Short Stories: A Collection of Magic - Updated Irregularly

Wizards of the Mask

Ancient tomes lined the shelves, some covered with years of dust. The thick books were very old - that was apparent by their yellowing pages and aging leather bindings. The texts had a guardian: a large, slug-like creature. The guardian moved slowly among the rows of books, content just to be next to them, and to know that they were safe.

The guardian was a unique creature. Created by a powerful wizard specifically to guard the library's precious books, it was just one of the wonders of this powerful place. The power and wonders attracted a few visitors, but not many appreciated the value of the place, and generally only the more ambitious warlocks visited. Overall it was a very quiet place, home only to those created for or brought to the library - and to the books, the many, wonderful books.

Enchantments and artifacts were also held in the library, as well as tools of creation and craft. Some of the sparse visitors preferred to use these and ignored the texts, while others read with an exclusive concentration.

Clean light poured into the library from large glass windows between the bookshelves. Rows and rows of texts sat silently, bathed in the brightness. Occasionally there would be a passage, where a wall held a door or just gave up existence, leading to another room: another miracle. None of the rooms were mundane, not to the people who understood what they held.

In one room, wraith-like beings hovered around over the ground, or sat copying text from ancient and fragile books onto newer and stronger homes. One wraith finished copying a text called "The Seventh Scion: A Guide to Generational Mutation Magic." The wraith held the book loosely with a few claw-like fingers and drifted over to a large window, where it gave it to a very tall creature with tentacles for arms and legs. The creature received the copy and glided through the air, out of the window and away from the library, to find the duplicate someone to read it.

Another room was covered in runes. They covered the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. A rather large rune, one big enough to sit comfortably in, lay in the center of the room.

Across from that room was a very bright room where ghosts of brilliant witches and wizards occasionally came to share their knowledge. The wraiths would sometimes act as scribes for them, giving life to death's knowledge.

A masked figure appeared in-between two rows of books, directly in front of the slug-like guardian. He held an odd mask in his hand: it had a psychotic appearance, and was decorated with runes and rare, powerful stones. The masked figure placed the odd mask on the face of the guardian in a fluid, swift movement. There was a flash of light, and the guardian was gone.

Several more dark, mask-wearing shapes appeared where the guardian had just stood. Their masks were wooden, carved with runes but lacking any rare stones. The masks wore various expressions, and fire poured out of their mouths as the runes began to glow.

The books began to burn. One warlock threw an extra mask into the air. Shadows materialized to give the mask a body to wear. The shadow-mask flew erratically around the room, breathing a dark fire on everything.

One of the wraiths screeched terribly as it saw the chaos. Rising from its seat by an open book, the wraith continued to screech. The other wraiths joined their voices, and banshees were born from their terrible song.

Banshees sped to their masked foes as more banshees were born by the wraiths' screams. The banshees' screeches were strong, but the harsh streams of flame flowing from the masked mouths of the wizards were stronger, and the banshees were reduced to ash.

The wraiths turned to their books, in hopes of finding a spell or a chant that could prove to be their assailants' undoing. They spoke in quick, harsh voices as magic was brought into the world around them. A shimmer grew at the door, and any fire that tried to pass was snuffed instantly. An icy chill crept from one of the wraiths, searching with hungry hands for something to envelop in its freezing embrace. One masked figure simply fell to the floor, mentally extracted from this world.