Morgan Mageflame and the Tome of Runes

Benedict Mageflame had been one of the most powerful wizards the world had ever known. He'd vanquished more than his fair share of evil, stood up to and defeated the great dark lord Malfurionus, and was generally accepted to be one of the great heroes of these times. His death had been rather anticlimactic, however, and was felled slaying a dragon. Not by the dragon, mind you. After casting the spell that would prove to end the battle, the great Mageflame himself slipped on the unsure footing provided by the dragon's massive hoard of treasure and trinkets. He subsequently fell on a rather large diamond, which pierced his heart. In one hard-luck moment, the name Mageflame was now associated with both great heroism, and quiet snickers and chuckles. The powerful wizard, ended by a stumble.

Morgan Mageflame was certainly living up to the klutz portion of his namesake, while failing miserably at the powerful wizard parts. At the academy, he'd been a below average student, whose infamous acts had included setting the dean's prided beard on fire, accidentally turning the transfiguration master into a platypus, and demolishing an entire wing of the academy by setting loose a rather large, pissed off demon. The last of these would be his ultimate shame, and resulted in his expulsion from the academy, and the Order of Wizardry.

Before leaving under the berating of peers and masters alike, he stole a small book. Considered to be one of the most powerful books of its time, the Geonomicon had been written by his father, and given to the academy shortly before his death. The only problem, Morgan soon realized, was that the text had been written completely in runish script, a writing style which he had barely begun to learn. The last insult from his father, no doubt.

Now, Morgan Mageflame, barely into his twenties, had no money, no fame, and no home. He performed parlor tricks to earn trinkets and coin, but they were barely enough to pay for regular baths and meals. What he needed was a great act of heroism, to earn him wealth and fame. What he needed was a sidekick to help him on his quest. What he needed was a pillow other than the rock that supported his head as he slept in the woods near each town... He needed a miracle.

Today would be different, and Morgan was sure of it. He rose early, rubbing his head and shoulders to work out the kinks resulting from the hard ground, and changed his tunic and trousers. A cheap, simple comb was run through his short dark hair, which framed the face that was smooth and betrayed his young age/ Even more betraying was the way his green eyes burned with youth and vitality. Even though sleeping on the ground night after night couldn't be good for his small frame, he was working to change that. Today, he would find what he sought. Of course, he told himself this every day, but this was a new town, full of new opportunities, new pockets to swindle, and hopefully, real perils he could best. The latter was unlikely, but he hoped for it nonetheless, while gathering his shoulder-bag and setting off towards the town and its main market. He would start by dazzling the people with his illusions and skill.

After arriving, he set to work, guessing ages and weights (and being slapped silly by some rather sour ladies), juggling flaming swords (which earned him a few pence, before lodging a sword in a fruit basket and catching it on fire, pence paid to cover damages), and breaking chains using his mind and magic (slightly unappreciated by the audience). He was striking out, and he knew it.

Today would be no different...

Fyre watched her family flit about the glade with a barely hidden disdain. She sighed and turned on her side away from them.

"Aww fyreface, come play with us!" her sister Yce hollared at her. Fyre just grumped at her.

For as long as she could remember she has wanted to leave the glade and see the world beyond. She had longed to run through the rest of the forest, to tease those elves who were tied to their trees. While no such onus existed for the nymphs, they had always stayed close to the glades. Well, that was according to Fyre's mother, which always frustrated Fyre. Her mother was a woman, while not to be trifled with, the woman could also not remember who their father was. True, this is part of Nymphly nature, to sleep with a man and then forget him, but she very much wanted to know who her father had been and just how he had tripped his way into the forest.

Staring up at the rising sun, Fyre felt the pull again. Something imperceptibly tugging her from this glen, to the forest and the "man's world" beyond. She turned and looked at her family. Then, at the light, her family beckoning to her, then she turned away. Walked to her nook, and wrapped her things up and walked away from the glade.

