, and tried to turn around and face her at the same time. The result was an abominable pirouette that ended with him falling softly upon the carpet that covered the inn's every chamber. Anzala laughed, but it was not to ridicule him, and she'd put her hands against her hips, beaming down on him in a tempting manner.

Devin laughed and shrugged it off, gathering his hands in front of him, trying to regain his composure before making another attempt at standing. He glimpsed at his right forearm. It danced between the room's shadow and the lamplight, his dulled senses twisting the differences in luminiscence into the form of a woman's head. He goggled. She was pretty, with long dark hair that streamed off the edges of his wrist. But her eyes... so red. So... red. He felt himself being helplessly absorbed into those roseate orbs. The hallucination suddenly turned bloodred, the facial contours of the unknown beauty voluptuously wavering over his arm, forming symbols. Symbols he could read.

Scruffy handwriting spelled Devin Argente.

He screamed, horrified. He wished he could assess what was happening. The alcohol, that had been his love and saviour less than a minute ago, had now turned into a thick mist that clouded his mind. Pain coursed through his accursed right arm, spreading through bone, muscle and sinew, raging through body and soul alike. He crumpled up on the floor, moaning in agony. Anzala's panicky voice seemed to come from very, very far away. He could not clearly hear, see, or feel anything, as though he were sharing his senses with a foreign force, an unstoppable usurper that violently forced its way into his body. Two individuals stormed into the room. Mazek and Vy, nodoubtedly coming to their leader's aid, ignorant of the fact that their thuds and thumping distracted Devin from regaining control of his body. It was too much. He blacked out.

~*~*~*~

A headache had never been so strong. Yet apart from running to the bathroom every so often to throw up, and feeling miserably while lying on his bed, Devin did not feel 'changed' the next morning. These were symptoms he knew, a sickness he could account for. Events that were within his control. He still felt somewhat lightheaded, and cold calculations would not come as easily as usual, but this did not bother the Argente. Indeed, it allowed him to concentrate on combatting his hangover, instead of having to plan and plan again.

In an hour, he would join Anzala, Vy, and Mazek for lunch. He would explain what had happened, that it had probably been a delirium invoked by his superfluent consumption of alcohol, and that there was no reason to worry. No reason to doubt that he was still their leader.

[MadameBlackwater]

The sun had begun to burn the dark of night from the sky as she returned to town, the smell of graveyard dirt still lingering on her pants. Her lip quivered in confused revulsion at the thoughts of her meeting with the baron. Her body had never been handled that way by anyone. Though she knew she should have expected it from the baron, a god of death so crude that the other voodoo gods shunned him to the darkest reaches of the other side.

Madame Blackwater shook her head to clear the thoughts as she entered a local coffee shop. She placed her pack on the table as the waitress took her order, bread and butter with black coffee. She closed her eyes and let the thoughts flow as she traced the path to the skull of Ghoul’dan that had been given to her, a secret underground vault in a library, trudging through the swamps for miles, ancient ruins on an island.

Nothing that she couldn’t handle, yet something crawled along the back of her mind, some dark thought that screamed that this was a bad idea and she still had time to turn away from it. But the cries fell on deaf thoughts that were content only on finding the artifact and tapping its untold powers.

The waitress’s return shook her from her thoughts as she paid the woman. She carved off a slice of bread and spread a good portion of butter across it before taking a bite; she savored the taste of it as she felt the first pangs of exhaustion. Her eyes closed for a moment before she shook her head, this wasn’t the time for sleep, there was simply too much to do at the moment, yet maybe an hour or two of sleep would give her the strength that had been taken as payment by the baron.

She finished her breakfast and left, looking around for a decent place to rest for a few minutes when she came across a decent patch of trees a distance from the bustle of the town.

She sat and pulled out the doll, looking it over in her hands for a few moments before focusing her will on it, creating a connection for which she could “speak” to the victim.

“It’s time Devin, it’s time for you to come to me, we have work that needs to be done…” she spoke softly to the doll. She knew he would hear her, or even more correctly be drawn to her by the whims of the magic.

He would come to her soon, but in the mean time she was going to get some sleep.

She slid down the grass, placing her backpack against the tree as a pillow before laying down the rest of the way. Within moments she drifted into a quiet sleep.

[Devin Argente]

Devin felt much better as he slowly descended the inn's stone stairwell. The faint light of early afternoon warped through the tavern's many windows, leaving a scintillating trace of dust particles as it voyaged over the vestibule, intangibly caressing stools and culinary altars of precious darkwood, until the unlit hostelry's shadows grasped and vanquished them in the corners of the room. A bald man, small but as well-fed as the thick moustache he sported, dried crystalline jugs in his unrivalled domain behind the counter, looking around absently every few minutes to reassure himself that there were indeed no other customers than the trio already sitting in front of him. When Devin arrived, the walrussian keeper shot him a murderous glance - the Argente's inexplicable howling last night had driven many of his customers in search of another, more tranquil establishment to spend the night. Judging from his harsh hoarseness, Devin reasoned, such a place would have pretty much been anywhere but here.

