Faisel’s nose twitched as he concentrated on the heavy lead ball before him, the brows of his borrowed face dipped in concentration. Come onnnnnnnn. One thing that the old dead wizard had not expected, was the difficulty of practising magic whilst the little fool wailed and sobbed imprisoned within his own mind whilst Faisel himself sat at the helm. Sid will you shut up? His sharp reprimand did nothing but caused the young boy’s pitiful noise to double in volume.
“Grrr.” Sid’s mouth growled as the old wizard’s temper began to fray, yet at the same time the lead ball began to shake. With practiced efficiency the grumpy old man concentrated the rage and sharpened his focus, immediately the ball lifted from the table before him, suspended in mid air. Faisel laughed triumphantly as he began to swing the ball across the room with his mind with ease, the ceaseless noise of the stupid little brat in his head funnelled into a potent fury, this in turn he pressed and concentrated to fuel his magics. This in itself was the exact opposite to the way he had practised beforehand, his surroundings needed to be calm, still and without distraction, though of course there were countless ways to work – all of which depicted in the book titled Wizarding Associations New Kinetic Energy Routes. A big red book with W.A.N.K.E.R printed in gold letters on the front. The technique he was currently using being the “Fury anointed Technique, founded by Bovril Ickabald Tymur choru Hovis. A decidedly ridiculous name if you asked Faisel, but also rather unfortunate due to the wizarding associations fondness for acronyms, the result of which labelled the page in black block capitals “F.A.T B.I.T.C.H”. Sometimes the dead wizard, whilst alive, had actually wondered whether or not these strangely rude and somewhat immature results had been deliberate, that the W.A actually had a fantastically childish sense of humour, though the thought was soon discarded after meeting the board of directors. Miserable old fucks, each and every one of them at least half as grumpy as Faisel himself.
With a shrug the old man-in-young-boy’s-body grabbed hold of the T.I.T beside him (Turbulent infliction Targeter) then threw the useless object to the trash. Unfortunately, due to having to adopt a new Route of magic, a lot of the objects he had accumulated over the years would be rendered nothing more than paperweights due to being attuned to the “Totality of seriously silent evil route.” Or lovingly brander “T.O.S.S.E.R” by the W.A, hence the T.I.T’s total name being the TOSSER’S TIT. Faisel shook his head in disgust.
With a decidedly unfulfilling stomp of his tiny feet the wizard was off, his destination? Dunminge town centre, a place that he hadn’t been for over a hundred years. Realistically anywhere he went outside of his tower was a place he hadn’t been, Hey look! I’m a at place I haven’t been in over a hundred years! The sarcastic thought sounded within his head as his youthful sandled foot stepped to the dirt just outside the inverted tower’s door. For those past hundred years, he had been unable to leave that blasted chair, his old bones too weak to get anywhere unassisted. Also, one of the negative aspects of being a grumpy old bastard that nobody likes was that, well… Nobody liked you. The only person he had to assist him was his assistant, Sid, and he only did that as it quite literally had the word assist in his job role, and believe me, it wasn’t by choice. Faisel once again chuckled to himself as he stepped through the doorway, a dark smile played across his lips. There was a few people he needed to pay a visit to, and they were not going to like it.
The walk across town was pleasant without the aches and groans of his other body, albeit the phantasmic pains were constant, they somehow eased whilst within Sid’s skin to the point that he could actually forget about their existence. Wonderful. Suddenly his destination was before him. The door to the mayor’s office stood unadorned, a great heavy double-doored sheet of oak that hung heavy before him. Faisel grinned as he pressed his tiny hand against the cool polished surface. Nothing. Shit. Sid’s body was too weak to open the damn thing. Anger arose within, the new source of his power. The old dead wizard smiled balefully, happiness welled within. Immediately the anger was extinguished. Shit! Of course the happiness had overridden the rage, a known problem with the WANKER style, which coincidentally made those that practiced the route into right old wankers, due to having to stay mad all the time to be able to use their arcane arts. The catch twenty two situation immediately once more stoked the fires of rage, yet this time the young-old man-boy let the power consume him as he anchored himself in the fury.
With a wave of his hand the two great doors before him imploded with a powerful boom, dust raised down from the ceiling within as vibrations shook the buildings foundations. An extremely wide eyed short, pudgy bald man sat behind a beautiful mahogany desk, quill frozen in place to hover above an unfinished document below it.
“Sid?” Mayor Moistmun asked in shock, his gaze moved from the boy to the destruction off in the corner that had once been his doors.
“You owe me-” The dead wizard coughed to cover the slip up “my master, money.”
“Faisel? Yes, and as I said last time you came, the old fart can come collect it himself.” With a worried glance at the door then back at the young boy before him, the man returned back to his work. An obvious bluff, it had to be after such a display of power. Yet it infuriated the wizard even more, the obvious dismissal and the sheer lack of respect, his power flared to life, brighter and greater than ever before. Yes! The tone in his head euphoric, yet once again the rage vanished as happiness overrode its torrent like force. Dammit. The fury stoked anew, carefully maintained as once more the boy’s hand flew upward, the man in the chair slammed into the ceiling spread eagle, arms and legs held to either side as he stared in horror down at the boy beneath him. Sid’s face smiled as his other hand began to rise slowly, the primitive metal tipped quill-pen that the mayor had dropped as he was thrown from position rose as if (or literally) by magic, sharp point first to pause a hairs breadth before the mayor’s mud brown eyes, the lids of which held open by magical force.
“I’m not sure if you heard me. You owe my master money.” Sid’s mouth repeated coldly, the evil smile locked in place.
“Yes! Yes! Tell him I’m sorry I swear it! Please! Please let me down!” He screamed in terror, the veins in his neck bulged as he strained to move, though unable, held in place by Faisel’s magical bonds.
“My top draw! The desk! Please!” Slowly Sid-Faisel walked over to the rich wood desk, the draw pulled open to reveal bag after bag shoved full with gold coins. The greedy little bastard. His smile now felt as if it was about to split his face in two as he pocketed each and every bag within and made his way at a pace no doubt agonisingly slow to the suspended man pressed to the ceiling.
“Be seeing you.” He spoke with a dead tone, deliberately scary. And with that he pulled back his hold. Just as the door closed a heavy thump sounded within.
With a chuckle Faisel set off after his next victim.