"Fyyyyyrrrreeee!! You come back her this instance or you will be grounded forever!"

Fyre just kept walking, not looking back. A single tear slid down her cheek, but her excitement at her freedom kept her feet moving over the soft ground.


That had been two month's ago, and the Fyre's naivete had worn off. Men were ridiculous pigs, though for the life of her she couldn't remember why this was her perception. But waking up in unfamiliar places, had been enough to leave a bad taste in her mouth. That bad taste in her mouth...she did not want to know what was.

Getting up, she tied her apron on and got ready to head down the stairs to the Inn where she was a scullery maid. She missed the glen, she missed her family, and she was ready for whatever was pulling her to fucking be done with it.

Maybe today would be different.

Morgan entered the town’s tavern with a heavy sigh, his head hanging in defeat with his eyes downcast. The young man toyed with the handful of coins he had earned that day and realized with an even further sinking heart that it would buy him a meal, but would not earn him a proper bath, much less a real bed for the night. Today ad been no different. The mage juggled thoughts in his mind as he wondered what he could do to change things for the better. There was only so long he would be able to survive on a few coins a day. He either needed some new magic to display, or some instant fame for some heroic deed to suddenly come along. The only problem with the latter idea was the fact that the man knew he would only screw up any chance at heroism.

My father would be so proud, he thought sourly.

The Mageflame namesake was getting him even less benefits in the real world than it had in the academy, and all it had really earned him there was admittance. His own fowl-ups had earned him expulsion. And now, he had nothing to show for it. The father, a great hero; the son, a great failure.

So lost in his thoughts was Morgan as he sulked and trudged through the busy tavern, that he didn’t notice the figure in front of him until it was too late. An instant later, the clumsy mage bumped heavily into a man standing and laughing, a man who just happened to have his pint raised high over his head. A man whose pint just happened to be knocked from his raised hand and splash all over the small group of burly partiers. Morgan stood in dumb shock as the men sat stock still and silent for a moment, then all slowly stood in unison, a rather menacing sight to behold.

“Uhhh... sorry, I- er... I... I didn’t mean...” Morgan couldn’t think of anything to say. They all just glared at him, scowls and thoughts of harm written across every face. “I can fix it!” the young man blurted, then mentally slapped himself. How the hell was he planning on fixing it? But the path was chosen, he had to think of something. “Just give me a moment, I can fix it!” He raised his hands and tried to calm down the group as he struggled to figure out what to do. At least they hadn’t moved.

Think...

A wind spell was all that popped into mind. Should be simple enough. Just a light thing to dry them, at least. They had studied air currents and manipulation in the early days at the academy, and it was one of the rare things Morgan had actually had some decent practice with. He closed his eyes and recited the incantation from memory, as the air picked up in small, concentrated gusts, effectively blow-drying each person at the table in a small virtual wind tunnel. When the last was finally dry, Morgan offered a nervous smile and placed most of his earned coins on the table, as his voice squeaked hopefully. “Next round on me?”

Silence followed for several long moments, and Morgan neared panic. Finally, they all burst into laughter and began slapping each other on the back in great humor. The small mage gasped in relief, before a huge hand slapped him square in the middle of the back, nearly knocking him over and the air right out of him. He laughed softly and nervously as he backed away and retreated to a small table next to the far wall. That had been too close. At least the spell had worked.

Once seated, the mage opened his clutched hand with a sigh and realized his meal had turned into a loaf of bread and a bit of drink. So much for a bit of comfort. With a frown, he reached into his cloak to pull out his father’s book and resumed his work at struggling to translate a few of the spells, while waiting on someone to take his order. When a shape finally appeared above him, he kept his head down and softly spoke. “Bread and rum, please...”

The great Mageflame was too ashamed to even look up.

The wind sweeping through the Inn messed up Fyre's hair something awful, so much so that when she stood next to the quavering boy magician, she didn't notice that he wasn't looking at her, she was trying to tame her tresses. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she finally looked down at him.