Distancing himself from the fact that he might have financially ruined the man, Devin walked over to the counter with a gait as casual as he could muster. Mazek, Vy, and Anzala turned their heads at almost exactly the same moment. It would have been rather comical if their glares had not so unequivocally echoed their unspoken thoughts: the youngest son of the Argente family had gone insane. Or turned alcoholist. Or both. Mazek's Fallien orbs reverberated with the loss of a leader, Anzala emitted nothing but emerald regret and wrongly placed guilt, and Vy's twinkled darkly with - could that be? - a shade of ambition. Devin sat down inbetween them, not saying a word, believing that soon a plan would spring from the darkest corners of his mind to sway the opinions of his followers in his favour with one, well-placed valedictory.

Disbelief struck when that was not the case. Before panic could get the best of him, however, the Argente focused. There had to be something. And then he noticed: ideas indeed flooded towards his consciousness, but not like the endless, thin water of the sea, as it had done on any previous occasion. Instead, the expected enlightenment slouched like tar through a pipeline too thin, seeping into him at such a worryingly sluggy pace that Devin pondered the option of actually informing the three mercenaries of what had transpired the night before. He banished that thought almost as quickly as it had come: showing weakness now would be disastrous to his career - indeed, he could already see an invisible smirk spreading over Vy's face. No, it would be better to act under the pretense that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Just drunk. Yes, that was it, just drunk.

But the sludgy cesspool that his genius had degraded to did not cease to plague him.

"All had a good night's sleep, I presume?" he rhetorically commenced, louder than need be, for Vy had already opened his mouth to comment on his soundless arrival. Without hesitation, Devin continued. "Good! We will take our leave in a moment. I trust everything has been packed?"

His gaze shifted to Mazek. The Fallien nodded in affirmation, and although the befouling of Devin's delirium still softly pulsed through his dark gaze, the Argente sensed that he was gaining ground. "The materials we'll need are in my backpack,
and our provisions are spread equally over everyone else," the dark man added business-like before taking another sip from his mug.

Devin noticed that the innkeeper was listening in on the conversation intently - but even in this state, the Argente son would not so easily concede a plan to a potential enemy. The man had all reason to hate him, and with enough information, even he could pose a threat to the family's plans. Devin had already considered liquidating him: after all, this place was far, far away from Corone's populated center. In fact, the Argente did not even know whether this area fell under Corone jurisdiction. Then again, it was quite clear that the townsfolk knew the owner of the Goldwing Inn quite well. His disappearance would be swiftly noticed in an idyllic, nameless hamlet such as this. And Devin did not fancy the thought of fighting off thirty-five angry, scythe-and-pitchfork-wielding farmers without proper incentive. He decided to keep his mouth shut, sharing Anzala's cup of halfwarm tea until the time of their depart had announced itself.

The sun shone fiercely as the foursome forayed out of the cosy tavern, Mazek's giant backpack bedwarfing the belt pouches hanging from the other three's waists. Devin's was hidden under his black coat - even in a peaceful settlement, pickpockets could roam the streets, searching for unwary prey. Their initial direction would be north, taking them through the rocky foothills. According to trustworthy sources, a mass of gold had been discovered there. Devin's goal was simple: head over to the mining operation, 'convince' the miners to join or pay tribute to the family, and then return to Corone for a well-deserved rest.

South. You need to go south.

The athlethic Argente came to a halt without warning, and an unalert Vy collided unsoftly with his back: the older man dropped to the paved road below uncharmingly, scrambling himself together while eyeing Devin in contempt. The young man did not notice his associate's disrespect, however, as a familiar feeling came drifting over the edges of his sanity. A female voice that thundered through his mind, ordering him to head southwars. The strong sense of logic he possessed would not give way easily. His goal lay north. There was no point in going south. But the willful whispers were augmented by that same loss of control he had experienced the night before, like an unwilling puppet dancing stubbornly on strings too strong. This time, however, he was ready to meet the challenge. He would not succumb. He and his followers would go north, finish the assignment, and head home. It was all in his mind. It was... it was...

"South it is," he heard himself whisper in monotone as he turned around. Vy eyed him in suspicion, Mazek and Anzala raised their brows high in bewilderment.

"Wasn't the quarry north of here? You know... Between the hills? Not in the lowlands?" Mazek asserted in baritone. Devin locked eyes with the rock-chiseled features of the Fallien. He faltered noticeably before shaking his head firmly.

"I've made a mistake. It's south. Why else would nobody have yet discovered such a source of wealth?" But it was not his voice: somewhere in the back of his mind, Devin knew that Mazek was right. It was as though somebody else were speaking through his lips, tapping into his potential for persuasion for a plan that did not concur with the Argente's initial goal.

"But... but Devin..." Anzala tried, but her jaws clamped tightly shut as Devin's head turned around unnaturally quickly, his pupils burning into hers.