His hair fell across his eyes, and he seemed positively downtrodden. His clothing was ragged, while Fyre had to crinkle her nose it seemed that the boy hadn't showered in a while either. However, none of this, none of it stopped her from falling to her knees and whispering in a rather loud stage whisper.

"Master!"

She wasn't kidding either. Although part of her was screaming in her head wondering what the fuck she was doing on her knees. Fyre couldn't explain it, she had caught a glimpse of his power and his eyes and next thing she knew, she had been compelled to fall to her knees in complete subservience. It was disgusting to behave this way, and the entire restaurant had gone completely silent. Well, except for the spoon that just jangled to the floor.

Fyre had just made a complete idiot of herself.

She forced her eyes up to catch a glimpse of this boy magician sitting before her. He looked, well, he looked stunned.

"Please Sir, please let me up so that I can wipe that insolent grin off your face." She implored with a soft whine, a soft edge creeping into her voice at the end.

How long was he going to sit there like a slack jawed idiot?

It took a long few moments, each seeming like a small eternity, before Morgan could find words. When he did finally manage to speak, it was the epitome of eloquence and grace one would expect of a failed mage.

“Wha..? I-I... W-what are..? Huh?”

A beautiful, fiery, red-haired stunning creature was on her knees before him, one moment professing him (him?) as ‘Master’, the next threatening him harm. For one, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why any girl would be even talking to him beyond taking his order when absolutely forced to. Much less falling on their knees in servitude. His mind was still reeling from that much. Then, to switch into a mode of physical harm, only added more confusion to his already bewildered mind.

His brain was pulling the mush-puddle on him. His mouth was dry. The tavern was silent.

His eyes flicked in panic over the open book before him. Had he mistakenly cast a spell on her, something that would increase her physical desires or trick her into thinking she was his slave? The mage swallowed nervously at the thought. While that would be... No, stoppit. He couldn’t, wouldn’t do that to another person. It went against everything he believed. Besides, he hadn’t spoken any of the untranslated words aloud, and the few he had been able to translate as of late had indicated nothing of lust or servitude. They hadn’t indicated much at all, in fact, but he was sure this wasn’t a mistaken spell.

So what was it?

The young man placed fingers on the book slowly, as if in a haze, closed it, and tried his best to casually slide it closer to himself as if trying to hide it protectively. If anything happened to this book, he would be truly lost.

Finally, he snapped out of his stupor and placed a hand on the back of her arm, gently. “What are you doing? Please get up!” He whispered pleadingly, his eyes darting in a panic over the rest of the bar. With his luck, they would think this was all his fault, and he was sure there was going to be trouble over it. "Why are you on your knees, and why are you threatening to hit me? I just wanted some food... Please..."

The great Morgan Mageflame was about to go hungry once again. Yippee...

Once upon a time there had been a great Magician and he traveled far and wide through the lands. He met many people, talking to them and solving their simple problems. Much of it wasn't magic, but a decent intellect that he applied to their issues, many of which revolved around someone stealing so-and-so's wife or chicken. Most of the time he advised that they learn to share their things, or just kill the wife- which really when you think about it is the right thing to do as wives were expensive and rarely made anything easier. At least with the chicken you got some companionship from the deal. Other than a few good squawks it rarely puts up a fight.

Back to the story at hand, the Magician traveled one day through the dark a mysterious forest. Not many men had the cojones to walk through this forest, but the magician had a special sort of cojones, that and his foresight promised him much to travel this way.

He came across a glade. A glade full of glittery beautiful nymphs. They taunted him, and teased him. Which was unfair, because most of his magic couldn't really affect them. One of them, a beguiling red-head beckoned him to her, as if in a dream, he came to her.