"South! NOW!" And without further delay, he returned the way the party had come. He did not look back once. Mazek slowly shook his head in disagreement. Anzala shrugged. Vy merely eyed Devin's sudden decision with great interest, clearly enjoying this turn of events - which only proved that something about their leader had changed. Still, they followed his lead, for if something should happen to the Argente son, they would surely be held responsible, both through official contract and their mere presence at the scene. They had to run to keep up with the wild-haired who now trudged straight into a field of long grass and thorny underbrush. He was led only by a tinge, a supernatural sense of direction that eluded his companions.

A woman lay against a tree in the distance. Her long black hair spread out on the ground below her. Devin could judge from a distance that she was sleeping, for she made no movement has he approached. Halting at the woman's feet, he finally looked at his surroundings. He stood at the edge of a small forest. The feeling was stronger now, and still pointing southwards. It would lead him straight into the woods, and still, it seemed like the right thing to do. Something crunched behind the Argente, and he turned around in fear - fear that quickly turned to relief as he saw that his associates had finally caught up with him. He nodded in their general direction, then stepped past the woman, ready to resume his journey.

One step. Two. The spark in his chest reverted completely, pointing north again.

Confused, Devin leaned against an other tree, right next to the one that served as a support for the strange woman's daytime nap. His mahogany orbs travelled over her silent form. A part of his mind registered recognition. He had seen that face, that hair, before. But when? Was he suffering from amnesia, now? Was he really going insane? He looked up at his companions - unsure of what to say because of the wretched, foreign force that pressured his mind. Only the echo of a rational voice far, far away withheld him from falling to his knees and screaming in irritation and helplessness. However, that voice could not restrain him from wildly kicking the treetrunk afront him in rage - it consequently reverberated upon impact. He somewhat hoped that the woman sleeping at the flora's base would awaken in anger, assault him, give him an excuse to vent out the torturous uncertainty he was experiencing...

[MadameBlackwater]

Sera was shaken from her slumber by a loud noise, she awoke from her haze to see figures standing around her, he hand drew her knife before her mind recognized those around her. The magic was working as she recollected who this abnormal man besides her was. She smiled and shook her head as she sheathed her knife before standing. She had noticed the reaction of those around her as she smiled at them.


”Sorry, old reaction.” She said before turning to Devin, “Devin, love, it’s been so long, I didn’t think you would remember your promise,” she hugged the mobster, acting as if he were a life long friend.

She stepped back, the expressionless face somewhat stunning her mind before her natural acting talents picked up the dead air.

“Oh my dear, you look famished, let us move to more comfortable air and discuss our foray into the swamps,” she said as she took his arm in hers and led them back to the small coffee house she had just visited a few hours before. Finding a secluded table they sat and she began talking again

“So, how have you been love?”

[Devin Argente]

His arm had been invisibly burnt, last night. He was hearing voices in his head. He was disobeying direct orders from the family. His foot hurt from the unsoothing bash he had enacted upon the tree. And now, a woman he had never seen before tightly embraced him, claiming great familiarity. After threatening him with a sharp edge of steel, no less. He'd lost it. It was as though his eyes were the only parts of his body that were still his own. The rest of his body bathed in warm, constricting jelly, not reacting to his commands. Not that it stood motionless. He felt his arms slipping briefly around the strange woman's back, returning the hug. Devin screamed inaudibly, craved to tell the long-haired female to back off, to leave him alone.

Promise? Who the hell are you? What the fuck am I doing here?

His tongue did not consent. He was vaguely aware of his three followers, gazing at him ever more amazed. Devin fought to retain control of his voice, an inner strife that resulted in a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. The mysterious woman was quick to make the most of the situation, amiably entwining her arm with his and setting foot back in the direction of the town the Argente had just left. Although there was no reason to follow a complete stranger, Devin felt enticed to do as she wished. Horror overtook the small bit of sanity that was still Devin Argente. Was he a slave? Had he been bound? Was there no escape?

Pastures passed both left and right while the young man attempted to retain a sense of self-awareness. His body made no sign of resisting his red-eyed commander, hobbling comfortably beside her. The encumbering grass soon faded to memory, to be replaced with the restful ambience of a hamlet untouched by time. His feet pattered in rhythmic unitone with hers, almost scarily so. Mazek, Vy and Anzala still followed in their wake, hesitatingly. They entered a small building. It was warm inside, and the air was heavy with the smell of roasted coffee beans. His lips remained sealed as she led him to a shadowy corner, where others could not hear them. His head looked around. His associates had not entered.

Perhaps they've gone to find help... Yeah, that would be...

“So, how have you been love?” His thoughts were rudely interrupted by her query. Finally, he refound control over his voice, but when he tried to shout at her in anger, his tongue once again proved blocked. His brilliant mind tried many combinations, both direct and indirect, of telling the woman that she should get the hell out of his mind. But the mesmerizing spell would not let him. He stood upon the brink of insanity.

"Who... who are you?" he uttered in hoarse whisper, simply for the sake of saying something, to prove that he was not entirely a puppet of a foreign force.