She laid him down, and then climbed atop him. The Magician was clearly excited and his clothing seemed to disappear immediately. However, this nymph denied him access to her body. She slipped her wetness over him, covering his length with her juices, but not once did he get to slide inside that one tight spot that he so wanted to be in. It felt good, and he helped to grind against her tight, lithe form. His reasoning for not pushing further? Well, he couldn't remember them.

She shuddered against his form, coating his cock as she came. She kissed his lips and disappeared with a tiny pop! It so happened that while he hadn't actually fucked her, the magician did cum, but he came at the same moment that she so conveniently disappeared and the warm white fluid landed on his chest and face.

It was possible that he imagined the soft giggle that emanated from the surrounding forest. But the slight was too much. His anger fueled his power and it billowed around him like a cape.

"Nymphette, you shall serve to make me or mine cum should one of your blood ever cross mine path again!"

These loaded words would hang unfulfilled until a certain little red-head would kneel before a total idiot.


Fyre had no clue what had come over her, and she certainly had no idea what misdeeds of her ancestors had landed her here on her knees like some lovesick swain. Oh, it grated on her nerves.

"Food, Master?" she looked at him, popped into the kitchen and popped back to hand him a steak and potato dinner.

And again he looked at her slack jawed. She tried to smile and keep her head lowered. Compelled to serve him, when she really wanted to smack that stupid look off his face.

Oh what a trial this was going to be.

Morgan stared at the plate of food before him. Steak, hot, succulent, and probably very tender, from the look and smell. A potato, baked, steaming, fresh. His mouth watered in anticipation. Best meal he would have had in a long time. But it was little more than a merciless tease at the moment, as his mind drifted back to the measly coins he had on his person. A groan, low and miserable, left his lips as he stared at the inviting meal. Then he lowered his voice ever further and murmured to the girl that had apparently lost her mind.

"I... can't pay for this..."

With a heavy heart, he pushed it away slowly with one finger, while still staring forlornly at the plate and its contents. What he wouldn't give to just dig in and gorge himself on the meal. But he didn't steal, no matter what.

The boy frowned and look back at the girl, a look of puzzling still on his face, then he whispered harshly. "What are you doing, anyways? Are you trying to get me thrown out? Or killed?" He paused to glance nervously at the crowd, who still seemed to be staring at them, as if it was the most entertainment any of them had had here in ages. Morgan scowled and looked back at the girl.

She was strikingly pretty, with a certain lusty appeal, which even in the situation, the mage couldn't help but notice. He hadn't realized that beyond his confusion and embarrassment, his heart had quickened its pace, his palms were sweaty, and his mouth had gone dry. Needless to say, he was a little shocked when he did finally notice these things. There was a beautiful woman serving him. As he sat, groin twitched as an image popped in his head, but he shook it off quickly and forced it away.

He didn't even know her, and here he was picturing her naked. Would he even know what to do if she were? Fire burned his cheeks as he sank lower in the seat. Everyone was watching the virgin, and all he could do was picture the girl naked.

"I... I... I have to go," he managed to blurt out, before standing awkwardly and quickly, brushing past her, and trying his best to pick his way through the crowd. He desperately hoped nobody noticed the growth in his trousers as he exited the door and walked quickly down the main path out of town.

What the hell was that?

Fyre, for her part was relatively unruffled by his abrupt exit. It was like her mind was made up for her even before she realized that she was taking off her apron.

"Pack it all up for me Sam!" She screamed at the cook and owner, "I want my back pay too." Her look of death in his general direction was enough to quell any arguments from him. The murmurs around her however, got a little louder. Frye looked around at them all staring at her with unadulterated hate, lust, disgust and sometimes mixtures of the three. She sighed rather loudly.

"What the hell people?! Haven't you ever seen a nymph before, get back to your sodding breakfasts." She stomped off, grabbed her bags, the food that had already been prepared, the coinage that Sam owed her and she was out the door.

"Oi! Master!" She yelled as she went running after the boy, "Oi! Slow down!" She finally made it to his side and held out the bag of food, with a big grin on her face. "So, where are we headed?"